Page 4 of A Highland Bride Taken
“Ye were supposed to make them, Norah,” he scolded. “Ye have had bairns of yer own; surely two lads should hardly be a challenge.”
“Me Laird, I?—”
“Ye may take yer leave now,” he interrupted, not needing more excuses. “I will see to them meself.”
She curtsied and took her leave.
He didn’t miss the quiver in her lips or the tears in her eyes, but he could scarcely care. He had given her a task, thinking she would prove useful, but she had failed.
Still, could he blame her?
The woman had practically raised him since infancy, yet she had been unable to bond with the children, who had experienced grief that would break even the strongest men.
Campbell sighed as soon as the door closed, eyeing the pile of correspondence on his desk that he had to attend to. The new bottle of whiskey that his friend, Kian, had gifted him sat on his sideboard, drawing his attention. But it was too early for a drink, and he didn’t want to meet the boys smelling like a drunkard.
He skimmed through the letters, frowning when he saw the envelope bearing his grandfather’s seal.
What does he want?
They had not spoken since he had been born, and the oddness of his recent correspondence was irritating.
He tossed the letter onto the growing pile of his grandfather’s old and opened others. He responded when necessary and eyed the time. He was using the letters as an excuse to delay his visit to the boys, and guilt was eating at him with every letter he wrote.
He sighed, rising grudgingly to his feet. It wouldn’t do to delay any longer. If anyone could make headway with the boys, it would be him. After all, he was the only one who could likely draw them out of their grief. The stubborn Muir blood that ran in their veins ran in his before.
He went to Ollie’s room first, hoping that the younger twin would be more impressionable and inclined to trust. But when he found the bed empty, panic flared in his chest, which caused him to burst into Connor’s room with more force than he would have liked.
He found the two boys huddling close to one another in fear of him. They looked so much like Aidan had been at that age, with ruffled brown hair and eyes, and a stubborn edge to their jaws. But while so similar, there were still slight differences. Connor had ruddy cheeks rounded with youth, while Ollie had a sharper jaw line and slightly smaller build.
Campbell sighed and relaxed his shoulders, trying for a smile—an act he hadn’t attempted in years—but it came out as more of a grimace, frightening them even more.
“How are ye, lads?” he asked.
But they watched him with wide, unblinking eyes.
Ollie eyed him warily before burying his head in his brother’s shoulder.
It wasn’t hard to discern the reason for the action. Even Campbell was sometimes repulsed by the scar that ran along the side of his face. But when he remembered it was a small price he had to pay to ensure his clan’s survival, he ignored the sentiment.
“I hear ye refuse to eat anything,” he started softly. “Why?”
They didn’t answer.
“I willnae hurt ye. I am yer faither’s braither. Yer uncle. I only want to protect ye, but ye must eat.”
He took a step forward, but when they shrank back, he lifted his hands in surrender and stepped back.
“I worry verra much for ye both, but I willnae force ye,” he murmured. “I can only try, but yer faither wouldnae have wanted ye to starve.”
At the mention of their father, Ollie started crying, and tears pooled in Connor’s eyes.
“I didnae mean to make ye cry,” Campbell soothed. “Please dinnae cry. Ollie…”
He watched the boy cry, unsure of what to do to make it stop. He had never had to handle crying children, hence his helplessness in such a situation.
He tried to reach for the boys again, but they shrank back. Their vivid rejection sent a stab of pain through him.
“Me Laird?” Magnus, his man-at-arms, walked in, eyeing the scene with concern.
