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“Ye could never shame us, James.” He watched the glimmer of tears in his mother’s eyes slowly turn to love. The sight humbled him. She gave him a long, assessing look, then asked, “And now?”

“I’m learning to live with it,” he confessed, hoping that would at last settle the matter.

“If ye dinnae wish to speak of it, I’ll not pry further, though ’tis clear there is more to tell. Ye try to hide it, but I’ve seen the way ye look at Davina.”

His embarrassment deepened. “Ye are being fanciful, Mother.”

“Am I? Those who dinnae know ye well would easily miss it, but there are times that ye gaze at her as if she is yer last hope of happiness. Is she, James?”

James sucked in a deep breath. He looked down and saw the resolution marking the lines of his mother’s face. “I might have believed that at one time,” he admitted. “But no longer.”

Her face softened, her eyes filled with sympathy. “What happened between the two of ye?”

“More than can be repaired,” he answered flatly, the memory of disappointment nibbling at his heart.

A speculative light glowed in his mother’s eyes. “Then build a bridge across the abyss.”

“’Tis too late.”

Aileen loosed a scoffing breath. “Nay. Until the vows are spoken, it’s not too late. Do ye wish her to wed Malcolm?”

“She willnae.”

“How can ye be so certain? Yer brother has a way with women and he seems intent on charming her.”

James felt his nostrils flare. “She willnae marry him,” he repeated, with far more confidence than he felt.

“Well, if she does, I want her to have no lingering feelings fer ye.”

“I’ll not court her, Mother.” Amazingly, his voice sounded almost calm.

Aileen sighed. “Ye’re as stubborn as yer father. I’ll not demand something that is too painful fer ye to give. But I’ll not let ye hide from her either. We are starting to put up the Christmas greenery and as always need more than what was gathered. I want ye to go pick some and bring Davina with ye.”

James tamped down the objection that rose to his lips. He was confident that Davina would refuse Malcolm’s offer of marriage—if it was even given—but it wouldn’t hurt to be certain.

“If it pleases ye, then I will do as ye bid.”

Chapter Eleven

“If ye don’t stop yer caterwauling this instant, I’ll leave ye here to find yer own way back to the castle,” James said forcefully, sending a withering glance at his willful niece.

“James!” Davina cried.

“Ye cannae tell me that her shrill whining doesn’t get on yer last nerve?”

“Perhaps it isn’t the most pleasant of sounds, but ye have to understand the child is frightened,” Davina said.

“My finger hurts,” Lileas proclaimed, holding it aloft. “The bush pinched it.”

“Frightened and injured,” Davina added.

Injured? From a tiny prick on her finger? God’s teeth, what evil sounds would emerge if the lass were truly hurt?

“We both told her, more than once, not to reach fer the holly,” James retorted. “’Tis her own fault that she was pricked by it.”

Davina looked at Lileas sharply, but her voice was gentle and soothing when she spoke. “We’ve already told ye more than once. Ye mustn’t touch any of the greens, Lileas. Do ye understand?”

James watched the child’s eyes narrow with displeasure. Aye, she clearly heard, and understood. Yet she just as clearly did not plan to obey.