Magick in the Mist #2
“Aye, well, I was but a lad of twenty and wanted nothin’ more than to please the old man.
” His grandda had taken the place of Ewan’s parents when they’d died of fever, and Ewan would’ve done anything for Roderick and the clan.
It had been the same when he’d wed Lorna Sinclair.
Although, he admitted, he’d been as enamoured with her beauty as all the men had been, it hadn’t taken long for him to discover she was a cold-hearted, treacherous bitch beneath her angelic facade.
If she hadn’t died fleeing Scotland with one of her many lovers, Ewan would have found some way to divorce her, no matter the shame it brought his family.
Mayhap if she’d been any kind of mother to his sons, he would have been satisfied to lead separate lives, but she’d spared the bairns not a moment of her time or affection.
He shoved aside the thought the lads may not be his.
It didn’t matter. If they were not sons of his loins, they were sons of his heart.
“I understand how you feel after what you suffered at Lorna’s hands, but for all you ken Isobel Forbes is a grand lass and would make you a fine wife. Your lads need a mother, Ewan.”
“Callum’s right. I’ve never heard ’aught said against the Forbes lassies. They were always aboot when we attended the gatherin’s at the Burnetts’. Are you sure you doona ken them, Ewan?”
“Nay,” Ewan grunted. His cousins were wasting their breath.
Ewan would not marry again, especially a woman of his grandda’s choosing.
He’d done his duty – he’d provided heirs.
But they were right about one thing – he was determined to remain at Leod with his sons.
He just had to find a way to provide for the clan so he could.
“Ewan, you canna tell me you doona recall the gatherin’s at the Burnetts’. Doona you remember the lass you went chasin’ through the woods after, only to end up knockin’ yourself out instead?”
How could he forget? There’d been something about the lass that had called to him.
A charged jolt of awareness when his eyes met hers, a feeling he’d never experienced before or since.
It was as though his body recognized her and urged him to claim her, make her his own.
Unbeknownst to his cousin, Ewan hadn’t taken part in the hunt that day.
He’d scoured the countryside for her, only to return in time for the festivities to hear his grandda announce his betrothal to Lorna Sinclair.
Randall chuckled. “Must be somethin’ aboot the moonlight and the Burnetts’ moors that calls the lassies to our cousin here. Do you recall the lass we met up with the summer before grandda announced your betrothal to Jenny?”
He hadn’t, not until his cousin mentioned it.
They’d come through the mist to find a bonny wee lass astride her horse.
Ewan had asked what she was doing on her own.
His lips twitched as he recalled her sweet, innocent smile and her answer.
“I’m waitin’ for you.” He’d laughed and promised to come back for her.
He started at the thought; the two lassies were one and the same.
He shook off his bemusement. He had no time for whimsical fancy of bonny lassies waiting for him in the moonlight.
In the valley far below from where they sat astride their horses, Castle Leod shimmered in the midday sun. The sweet scent of heather filled the warm summer air and Ewan’s chest tightened. Aye, ’twas good to be home.
“Is that grandda?” Callum asked. Shielding his eyes with one hand while he waved the other, he called out to the old man who appeared to be chasing a woman through the heather.
“If ’tis, lets hope the woman has coin and grandda can wed her because he’ll no be gettin’ me to the altar again.”
Two
Isobel blew her flour-dusted hair from her eyes.
The kitchens were sweltering. Her body was slick with sweat beneath the old gown she’d chosen for the task the bairns had set out for her.
Robbie and Connor watched her closely, their eyes wide as she turned out the honey cakes they’d asked her to bake in honour of their father’s return.
She tried to ignore the nervous flutter in her belly at the knowledge that the man who was now her husband would arrive on the morrow.
“Nay, Robbie.” Connor shook his head of auburn curls and grabbed his brother’s hand before he could stick his finger in the cake.
“Can we have a wee taste, mam? Please,” Robbie begged, lifting his startling blue eyes to hers.
Isobel’s chest tightened as it did every time she looked upon their sweet faces.
Roderick hadn’t mentioned Ewan’s children until they’d arrived at the castle.
For Isobel, it had been a welcome surprise.
She’d been living at Castle Leod for well over six months now and, recently, Connor and Robbie had taken to calling her mam.
The first time they did so she’d been moved to tears.
She’d come to love them as if they were her own.
Isobel ruffled Robbie’s golden curls – a shade lighter than the colour she remembered his father’s to be – about to concede.
“Mam,” Connor said sternly. “They’re for da, remember?”
Isobel bit back a laugh at the reproachful look in Connor’s light blue eyes.
Connor, who seemed much older than his six years, thought Isobel spoiled Robbie terribly as he was wont to tell her at least twice a day.
Noting the quiver in Robbie’s bottom lip, she said, “There’s two.
Surely your da wouldna mind if I give you both a wee piece?
” With her thumb and forefinger, she indicated the size.
“Nay, da is a verra braw man. You canna have any, Robbie,” Connor said mulishly.
“I promise, I’ll make another one on the morrow, Connor.” Isobel prayed the kitchens would not be as hot then. It wouldn’t do to meet her husband in the sorry state she now found herself. She doubted Lorna Mackenzie had ever looked anything short of perfect.
Upon her arrival at Leod, Isobel had worried how the Mackenzie clan – and more importantly, Ewan’s children – would respond to her.
Would they find her lacking? But not once had she’d been made to feel that way.
She’d been happy and relieved to be so readily accepted, but couldn’t help wonder why not once in all this time had Lorna been mentioned.
From what little she could pry from Roderick – who insisted Isobel call him grandda – she’d learned Robbie had been only one when his mother died.
Isobel thought Connor, at least, would have some difficulty accepting her in the role of his mother. He hadn’t. Far from it.
Roderick had been no more forthcoming in regards to how her betrothal had come about than he’d been about Lorna.
She’d mentioned it to her nana, who at her father’s insistence had accompanied Isobel to Leod, but Olivia had simply brushed her worries aside with the admonishment that her second sight had yet to fail her.
“Nay,” Connor said arms crossed. The sight of his three-year-old brother’s tears not bothering him in the least.
They bothered Isobel, and she was about to try and cajole Connor into relenting when the side door opened.
Roderick, with his trews and tunic rumpled and his shock of white hair standing on end, rushed past her.
He came to an abrupt halt and backtracked.
Taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her cheek.
“Ye’re a grand lass. Ken if I breathe my last this day, I’ve come to love ye most dearly, henny.
Ye, too, my bairns. If anyone asks, I’ve been on my deathbed this past week,” he shouted the last over his shoulder as he rushed from the kitchens.
Barely had Isobel recovered from her surprise when her nana hurried through the door.
Olivia’s hair hung loose about her shoulders, bits of heather clinging to her silver locks, her grey gown grass-stained.
“Nana, you look like you’ve been rollin’ around in the …
” Isobel’s eyes widened as a rosy flush tinted her nana’s face.
That was exactly what she’d been doing and she’d been doing it with Roderick!
Isobel shouldn’t be surprised, the two of them had been acting like a pair of lovesick fools of late.
“No time, my bonny, I must see to Roderick.”
“It appears that the way you’ve been seein’ to the man has just aboot killed …” Isobel rolled her eyes when her nana fled the room.
“Mam, Robbie stole the cakes!” Connor cried, racing from the kitchens.
Sweet Mary Mother of God, the heat must be drivin’ them all mad.
Isobel set off after Connor, certain he’d pummel his brother if he got ahold of him.
“Connor, Robbie,” she called out. Rounding the corner, she came to a shocked standstill.
Her husband stood in the entry hall, looking every inch the battle-hardened warrior Roderick proudly proclaimed him to be.
His grandson’s exploits were the notable exception to Roderick’s reticence.
Ewan Mackenzie, majestically tall with broad shoulders and rippling muscles, surveyed his home.
Two dark-haired men stood at his back, but Isobel barely registered their presence.
Ewan’s sapphire gaze came to rest upon her, causing a heart-stopping tremor in her throat.
A frisson of heat raced through her and Ewan jerked back, as though he felt the same.
He frowned, his eyes roaming her face. She couldn’t drag her gaze from his, mesmerized by his beauty.
Time had chiselled away the softness of youth.
He looked hard, dangerous, with the dark stubble shadowing his strong jaw.
Growing uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare, Isobel ran her tongue over her lips.