Page 17 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
“I remember what I was like at that age, believe it or not,” Michael said, chuckling. “I would have missed my mother for the first day, but faced with playmates and puppies, I would have been too busy. Erin, do you not need time to learn the ways of the estate? The fewer distractions you have, the better.”
“My son is not a distraction!” she snapped. “But I will ask him if he would like to go. If he says no, he stays here.”
“Agreed.” Michael nodded, smiling.
When they asked Stephen if he wanted to go to Edinburgh, he demurred for a while. “Are you coming, Mama?” he asked, frowning.
“No, Son, I have to stay here,” she replied. “But you do not have to go if you do not want to.”
He looked doubtful for a moment, then he brightened. “Will I meet my cousins?” he asked, with a flicker of a smile on his face.
“Indeed you will,” Michael answered. “And my sister, Morag, who bakes the best shortbread and tablet in Scotland!”
“Tablet? Yum!” Stephen began to jump up and down in glee. Very few children—or indeed adults—could resist the hard powdery fudge, a sweet beloved by every Scot.
“Oh, and did I mention the puppies?” Michael asked, smiling mischievously.
Stephen flung himself into Michael’s lap, whooping with joy. “Puppies?”
“Spotty ones,” Michael added, laughing. “Seven of them.”
“I want to see the puppies!” Stephen said gleefully. “When can we go, Uncle Michael?”
“In a few days,” Michael answered, grinning. “We have to pack.”
“I am going to tell Betty,” Stephen said joyfully, before squirming off of Michael’s lap. He ran off, whooping, down the passage to his bedroom.
“Be good,”Erin instructed as she hugged her son before helping him into the carriage. “And do not eat too much tablet, or your teeth will rot! Are you sure you want to go?” She looked at him hopefully, willing him to change his mind. It would be the first time she had been parted from him.
“Aye, Mama.” Stephen took her face in his little hands and smiled at her. “Do not cry. I will be having so much fun!”
“I will miss you.” Erin sniffed and wiped her damp eyes with a linen handkerchief.
Just then, Michael appeared at her side and hugged her tightly. “Time to go,” he said, smiling.
“Look after him,” Erin begged. “He is so precious to me.”
Just then, a deep voice called Stephen’s name, and they looked around to see Caillen running toward them, his powerful legs eating up the ground. He skidded to a halt beside the carriage and held up the little wooden sword. “You forgot this, Sir Stephen!”
“Thank you, Uncle Cal.” He held up the toy sword and smiled at him. “Can you not come with us?”
“I am afraid I have too much work to do,” Caillen replied regretfully. “But I will be here when you get back, and you can tell me all your adventures.” He waved and smiled, then walked away, leaving Erin to have the last few moments with her son.
“Goodbye,” she whispered as she kissed Stephen. “Look after him, Michael.”
“I will,” he answered. “Goodbye, Erin.”
A moment later, they were gone.
8
The day after Stephen and Michael left, Caillen felt quite bereft; the little boy had become a big part of his life, and already he missed his playfulness and cheerful chatter. It was the second time he had considered what fatherhood might be like, which felt very strange.
There was one more thing on his mind, however—the encounter with Erin. Dammit, what had he been thinking? The answer, of course, was that he had not been thinking at all…at least, not with his head. Had he been superstitious, he might have thought that Erin had bewitched him, but he knew that what had happened was something much deeper and more primitive. It was the primal need a man and woman had to procreate, the urge that drove all their actions. However, that need could never be fulfilled with Erin. He had to put things right.
Accordingly, he went down to the laird’s office, gave a perfunctory knock, and went in.
Erin was standing by the window as she so often did, thinking about Caillen, when, as if she had conjured him up, he appeared and stood in the doorway, his bulk almost filling it.
