Page 10 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
“I am sae sorry, sir,” she apologized breathlessly. “He ran out o’ his room so fast I couldnae catch up wi’ him.”
Caillen studied the child anxiously for a moment. “Never mind me.” His voice was full of concern. “Is he hurt?”
Betty sighed, then shook her head and laughed. “No worse than usual, sir. He’s a holy terror, this one. Are ye no’, Stephen? Your mama will be that angry.”
Stephen wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then smiled mischievously through his tears. “But Betty,” he said innocently, “you said I had mama wrapped around my wee finger.” He held up the smallest finger of his right hand to demonstrate.
“Oh, you wee...” She trailed off, then broke into a fit of giggles and wiped his tears. “Crocodile tears! I might have known!”
“Whose child is he?” Caillen asked curiously.
Betty looked at him as if he was a little soft in the head for a moment, then her face cleared. “He is Milady an’ Laird McCaskill’s child, sir,” she answered. “His name is Stephen McCaskill, and he is the heir tae a’ this.” She spread her arms around her to indicate the castle. “An’ the land.”
Caillen was shocked. He had known that the child was there, of course, but the sight of him brought home to him the fact that Erin was actually a mother. Here was the living proof.
He was surprised that Laird McCaskill had been capable of siring a child. He had been sixty-five years old when he died, so old that Caillen, had he not known the truth, would have assumed that Erin had merely married him for a comfortable life. That, and a generous settlement when he finally died, when she could have remarried and had a family.
Caillen was jerked away from his thoughts as Stephen put his small hand into his, and he looked down to see a pair of bright green eyes looking up at him curiously. The eyes were the same color and shape as his mother’s, and there was no doubting that this was Erin’s son. The little boy was grinning from ear to ear, and Caillen could not help but respond.
“You’re big,” Stephen observed. “Will I be as big as you one day?”
“Only if you eat every bit of food on your plate,” Caillen answered, chuckling. He squatted down on one knee so that he was eye to eye with the boy, then frowned. “How do you think I grew so tall?”
Stephen considered this, his green eyes gazing into Caillen’s brown ones. “Will you give me a ride on your shoulders?” he asked politely. “Uncle Michael lets me have a ride on his, but he is not as big as you.”
“If you like,” Caillen replied, presenting his back to Stephen so that he could climb up. When he was securely settled, Caillen stood up slowly, then Stephen flicked an imaginary set of reins.
“Away!” he commanded, taking a handful of Caillen’s fair hair in each hand.
Caillen winced with pain, then laughed and obeyed, thinking that if fatherhood was anything like this, he was going to enjoy it immensely when the time came.
5
Stephen had heard about the big man long before he saw him, but he had not realized quite how huge he was until he was sitting on the floor at his feet, looking up into the eyes of a giant. However, he could tell that this was not a horrible monster of a giant, but a gentle one, and as he knelt down beside him and smiled, Stephen saw that the dark eyes were kind, and he was not afraid. Now, sitting on top of the giant’s shoulders, he felt like a king.
Erin heard Michael laugh heartily as she was standing by the window looking out at the pouring rain, and when she turned around, she immediately saw why. Stephen was perched triumphantly on Caillen’s shoulders, ruffling his corn-blond hair as if he was stroking a horse’s mane.
“Stephen!” she cried, appalled. “Get down at once!” Then she saw Caillen’s face. He was laughing, obviously enjoying himself, and she could see that he had an affinity for children, one which was shared by very few people. Stephen did not take to many people right away; in fact, he usually held back until he knew them quite well, but Caillen had captured his heart at once.
She smiled and shook her head as if to say: “Typical boy!” She went forward to take her son from Caillen’s shoulders, and her breasts touched his chest as she stretched upward. He smelled of fresh air, sandalwood oil, and his own special musk, a combination she found intoxicating. “Say thank you,” she instructed Stephen, setting him down on the floor.
“Thank you!” Stephen called gaily, laughing and jumping up and down with glee.
A thrill had gone through Caillen’s whole body as Erin touched him, and he fervently hoped that he would become accustomed to her presence because it was causing him a great deal of discomfort, even though it was of the pleasurable variety. He hoped she had not noticed since he did not want her to think he was some sort of a beast who could not control himself, even if it was partially true.
When they sat down to dine, Stephen claimed the seat next to Caillen. He was seated on top of two puffy cushions so that he could reach the table, and he began an animated conversation with his new friend at once.
“Do you like dogs?” he asked. “I love dogs.”
“Indeed I do,” Caillen replied. “I used to have a collie when I was a little boy. Her name was Daisy.”
“Do you have one now?” Stephen asked.
“Not anymore.” Caillen speared a piece of chicken. “Do you?”
“No.” Stephen shook his head sadly. “She”—he pointed to Erin—“will not let me have one.”
“Who is ‘she’?” Caillen asked sternly. “That is no way to speak to your mother.”
