Page 33 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
Caillen took the letter and shoved it in his jacket pocket. “I do not believe you will kill him.” Caillen retrieved a little of his former defiance. “Not Erin’s child. Not—” He stopped speaking as Michael clamped a hand over his mouth.
Caillen shook his hand away, stood up, and hauled Michael out of his chair by the front of his shirt, then swiped his bunched fist into the point of Michael’s jaw. He would have fallen, but Caillen held him upright, glaring at him with unadulterated hatred. However, just as Caillen was drawing his arm back for another punch, one of Michael’s guards came forward to rescue him.
The man had been acting as just another drinker in the bar, but now he caught Caillen’s arm, then twisted it behind his back while another hefty man caught Michael as he fell and lowered him to the floor. Caillen yelled with pain as his limb was pushed further and further toward his shoulder, but the guard’s grip was so strong that even Caillen could not break it.
Another man, who was also dressed as a customer at the bar, flexed his arm preparatory to striking Caillen, but Michael moaned and said something that he could not hear. The man listened, then nodded and stood up and faced Caillen, smiling with unholy relish as he spoke to his fellow guards.
“Right, lads,” he announced, “the boss said hit him as hard as ye like, but dinnae break anythin’ an’ dinnae touch his pretty face.” He patted Caillen’s cheek. “Pity. It could dae wi’ a bit o’ roughin’ up. The lassies like a couple o’ scars on a fellow’s face.” He smiled, then, without warning, he drove his fist into Caillen’s stomach.
His breath was driven out of his mouth in a great gush, and pain erupted from his stomach as the guard’s fist landed on it and drove him back to land on his backside on the hard wooden floor. He skidded backward and landed at the feet of yet another guard, who dragged him upright and drove his knee into his private parts. Caillen heard a scream as a blast of excruciating pain exploded all over him again; then, just before blackness descended, he realized the sound was coming from him.
“Dae ye think he’s had enough?” one of the guards asked as he looked down at Caillen’s unconscious form. “He’s no’ deid, is he?”
“No, you dunderheid,” the other man growled. “Just passed oot.”
Having recovered from his daze, Michael stood over Caillen and looked down at him. “Good job, boys,” he said approvingly. “But I think he’s had enough now.” He aimed a careless kick at Caillen’s side, then left, still wobbling unsteadily.
Caillen woke up on the doorstep of the tavern, his face pressed against its cold hard stone, and groaned. Every part of his body, from his ribs down to his thighs, throbbed in agony, and it took him a long time to stand upright. When he finally managed to stagger to his feet, walking was an almighty effort, and it took him five attempts before he managed to mount his horse.
It was evening before Caillen finally reached the castle. When he saw it in the distance, he shook himself out of his half-dazed state and sat straight up in the saddle so that he looked presentable when he entered. If anyone noticed that he looked disheveled and dirty, no one said anything since he often helped the farmers and had often looked much worse.
Caillen reasoned that it was too late for Erin to still be in her study, but he felt that the letter he carried was too important to wait until morning, so he knocked on the door. He was surprised when he heard Erin’s voice bidding him enter. Clenching his aching stomach muscles against the pain of his injuries, he went in and found Erin sitting behind her desk writing.
“You look tired,” he observed.
“Thank you.” She put down her quill and looked at him with concern. “And you look dreadful. What happened to you?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he replied dismissively. “I met Michael; he sent me back with a letter.”
Erin snatched the letter from him and slit the seal open, then began to read it. “He says he will be back in a few days, and he will be bringing Stephen with him.” Her face broke into a wide smile. “He says that he is very happy and has so many new friends he is hardly missing home at all. Then he goes on to tell me about Stephen’s new puppy, who is called Joey.” She frowned. “Now he has changed the subject. He has asked me not to marry Laird Logan Grieve under any circumstances. No, wait. He has not asked me. He hasorderedme not to do so!” She paused and turned to face Caillen, her expression outraged. “How dare he tell me what to do?” She looked at the letter again. “He has changed his tone. Now he is not demanding. He is begging. Why? Do you know, Caillen?”
Caillen shook his head, and the pain of lying was even worse than that of his injuries. “No, Erin. He did not share the letter with me.”
Erin sat down again, leaned her elbows on the desk, and put her chin on her hands while she read the letter again as if by doing so, it might say something else or reveal information it had not done at first.
“I do not know why he is so insistent on this point,” Erin mused. “Laird Grieve seems to be a good man. I have heard nothing about him that tells me otherwise.”
“Perhaps you should listen to him when he arrives here,” Caillen suggested. “Then you can discuss it properly.” He could not suppress a wince as his stomach gave him a sharp twinge of pain.
“Are you all right?” Erin asked anxiously. “You look dreadful.”
Caillen nodded, smiling ruefully. “Yes, I just ate something that disagreed with me and washed it down with too much ale!” He sighed. “I must rest my weary bones. Goodnight, Erin.”
“Goodnight.” She watched him as he left, trying to fight down the longing inside her.
15
It was a few days later, and the need to see Stephen had become an almost physical ache, like a pain in Erin’s chest. She desperately wanted to feel his little arms around her neck and hear him giggling as he jumped on her bed to wake her up in the morning. She even wanted to hear him crying when Betty scolded him for being naughty. She missed everything about him.
Caillen noticed the sinking in her mood and tried to cheer her up as best he could by taking her on visits to the most cheerful of her tenants, but nothing ever worked. He thought that perhaps seeing some other children might lift her spirits a little. One day, he managed to drag her outside and take her on a visit to the McPhersons, a family of eight, consisting of three girls and five boys, with another on the way.
It was a sparkling, sunny day, the kind not often seen in Scotland, and the ground was hoary with the first frost of winter. Erin was not inclined to talk, so they rode most of the way in silence, but it was suddenly broken when they came in sight of the McPherson’s little cottage.
“Milady! Master Johnstone! What a nice surprise!” Catriona McPherson, her belly enormously swollen with their ninth child, came out to greet them. Her face showed genuine pleasure, but Sam, her sixth child, who was the same age as Stephen, only made Erin miss her son more as he capered about, his antics reminding her so much of his.
“Good morning, Mistress McPherson,” Caillen greeted her as he scissor-jumped off his horse. “How are you?”
“Tired, sir, but a’ the better for seein’ a strappin’ handsome lad like yerself,” she replied, winking at him.
