Page 40 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
Stephen sensed that something was amiss, and scrambled up onto Erin’s lap again, suddenly wary of Michael, but a moment later, Michael opened his arms and said: “Come. It is time we all ate together.”
Stephen ate almost his entire meal sitting in Erin’s arms, as if afraid he would be taken away. She fed him from her own plate since she could barely eat anything anyway, but halfway through the meal, he fell asleep, unable to keep his eyes open.
“Where is his bed?” Erin asked, smiling down at her son fondly. “I will carry him.”
“I will do it.” Michael’s voice was a growl as he gave Erin a threatening look and reached to take Stephen from her lap.
She tried to hold on to him. “He is my son!” she cried.
“He is mine too,” Michael hissed, giving her an evil, triumphant smile.
Erin flushed with anger. That was undeniable, the one thing she could not argue about. Stephen was his son, but thank God there seemed to be nothing of his father in his tender nature at all.
Erin tried to hold on to the little boy, but Michael was too strong, and she did not want to wake Stephen, so she let him go, but when she stood up to follow him, Michael rounded on her angrily.
“Stay here!” he ordered. He nodded to one of his manservants, who opened the door and closed it behind Michael, then stood in front of it.
He was a big man, and Caillen could have overpowered him, but there were other servants and guards to consider.
He went over to her and took her hands in his. “There are no dungeons here,” he whispered. “We will find a way out. I promise.”
Erin nodded. She was weeping once again; these days, it seemed that she never stopped. They sat for a while, waiting, before Michael came back, looking very pleased with himself.
“He is asleep,” he announced.
“What are you going to do with us?” Erin asked fearfully.
“You may stay here until you decide to be sensible,” Michael answered.
Erin was just about to deliver a stinging retort but Caillen squeezed her hand, and she closed her mouth.
“You will be very comfortable, I promise,” Michael told them with an oily smile. He nodded to the manservant, who led them outside and along a passageway.
Caillen knew where they were going. Michael had obviously forgotten that Caillen knew every inch of his house. They were heading toward the kitchens, the beating heart of the house. It was surrounded by storerooms and cupboards containing all the foodstuffs, linen, tableware, and every other item necessary for the household’s maintenance.
It was also the place from which the housekeeper ruled the house with an iron fist, but the fist had one soft spot.
“Watch,” Caillen whispered to Erin. “I think I have found Michael’s weak spot.”
They walked into the kitchen itself, and there was an immediate flutter as kitchen maids and cooks abandoned what they were doing to surround Caillen, giggling and flirting. They reminded Erin of magpies, and she might have laughed too had the situation not been so dire.
“Master Johnstone!” The housekeeper, Mistress Ballantyne, came sailing out of her little office to meet him, a beatific smile on her usually stern face. “What brings ye here?” She studiously ignored Erin, as did everyone else.
“Keep walkin’!” the manservant said from behind him. “Break it up, lassies!”
Mistress Ballantyne’s face turned to stone as she rounded on him. “Shut up, ye!” she commanded. “If ye are wantin’ yer wee secret kept.”
The man backed down at once, his face flaming.
Caillen turned a puzzled glance on the housekeeper. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I know everybody’s business,” she replied grimly as she led them into her office and closed the door firmly. “An’ nobody knows mine. There is one thing I can dae an’ that is keep a secret, but dinnae cross me. I have always liked ye, Master Johnstone, an’ if Master Oliphaunt is givin’ ye grief, tell me, an’ I will see what I can dae.”
Once more, Caillen explained the situation, and if it were possible, Mistress Ballantyne’s expression grew even grimmer.
“So ye need tae escape?” she asked. She thought for a moment. “No promises, Master Johnstone, but I will dae my best. I will find out where they are keepin’ ye. But there is nothin’ I can dae about the child, Master Johnstone. That part o’ the house where the bairns sleep is too well guarded. I am sorry.”
“If you can help us, that is wonderful, Mistress Ballantyne,” Caillen said, giving the housekeeper the smile that made women fall at his feet. “And I will see that you are well rewarded.”
