Page 43 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
The man shrugged. “A man, sir. In his middle years, quite tall, muscly, gray hair.”
“What was the color of his eyes?” Michael asked. “Were you close enough to see?”
“Aye, sir,” the man replied. “Very dark brown.”
Michael dismissed the guard and read the letter again.
Dear Michael,
I have been thinking over what you said and I have decided that there is too much to be discussed to write in a letter. I will not set foot in your house again, and I do not expect you to come to me. Caillen has told me that you had a meeting place which you used to use when you were younger, so I propose to meet there, if that suits you. Please write back and give me a time that will be agreeable.
Erin
“They must think I am a complete dolt,” he said aloud, laughing. This was obviously an ambush, and Caillen had vastly underestimated his intelligence if he thought that he was going to fall for such a clumsy ruse. Then he thought of something else, and his eyes lit up. “Brilliant, Michael!” he laughed as he penned another letter.
Caillen received the letter a short while later and read it out. “He suspects an ambush,” Caillen said grimly, “and he knows that you can bring dozens of guards with you, so he warns us not to, and to come unarmed, and he says he will do the same.”
“Surely he can do what he wants with us, then?” Erin asked, frowning. “We will be helpless.”
“No, we will not,” Caillen said vehemently. “We will have a secret weapon—my father.”
Malcolm was out mending some cartwheels and was not there to listen to the conversation.
“He is an expert archer,” he went on. “Especially in the dusk. He tried to teach me, and I am passable, but I will never be as good as he is. I do not want to kill Michael, just injure him so that he will be unable to stop us from rescuing Stephen. He wants us to meet in the late afternoon just before dark so that we can still see each other.”
“Oh, God, I hope he does not break his word,” Erin said fearfully. “If anything happens to Stephen, I would rather be dead myself.”
The clearing was quiet and empty as Erin waited for Michael to arrive. Malcolm had been there for a long time, hiding in the center of some thick and impenetrable undergrowth, utterly still but alert for every whisper of the wind or rustle of the bushes.
Suddenly a familiar voice sounded in the trees behind her, and she turned to see two figures emerging from the woods.
“Mama!” Stephen called joyfully. He would have run to her, but Michael was holding Stephen’s hand in a grip so tight that the little boy could not free himself. “Let me go, Uncle Michael!” he cried. “I want to see Mama!”
“Let him go!” Erin begged. “Please, Michael.”
“Not until we talk.” His voice was menacing as he pulled out a dagger—small but wickedly sharp—from his pocket and held it up, keeping it out of Stephen’s sight. Michael’s eyes darted sideways toward the little boy. The message was clear:Do as I say, or I will kill him.
Michael put the dagger back in his pocket, near enough to his hand to grasp if he needed it; now he had shown how much of a threat he was. Looking at the terror on Erin’s face, he knew that he had her in his power.
“Do we understand each other, Erin?” he asked silkily.
Erin watched the fear dawning on Stephen’s face as he stopped struggling, then looked up, puzzled, at the man he had called his uncle. “Uncle Michael, you are hurting me!” he said plaintively.
Michael ignored him. “Erin?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“If I agree to marry you, will you let him come to me?” Erin asked desperately.
“Of course he must go to his mama!” Michael laughed at the absurdity of it, then his expression changed to one of menace. “As soon as she agrees to marry me.”
“I will marry you,” Erin said resignedly. “I have no choice, do I?”
“No, none at all.” He bent down and looked into Stephen’s face. “Would you like to see your mother now, Stephen?”
Stephen nodded his head vigorously and began to squirm out of Michael’s grasp until he opened his hand, and the little boy sprinted across the clearing and into Erin’s arms. She clasped him so tightly that he began to squirm again, laughing. “Mama, you’re hurting me!” he complained.
Erin laughed too. “I amsoglad to see you!” She pushed his hair back from his face and looked deeply into his emerald-green eyes.
Later, when Stephen was older, she would tell him the truth about his father, but not yet, not while his childhood innocence was still intact. It was unfair. She would carry on with the fiction that Michael was a generous uncle until the truth came out or he died, but she hoped Michael would die sooner rather than later.
