The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(111)

He waved off her thanks. “It pleases me to know someone will be livening up these old stone walls while I’m away.”

A dark shadow crossed over her. Would she be here? What choice did she have? Despite her brave words, she didn’t know if she could weather another storm of being declared the wife of a traitor. She felt a stab of anger, hating her husband for putting her in this position—not only of having her choices taken from her, but also of having to deceive a man who’d never been anything but wonderful to her. “I will miss you.”

Something in her voice must have betrayed her. A furrow appeared between her brows; he studied her carefully before he replied. “It will not be for long. Besides, I think you will be so well occupied, you will not know I’m gone.”

They spoke for a few minutes on other subjects before Sir Adam asked, “Where is Sutherland? I expected to find him here.”

Mary hoped she hadn’t flinched at the mention of her husband. She fought to keep her expression neutral. “He returned to the castle last night.”

Sir Adam frowned. “That’s strange. I did not see him this morning. Percy was looking for him. He was supposed to attend him this morning for some meetings with Cornwall.”

Her heart, which had come to a standstill after last night, flickered to life. It started to beat rapidly. There is no reason to be concerned.

“It was late when he left. Perhaps he overslept?” Realizing how that sounded, she hastened to explain. “He was helping me clean out the garret. I found an old trunk of your father’s.”

Sir Adam stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she noticed.

“I’d forgotten that was up there. It’s been many years since I looked through it.”

“He kept the most wonderful journals.” Heat rose to her cheeks. “I hope you don’t mind that I took a peek inside?”

“Of course not.” He returned his attention to his food, making an effort to appear unconcerned. But it was an effort, she realized. “And your husband, did he admire the journals as well?”

She recalled the intensity with which she’d observed Kenneth poring over the journals. She’d been so surprised to see him, she hadn’t thought about it at the time. “I believe so, although we did not speak of it.” She paused. “Perhaps … Would you mind if I showed Davey? I think he would find some of the pictures interesting.”

“Not at all. And then when you are finished, I will move that old trunk out of your way.”

A short while later, Mary was in the garret chamber with her son. As she’d suspected, Davey had enjoyed looking over the drawings of the exotic locales. But she had another reason for bringing him up here. She’d been delaying telling him about the baby, not sure how he would react. Given the date of her marriage and the impending arrival of his brother or sister, she didn’t want him to think badly of her.

Without any furniture to sit on, she closed the lid of the trunk and invited him to take a seat beside her. “There is something I should like to tell you, and I hope you will be as excited about it as I am,” she said.

The handsome youth on the cusp of manhood looked at her oddly. “About the baby?”

Her mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

“Sir Kenneth told me some time ago. He thought I was upset by the suddenness of your wedding.”

Kenneth’s perception took her aback. “And were you upset?”

He shrugged.

She bit her lip. How had she not realized? It must have been confusing for him. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

She raked his face with her eyes, trying to penetrate the enigmatic mask. More than anything, she would have liked to see some real emotion on her son’s face. Even anger would have been preferable to bland acceptance. It seemed to be the way he reacted to everything.

God, what had the years of imprisonment done to him?

“I am glad to see you happy, Mother. Sir Kenneth is a fine knight.”

“Are you happy, David?”

He considered the question as if he’d never thought of it before. “I make do.”

His answer took her aback. Her son was more like her than she’d realized. But it sounded different coming from him. Was “making do” enough for her son?

Was it enough for her? Didn’t they both deserve more?

“I know it has been difficult for you since your father was killed.”

His mouth tightened, and his eyes flashed with surprising venom. “You mean executed for treason. My father was a traitor who suffered the punishment he deserved. His dishonor has nothing to do with me.”

She’d wanted emotion, but not like this. Mary hoped her horror didn’t show. “Your father fought for what he believed in, Davey. He wasn’t a traitor to his people. To your people.”

It was strange to defend Atholl after so many years. But no matter what he’d done to her—to them—he had been a great patriot. She wanted Davey to see that. Time and her marriage to Kenneth had erased some of the bitterness and given her perspective.

He sniffed his nose as if at something unpleasant. The so thoroughly English mannerism took her aback even further. “My people are under the influence of a usurper. Once Bruce is defeated, they will see the truth.”

Kenneth had been right, at least in this. There was nothing Scottish in her son. My God, how she’d failed him! She’d made a vow to fight for his heritage, fight for his patrimony, but she’d ignored the most important part: his identity. He was a Scot. His father had been executed fighting for Scottish independence, and Davey was “Dear cousin Davey” to the men who’d done so.