Page 32 of The Laird's Wicked Game

“Can I have one too?” Lyle asked eagerly.

“Ye are too young,” Ailean shot back.

“Am not.”

“Ye can watch me teach Ailean,” Rae cut in before another squabble erupted. He knew how it was, the rivalry between brothers. “And once it’s done, I’ll let ye sit on the garron’s back and lead ye around the barmkin.”

Lyle nodded eagerly at this, while Rae pushed himself up and rose to his feet. He then glanced at where Esme was folding clothes in the corner of the bedchamber. “Ye can finish up there, lass. I’ll put the lads to bed, tonight.” It was strange, but he was loath to be parted from his sons this evening—almost as if he wished to reassure himself that all was well.

This announcement earned wide smiles from both boys.

A short while later, Lyle and Ailean were tucked up next to each other in bed, with Rae lying on the edge.

“Tell us a tale, Da,” Ailean said, his gaze gleaming in the light of the lantern that burned on the table next to the bed.

“Aye!” Lyle exclaimed. “The Headless Horseman!”

Rae sighed, even as he swallowed a smile. “Don’t ye ever get tired of that one?”

“No!” They both chorused.

Once, when Donalda was still alive, he’d recounted that story to them often. But it had been a while since he’d tucked his sons into bed, let alone told them any tales.Before his wife’s death, Rae had been the one to put them to bed in the evenings. He hadn’t been close to Donalda, yet he enjoyed the uncomplicated affection his sons had lavished upon him. He’d always had a flair for storytelling, and the delight on his sons’ faces, as he told them of fairies, wulvers, and giants, had been a sight indeed. But when their mother died, he hadn’t known what to do with their grief, or how to ease it, and so had taken a step back from them.

He regretted that now.

Do they remind ye of yer wife?Aye, they both did, although not in the ways he’d explained to Kylie earlier in the day. Their eager faces and earnest gazes brought back memories of his distant marriage and everything he’d longed for and never found.

Trying to ignore the ache that rose under his breastbone, Rae cleared his throat. He then began the story his own father had told him. Suddenly, he was transported back in time, with Baird Maclean’s powerful voice rumbling through his bedchamber.

“Once, many years ago, there lived a young man called Euan. He was the son of a powerful chieftain and dwelled upon a crannog on the southern coast of Mull. He was proud and ambitious, and wanted to rule … but his father was hale and strong and that wasn’t to be.”

“Did he want his father’s lands?” Ailean asked.

“Aye,” Rae replied. “He coveted them … and wouldn’t stop nagging his old man to give him some more.”

“But he refused,” Lyle added. “And then they went to battle against each other!”

“Aye.” Rae raised an eyebrow. “But who’s telling his story, me or ye?”

“Ye!” Lyle clutched his father’s hand, and something that had been locked tight inside Rae’s chest for a while now unraveled.

13: THE ART OF COUPLING

KYLIE WAS ALREADY waiting for Rae in his solar, seated on one of the high-backed chairs, when he finally entered, Storm at his heel. The Highland collie went straight to her and pressed unabashedly against her legs. Laughing, she stroked his ears.

“That dog isn’t bothering ye, is he?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “He can be a terrible pest, at times.”

She flashed him a smile. “Not at all.” Meanwhile, the collie nudged her with his nose, encouraging her to continue.

He whistled then. “Come, Storm … leave the poor woman be.”

Flashing him a disappointed look, the dog moved off and settled onto a sheepskin before the unlit hearth.

“Wine?” he asked then, as he moved to the sideboard.

“Aye, thank ye.”

He poured them two cups of plum wine, and had just handed Kylie hers, when a knock came at the door. “Supper,” a female voice sang out.