At a knock on the door, Merritt opened it to admit Astra and a young serving wench. At Astra’s direction, the servant placed a silver tray on the table, then arranged the food and filled goblets.
“Will you stay and eat with us, Merritt?” Edan asked.
Shaw was about to protest when he reminded himself that this was the lass’s home and he, after all, was the uninvited guest. Reluctantly he held his silence.
Embarrassed, Merritt seemed about to refuse when she caught sight of the little frown line between Shaw’s brows. Her anger suddenly surfaced. So, he resented her intrusion here, did he? That was all she needed to goad her into accepting.
“Aye. I would like that.” She turned to the housekeeper. “If there is enough for three of us.”
Astra nodded. “More than enough, lass. Now that we have our larder stocked, we have ample food for everyone.”
“Then I will be pleased to stay and sup with you.” Merritt was rewarded with another frown from Shaw before he turned away and replaced the scroll on a low shelf.
“Come, lad.” Shaw easily lifted Edan in his arms and carried him to the table, where he settled him on his chair.
“My lady.” Shaw held a chair for Merritt, and as she sat down she felt the brush of his hand against her back. She stiffened, keeping her head high, her gaze averted.
“There is so much to learn,” Edan said between mouthfuls of steaming meat pie. “Shaw says that in time I will read every book in this room.”
“Truly?” Merritt glanced at the piles of books, then studied her little brother with new respect. “That is quite a feat.”
“It must be done if I am to have the knowledge necessary to lead our people.”
“Lead our people.” Merritt smiled. “I like the sound of those words, Edan.”
She returned her attention to a biscuit still warm from the oven. After spreading honey on it, she popped it into her mouth.
Across the table, Shaw watched as she licked at a drop f honey. His throat went dry at the sight of her tongue moving seductively over her lower lip. Was the female doing this on purpose, just to taunt him?
Feeling the heat of his gaze, Merritt flushed and looked away.
“I have learned much about our family from the many rolls on those shelves,” Edan said.
At once, both Shaw and Merritt turned to the lad, in the hope of calming their inner turmoil. It was far easier to converse with Edan than it was to deal with each other.
“Father was once considered closer than a brother to Shaw’s father, Modric,” Edan explained. “The scribe who recorded their friendship called them true brothers, who would lay down their lives for one another.”
Merritt’s brow arched. “Do you know this to be true, Campbell?”
He nodded. “The same is recorded in our family history.”
“How, then, did they become enemies?” she asked.
“Pride,” Shaw replied. “Your father swore he would never bend his knee to another.”
“You are wrong,” Edan said quickly. “’Twas love.”
“Love?” Both Merritt and Shaw stared at him in surprise.
“Aye. According to the scribe, in his youth Father was in love with a maiden, but she gave her heart to another. Grief sent him into a black, raging fury that drove him to battle both friend and foe alike.” The boy, seeing that he had their complete attention, took a second portion of meat pie and savored another bite before continuing. “Father spent years traversing the Highlands, leaving behind him a path of pain and destruction. Then, while visiting the keep of Galen MacArthur in Argyll, he discovered an innocent lass who could erase the other from his mind.”
“Our mother, Brinda, was a rare, gentle beauty,” Merritt explained to Shaw, “who could have tamed the heart of a wild beast.”
“Aye, a wild beast would have described our father in his youth,” Edan added. “According to the scribes. And only with Brinda did our father find peace and contentment. And that, in turn, led him to regret his earlier attacks on his neighbors.”
“I must differ,” Shaw said. “For I have read our inscribed family history, and nothing is said about a lost love. The only reason given for your father’s rage against his people is pride.”
Quick as a wink Edan slid from his chair and scooted across the floor, calling, “I shall retrieve the scroll that you may read for yourself.”
Merritt’s eyes were filled with love as she watched her brother. Knowing he was out of earshot, she turned to Shaw. “I haven’t a care about our history, but I care deeply for my little brother. For so long now Edan has languished in a prison of sorts. With these books, and someone to teach him how to use them, the walls of his prison are being lifted.” She caught Shaw’s hand. “And you made it possible.” Her voice was soft, her eyes dreamy.
“Nay, my lady.” Though he tried to resist her touch, he couldn’t help turning his hand palm up, and closing his strong fingers around hers. At once he felt the unwelcome heat that always flared when he touched her.
Merritt watched as a strand of pale hair dusted his forehead. She longed to reach up and brush it aside. Her fingers tightened in his.
He answered with a tightening of his own callused palm and cautioned himself against prolonging this agony. The mere touch of her had him wanting more.
“Edan is too bright, too quick, to remain in darkness for very long,” Shaw whispered, staring into her eyes. “Even without my help, in time he would have found his way to the light.”
“But you took the time with him, when no one else would or could. And for that, Campbell, I shall always be grateful.”
He allowed himself but a moment’s pleasure, then scraped back his chair and stood. His voice was rough with impatience, for he despised this weakness in himself. “I do not do this for your gratitude, my lady. It merely passes the time until I can return my own brother to our home.”
She watched him stride across the room and open another book, shutting her out. She had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling. Why had her gratitude angered him so?
“Do you wish to read the scroll?” Edan asked.
She forced her attention back to her brother. “Nay. Perhaps another time.”
When, a few minutes later, she slipped from the room, neither Shaw nor Edan seemed to take any notice. But Shaw had to concentrate all of his energies on the boy’s lesson, for his mind was greatly troubled.
“Shaw Campbell.” Sabina’s voice trembled with anxiety. “You must come at once and dissuade your brother from his foolishness.”
Shaw looked up from his place at table in the great hall. Astra and the servants were just about to begin serving the evening meal.
“What foolishness would that be, my lady?”
“Please,” she said, catching his hand and urging him away from the table. “We will talk as we climb the stairs, for I fear that unless we hurry, he will surely fall.”
“Fall? He is standing?” Shaw’s eyes lit with pleasure as he raced up the stairs.
Beside him, Sabina lifted her skirts and nearly ran in her haste to keep up with him. “Not only standing. He ordered a servant to bring him his clothes. Had I known, I would have forbidden it. But now that he is dressed, he insists that he is strong enough to join us below stairs to sup.”
“This is wonderful news.” Shaw threw open the door of Sabina’s chambers and came to a sudden halt.
Across the room, Sutton was leaning against the back of a chair. Even from this distance, his brother could see the effort such a feat cost him. Sutton’s knuckles were white, and his face bore the tight, pinched look of pain.
“So,” Shaw called in a cheerful voice. “Your strength returns.”
“Aye. And with it, my determination to leave these four walls. I crave the company of others.”
“You see,” Sabina cried as she followed Shaw into her chambers. “You must convince him of the foolishness of such a thing, for he is far too unwell.”
Shaw grasped his brothe
r’s hand and could feel the weakness in that once viselike grip. It would be a long while before Sutton was strong enough to undertake the journey home. But for now, he was standing. For Shaw, that was enough.
“He is not sick. Merely weakened. Come, my brother. This is a time of great rejoicing. We will descend the stairs together. It is time you met the rest of the Lamonts.”
With his arm around Shaw’s shoulders, Sutton brushed past Sabina and made his way slowly, painfully across the room. It was a faltering, torturous descent to the great hall. But as they entered, and everyone in the room turned to watch their progress, Shaw felt his brother square his shoulders. And though Sutton continued to cling fiercely to Shaw’s strength, he managed to hold his head high while he made his way to the table.
When they paused beside his chair, Sutton did not immediately sit. Instead he stood very tall, and turned to face his host.
“Upton of the Clan Lamont,” Shaw said politely, “my brother, Sutton of the Clan Campbell, would sup with us.”
“Aye. And welcome,” Upton said, pulling himself painfully to his feet. If the Campbell would show no weakness, neither would he.
At once Merritt and Sabina took up a position on either side of their father, in case he should stagger. But he waved them off and continued standing straight and tall. The two men cast long, measured looks at each other. Almost at once a half-forgotten image floated into Sutton’s mind. While he had lain helpless upon his pallet, he had seen this man standing over him, flanked by these females. That time too, he had flung off their arms, as if determined to strike. But strangely enough, he had merely stared down at Sutton for long, silent moments, before turning away.
“You have met the lady Sabina, and this,” Shaw said, “is her sister, Merritt.”
Sutton detected a slight change in his twin’s voice when he spoke the lass’s name. Perhaps another would not have noticed, but he and his brother were, after all, finely tuned to each other’s mood changes. Sutton made up his mind to ponder this at another time.
“My lady.” He acknowledged this fiery-tressed lass with a slight bow and noted that she was studying him with great curiosity.
“And this is their brother, Edan.”
The lad smiled broadly at the man who looked so much like the one beside him, despite the bushy red gold beard that covered Sutton’s lower face.
This one, too, Sutton could vaguely recall. He tried vainly to piece together the images that had floated in and out of his consciousness immediately after his attack. He remembered the lad seated beside his pallet, staring directly into his face. But instead of walking away as the others had, the boy had seemed to crawl away like a wee bairn. Sutton dismissed such a thought. Surely his memory had been dulled by pain.
With the introductions concluded, Sutton sank gratefully onto his chair. Upton did the same. At once Astra directed a serving wench to approach, bearing a tray of steaming venison and mutton.
“Thank you, Astra.” Shaw bit back a smile when he noticed that the housekeeper kept her distance. Apparently the arrival of his twin had brought all her fears to the surface once more.
“You are feeling restored?” Upton asked.
“Aye.” Though he felt ravenous, Sutton was surprised to find himself unable to eat more than a few bites before he was forced to push aside his trencher. But even that little bit of sustenance seemed to renew his strength.
“Then my daughter is deserving of much praise, for we all thought your life was over when you were brought here. She alone fought to save you when we thought all hope was gone.”
Shaw glanced at Sabina, who kept her gaze averted. But as she lifted her head, her eyes met Sutton’s. In that brief instant Shaw saw a look pass between the lass and his brother. A look that spoke, more than any words, of a deep and abiding bond between them. And why not? The lass truly had saved Sutton’s life.
“On the morrow,” Edan said, breaking the silence, “I shall record this event in the scroll.”
“What scroll do you speak of, lad?” Sutton asked.
“The scroll that records the history of the Clan Lamont. Shaw is teaching me how to read and write, so that one day I can assume the leadership of my clan.”
“So, you would be a laird like your father. How old are you, lad?”
“I am ten and two,” Edan said proudly.
“It is true that you must be educated if you are to lead,” Sutton agreed. “But a lad of such an age must have skills beyond that of books. You should be receiving lessons in the use of weapons. Have you mastered dagger, sword and longbow yet?”
“Nay.” The boy looked down at the table.
In the awkward silence that followed, Shaw said softly, “The lad was wounded in an attack. He has not the use of his legs.”
Again Sutton recalled the image of Edan crawling across the floor. It would seem that his vision had not been distorted by the pain. The lad truly couldn’t walk.
Sutton felt something lodge in his throat and had to swallow several times before saying, “So you cannot walk. You can still learn to wield a sword from your horse’s back. If,” he added, “you truly desire to be a Highland warrior and laird of your people.”
“There is nothing I desire more,” Edan said with feeling.
“Then,” Sutton declared, as an idea formed in his mind, “your education must begin at once.”
“My education?” The boy stared at this bearded stranger, so like the man he had come to admire.
“There is no one better to teach you to read and write than my brother,” Sutton said with a trace of pride. “For he has the finest mind of any man I’ve ever known. But when it comes to the skills of a warrior, he will be the first to admit that he is sadly lacking.”
Merritt opened her mouth to protest, intent upon relaying the story of Shaw’s courage in the face of the thieves. But before she could speak, Shaw quickly broke in. “Aye. Sutton’s skills with weapons and horses upon the field of battle are legend.”
“I would be more than happy to impart my knowledge,” Sutton offered.
At once his brother said, “You are fortunate to have such a tutor, Edan.”
The boy’s eyes danced with eagerness. His fondest wishes were about to come true. “I would be grateful for your knowledge, Sutton. You will find me an apt pupil.”
“That remains to be seen,” Sutton muttered, feeling the weight of exhaustion. The shirt beneath his tunic was bathed in sweat. He knew he had asked too much of his battered body, but as a warrior he understood that the sooner he forced himself to act, the sooner his strength would return.
Beside him, Shaw had come to the same conclusion. It was time for his brother to begin to live again. And the best way to do that was to throw himself into something that was not only demanding but satisfying. While Sutton shared his knowledge of weaponry with Edan, he would be forced to push his own body to the limits, thus gaining strength.
He glanced at the thin, taut line of his brother’s mouth, and knew that he was suffering greatly. “We will bid you good-even,” he said.
Scrambling to his feet, he caught Sutton’s arm and helped him to stand.
Before he turned away, Sutton nodded to those around the table. “I thank you for the food.” He looked up and caught the old housekeeper’s eye. “And you, good Astra.”
The housekeeper flushed and turned away. But not before Shaw saw the look of stunned surprise on her face. And the softening look of pleasure in her eyes.
Chapter Nineteen
“Do you see the knot in yon tree, lad?” Sutton lounged on a fur robe beneath the shade of a tree. Though he had made it down the stairs without assistance, he found the effort so exhausting he’d been forced to sink to his knees as soon as he reached the stables.
“Aye,” Edan called as Adair lifted him into the saddle and secured his legs with strips of leather. Each day the lad’s skills with his mount had improved, until he no longer feared the movement of the horse beneath him. He had gone from walking h
is horse in a slow, cautious circle to a jarring trot around the fortress to a brisk run across the rolling hills, all the while managing to remain in the saddle and lift and wield a variety of weapons.
With each lesson his strength had grown, until now he could handle a sword and crossbow with ease. But because of his youthful stature, his favorite weapon was a small, deadly knife, which he kept tucked into his waistband.
“I want you to take a handful of dirks and see how many times you can hit that knot.”
“That is easy,” the lad said, as he began tossing the knives. Each one hit the target.
Though he was impressed with Edan’s skill, Sutton merely said, “You did not let me finish. You will hit that knot while running your mount past it.”
Edan swallowed. “A full run?”
“Aye.” Sutton closed his eyes a moment against the weariness. He despised this weakness that continued to plague him. He could see that he was improving each day, but it was not enough to satisfy him. Deep inside was the nagging little fear that he would never have the strength he once had. To a Highland warrior, it would be a bitter defeat, worse than death.
At once he thought of the brave lad who was even now racing past him, tossing his dirks at the tree. How Edan must have despaired when he’d learned that he’d lost the use of his legs. But, from the tales Shaw had told him, the lad had never given up. He’d battled his fears and his weaknesses with a rare courage. And now, with just a little encouragement, the boy was struggling to regain the dream of every Highland lad.
Sutton watched as Edan went through his paces. Though several daggers missed the target, one of them struck a direct hit.
“Look!” Edan shouted. “I did it.”