Chapter 6
Kenneth frowned as he strode into the courtyard where Nicholas was drilling the men under his command, marching them in formation and barking at them furiously when any one of them missed a step.
The men looked exhausted, flushed and sweating, and he knew why. They had been training since dawn, first with swords, then with bows, then hand-to-hand combat without weapons, and finally this relentless marching.
Kenneth had always regarded this particular discipline as a complete waste of time, since nobody marched on a battlefield. However Nicholas insisted that it was not a martial skill, but an exercise in discipline and obedience.
The sun was shining out of a clear blue sky and the day was surprisingly hot for the time of year, and as he watched the guards, Kenneth could see that the men were suffering.
It was unlike Nicholas to drill them so hard, but as he studied his friend, he could see that he had pushed himself to the limit of his endurance as well. This alarmed him, since he had never known him to do so before. It was time to step in, he decided.
Kenneth walked up to Nicholas and put a hand firmly on his shoulder. “I think they’ve had enough, Nick,” he said grimly. “Tell them to fall out.”
Nicholas turned and opened his mouth to protest, but changed his mind when he saw the fierce glare of Kenneth’s eyes.
“Halt!” he cried. “Fall out!” Then he let out a long sigh of frustration and wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. He, too, looked exhausted, Kenneth thought, although he had no idea why.
The men almost collapsed in relief, and each of them trudged away, shoulders slumped, sweating and filthy. Kenneth heard some ripe swear words and saw many of the men darting murderous glances at Nicholas as they walked by.
When the last of the guards had passed them, Kenneth took Nicholas by the shoulders and turned him so that they were standing face to face. He stared into his troubled eyes for a moment, then asked: “Nick, what is going on? Are you well?”
Nicholas nodded slowly. “Perfectly well, thank you, my Laird.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Kenneth said sharply. “But the men will not be well at all if you keep treating them like that. You were brutal. Tell me what’s wrong, because the last thing I need is a rebellion on my hands!”
Nicholas sighed and sat down on the low wall that bordered the courtyard. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts, but Kenneth was impatient.
“Have you talked with Laura about the child?” he asked.
“I spoke to her last night,” Nicholas answered, his tone flat and heavy.
“But it did not end well. I told her that I would have remembered bedding her, but I remembered nothing. I suggested that she might have been drunk and imagined the whole thing. She seemed not to know what to say after that, but she is still absolutely convinced that we lay together and that I am the child’s father. ” He shook his head in exasperation.
“Don’t let suspicion cloud your judgement,” Kenneth advised, then he patted Nicholas’s shoulder, then suggested: “Perhaps a little sparring might do you some good.”
Nicholas laughed. “I am far too tired for that, friend,” he replied, then he stood up. “There is something I have to do, though, something I have been avoiding, but now I must face up to it.”
“You are going to see the child?” Kenneth asked.
Nicholas nodded. “I must,” he said grimly.
“A sensible idea,” Kenneth remarked. “The best way to resolve a problem is to face up to it, my friend. Good luck. I’ll be here if you want to talk later, but go and bathe first, please.” He grimaced theatrically and held his nose.
Nicholas looked down at his tunic, which was covered in dirt and sweat, then laughed. “I’ll take your advice!”
Half-an-hour later, bathed, shaved and dressed in a clean uniform, Nicholas looked at himself in the mirror.
He was trying to reconcile the image of the soldier looking back at him with that of a tender fatherly figure.
What did fatherly love feel like? Surely he would have felt it the first time he saw the child if it had been his son?
He shook his head in exasperation and made his way to the nursery. He hesitated on the doorstep, knowing that the next step he took might be one of the most important in his life.
He heard Laura talking to the maid who was feeding the baby, her smooth English speech in sharp contrast to the rough Scottish burr of the other woman’s voice.
“How is he faring?” Laura asked. “He looks happy enough.”
“Aye, Mistress,” Maisie agreed. “He is daein’ very well indeed. He is feedin’ well an’ has settled very nicely. I have three bairns o’ my own, an’ compared tae them, he is a very quiet wee thing. He is nae bother at a’.”
“Good,” Laura replied happily. “I am so glad to hear it.”
At that moment Nicholas opened the door and stepped into the room, and both women looked around at him in surprise.
Laura was holding the smaller of the two infants, while Maisie was cradling a bigger, slightly older child who was obviously her own son.
“Good morning, ladies,” Nicholas said politely, smiling. “I hope you are all well.”
Maisie returned his smile with a nervous one of her own. Nicholas was unaware of the fact, but in the confines of the small chamber he looked enormous and slightly scary, filling the space with his big powerful figure.
Maisie curtsied and said, “Very well, Captain. How can I help ye?” She looked at him apprehensively, as if expecting some kind of reprimand.
“I wanted to speak to Laura,” he told her. “Alone, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us for a moment.” He smiled at Maisie.
“Then I will leave ye,” Maisie curtsied to both of them, then went away hastily, leaving Nicholas and Laura alone with the baby, who was sleeping peacefully in her arms.
Nicholas took a step towards him and looked down into his little face with its round chubby cheeks, tiny rosebud mouth and long dark eyelashes.
His hands were clenched in tiny fists with endearing little dimples on each knuckle, and as Nicholas watched he waved them in the air, looking as though he was trying to punch his father.
Nicholas laughed at the sight, and was astonished at the wave of warm tenderness that washed over him. Without stopping to think, he asked: “May I hold him?”
“Of course,” Laura placed the baby gently in his arms then stood back to see the little boy’s reaction to his father. To her surprise, he settled immediately, nestling into Nicholas’s chest with a little contented sigh.
Nicholas was studying the tiny face intently, comparing each of his features with his own. Of course, they were still the eyes, nose and mouth of a child, but even though he was only a few days old there was enough of a resemblance to prove his parentage.
‘This is my son,’ Nicholas admitted to himself, and all at once he was overcome with a fierce protectiveness that almost overwhelmed him with its strength.
This was fatherly love—and all at once he knew he would kill to defend this child.
He would die for him, and he knew it with complete certainty.
Laura watched his face, and seeing the softening of his expression, she felt both amazed and encouraged. Nicholas had only glanced at the infant before, but now he was studying him intently and a soft smile had appeared on his face.
Nicholas looked up at her suddenly and his tone was full of astonishment as he said: “This is really my child.”
Laura almost laughed out loud, but managed to restrain herself at the last minute. “I told you so,” she said, trying not to sound smug. “Even now, he looks so much like you.”
Nicholas held the child for a few moments longer, studying him intently as if trying to memorise the little face.
Laura was astonished at the change in the big, confident aggressive warrior.
He had suddenly become tender, and, as she watched him raise his big hand to touch the soft little cheek, the word ‘adoring’ sprang to mind.
She had never imagined such a sudden transformation.
“Have you given him a name yet?” Nicholas asked.
Laura shook her head. “No,” she replied, her voice betraying her nervousness. “I thought perhaps you and I could choose one together.”
Nicholas hesitated for a moment longer then asked: “What is your father’s name?”
“It’s Norman,” Laura replied bitterly. “But I will not call him that. He will not bear the name of any of my family…” Her voice was throbbing with anger, then she pulled herself together. “What is your father’s name?”
“Andrew,” he replied softly and sadly. “He died ten years ago, but he was the best father a man could wish for, and I would be proud for my son to bear his name.”
Laura smiled. “I would be very happy to call him Andrew and perhaps Kenneth as his middle name?”
“That is a good strong name,” Nicholas observed. “And a very Scottish one.” He beamed with pride then kissed the baby’s forehead, and for a few moments they sat in peace and quiet, the only sound that of their soft breathing.
However, it was not to last. Presently, Nicholas leaned over, and his eyes were fixed on Laura’s as he said: “I could take you as my wife so that Andrew has the security of my name, but I will never love you.”
Laura sprang to her feet, seething with rage. “I don’t need you, or your pity!” she spat, glaring at him with undisguised contempt. “You swine, I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth!”
She marched to the door, opened it and stormed out, slamming it so hard behind her that it shuddered and rattled on its hinges. Andrew began to cry, but Nicholas found, to his amazement, that he could soothe him back to sleep.
‘Perhaps I can be a good father,’ he thought before kissing his son’s forehead and smiling happily.
When Laura reached the parlour she found Eleanor and Fenella sitting drinking tea and gossiping about a young couple they were hoping to match up together.
“She is ideal for him,” Fenella was saying, as Laura entered the room. “And he—” She broke off at the sight of the expression on Laura’s face.
“My dear! What is wrong?” Eleanor jumped to her feet and rushed over to her. “Come and tell us about it.” She ushered Laura into a chair and Fenella handed her a cup of tea, then both women watched her as she took a sip before speaking.
“It’s that infuriating man, Nicholas,” she replied.
“He came to the nursery, trying to look as though he was every inch the caring father, because he has finally, at long last, acknowledged that he is. Not that he could deny it—the baby is his spitting image! We have given him a name, Andrew Kenneth.” She took another drink of her tea as the two women exchanged glances.
“That is wonderful news!” Fenella cried, beaming and clapping her hands. “But I can tell by your face that he has upset you, Laura. Tell us about it, please.”
Laura took a deep breath. “He said he would marry me,” she replied, looking from one of the women to the other with a grim smile.
“Really, you should have seen the look on his face—he obviously thought he was doing me an enormous favour! But he stressed that he was offering to do it just to give the baby his name. He said he would never love me. As if I would ever want to be his sweetheart!” She rolled her eyes to belie the statement, and the aunties giggled.
“So I told him I would not marry him if he was the last man on earth and I meant it! ”
Fenella and Eleanor looked at each other, a silent conspiracy passing between them. They shook their heads in silent disapproval, then Fenella came and sat down beside her then patted her shoulder gently.
“Let us handle this for you, Laura,” she said. “Leave it to us, we will not let you down.”
“At least there is one consolation,” Eleanor observed.
“And what is that, Ellie?” Fenella asked, leaning closer to her friend.
“The baby has a lovely name,” she replied, grinning. The two women shared a secret smile; everything was going according to plan.
Laura finished her tea and left a moment later, and the two aunties giggled and put their heads together.
“Those two are definitely destined for each other,” Eleanor said.
Fenella nodded. “The signs are absolutely classic, Ellie. The more they appear to hate each other, the more they love each other. They just have to realise it.”
“And that,” Eleanor said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Is where we come in!”