Page 42 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
When he finally stopped speaking, Malcolm considered all he had heard and looked at his son squarely in the eye. “Ask whatever ye want o’ me an’ it is yers, Cal. I was unjust tae ye in the past, an’ it is time tae make amends. I should have let ye learn tae read. I should have seen how clever ye were. This is a’ my fault.”
“No! It is not, Da,” Caillen said firmly. “But we can argue over it another time. Will ye help us tae get Stephen back?”
Malcolm nodded. “I meant what I said, Cal,” he answered, his voice gritty and purposeful. “Of course I will.”
Erin jumped up and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Master Johnstone! Thank you!” she cried.
“It is a long time since I had a lovely lady huggin’ me!” He laughed as Erin kissed his weatherbeaten cheek. “Come, you two. We cannae think on an empty stomach.”
They ate a simple meal of haggis, soup, and bread. It was the first solid food Erin had been able to keep down for days, and she enjoyed it, then felt guilty for doing so. How could she enjoy anything when her son was being held hostage?
When their meal was finished, they had worked out a plan to rescue Stephen, and as Caillen looked at his father, he realized that Malcolm was looking forward to the mission. He had not seen his father for a long time, but he was still the strong, solid man he had always been. Moreover, judging by the determined look in his eyes, his temper was still as likely to flare up like tinder to a flame. If anyone could get the job done, it was Malcolm Johnstone.
19
“Iam afraid I cannot stay awake a moment longer,” Erin said wearily, as she yawned and stretched, and Caillen felt himself stiffen as he watched her. No matter what Erin did or did not do, she brought out the animal in him.
“Then it is time ye slept, lass,” Malcolm said kindly. “Ye deserve it after a’ ye have been through.” He unfolded a straw pallet and laid it on the floor beside the fireplace, then threw a linen sheet and two woolen blankets over it. “It will no’ be what ye are used tae, but it is the best I can dae. I hope ye will be warm enough.” He looked doubtful.
“If I am cold, I have a warm cloak,” she assured him, smiling. She took his hands in hers. “Thank you, Master Johnstone. You are so kind. I will repay you somehow.”
He shook his head as he looked at her. “No need for that, mistress. An’ call me Malky.”
“I am Erin.” She kissed his cheek softly. “Goodnight, and sleep well.” She lay down on the bed and was asleep in moments. Erin had to rest. She simply could not worry anymore; her mind was incapable of it. She did not dream, or stir, or worry. Her body had reached its limit.
A few moments later, Caillen went to put a log on the fire, stopping to look down at her. Erin’s chestnut hair was spread on the pillow like an unfurled flag in the breeze, and her dark eyelashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks. Her cheekbones were more hollow than they had been because she had been unable to eat much for the last few days and was losing weight, but she was as lovely as ever.
“Ye are worried about her,” Malcolm observed.
Caillen nodded sadly. “She has been through an ordeal she doesnae deserve, Da,” he sighed. “And any man that can rip a wee boy fae his mother like that doesnae deserve tae live.”
“Ye love her.” Malcolm’s words were simple. Indeed, he was a simple man, but the truth was written plainly all over his son’s face.
“With all my heart,” Caillen replied tenderly as he bent down to plant a soft kiss on Erin’s forehead. She stirred slightly and smiled in her sleep, and Caillen stood up. “I have never before met anyone wi’ such strength o’ character.”
“I felt like that about yer mother, God rest her soul,” Malcolm said, sighing. “Ye only get a great love once, Son. Guard it wi’ yer life.”
“I intend tae, an’ that is why I need yer help. How is yer aim these days?” Caillen sat down in a chair beside the fire and stretched his legs out. “I remember ye used tae be the best bowman fae here tae Glasgow.”
“Pfft! I wouldnae go that far!” Malcolm laughed. “I am a bit out o’ practice.”
“Can ye still shoot fae the back o’ a horse?” Caillen asked, his eyebrows raised. This was one feat for which Malcolm was famous.
His father frowned. “I dinnae know. It has been a long time since I tried.”
Father and son gazed at each other for a moment. For the first time in a long while, Malcolm began to feel excited. Perhaps he could be more than a farmer. Perhaps he could even be a savior.
They talked well into the night, reliving old memories and talking about Caillen’s mother, who had died when he was ten years old. Gradually, Caillen began to doze.
“Time tae rest, Son,” Malcolm told him. “Ye will need yer wits about ye tomorrow.” Then he swept a glance over his sleepy son from the top of his head to his muddy boots. “How did ye get sae tall, Cal?”
Caillen put a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Fae lookin’ up tae ye, Da,” he answered, smiling as he hugged his father.
Michael was incandescent with rage when he discovered that Erin and Caillen had escaped. He interviewed all the kitchen staff and all the guards, but although he had an idea who was responsible for the deed, he could prove nothing. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time before she made a mistake, and he brought her little empire crashing to the ground.
The letter arrived on Michael’s desk around midmorning, and when he slit open the seal, he saw that it was written in Erin’s handwriting. He scanned it once, then smiled.
“Who brought this?” he asked the guard. “Describe him to me.”
