Page 25 of Wolf Heir
“She had a roll in the hay with a stable hand, then she claimed Rupert was Hamish’s. But I had witnessed her entering the barn, and, curious, I peeked in to see what they were doing. I caught them in the act, but they never saw me. They were too busy…well, you know. Hamish never realized the lie, though he’d been away at the time, battling another clan.”
“Och, then Coinneach is the legitimate heir.”
“Coinneach is a farm boy. Naught more. You dinna know the danger ahead for the three of us, maybe even Tamhas and his parents if…if Morag learns that Coinneach is Hamish’s son and believes they know of it.”
“Except for you, no one could prove he is Hamish’s son,” Aisling said morosely. Rupert had tried to kiss her repeatedly, and she’d fought off his advances. She’d gotten a black eye from him the last time for denying him. She would love to see Coinneach put him in his place.
“Morag has too much to lose if Hamish learns of it,” her mother said. “She willna let that happen.”
Aisling was glad her mother told her what it was all about, but she was torn about telling Coinneach. How would he feel if he learned Aisling had known the truth and hadn’t shared it with him? Mates couldn’t keep secrets from each other, not of that magnitude.
Morag should be found guilty of what she had done. Aisling just hoped her mother wouldn’t have to pay for her part in the crime.
“What about Rupert? Does he know who his true da is? Wait, does Morag even love Hamish? Does she love Rupert’s da?”
“If you look at Rupert and his dad, you can see the similarities. They both have finer features, red hair, the samelong faces, and green eyes. I’ve never seen them together so I don’t know if Rupert knows who his da is.”
“Coinneach looks like Hamish,” Aisling suddenly said.
“Aye, though unless anyone made the connection, they would think he was only a crofter. I’ve seen Morag speaking to Osmond. I’m sure others have seen them together. I dinna know if they are still lovers. But I dinna think she and Hamish love each other like he loved Orla.”
Which made it even more terrible that Hamish hadn’t had his son to raise after his mate had died.
“I canna force you no’ to talk to Coinneach about any of this, but the more who know about it, the more dangerous it is for all of us. I know you plan to see Coinneach. Just take care of what you say. I must return to the castle.” Then her mother hugged her.
Aisling lingered in her mother's arms, her grip tightening as if to shield Aisling from some unseen threat. When they finally broke apart, her mother hurried down the path through the meadow without a backward glance.
A knot formed in Aisling's stomach at the thought of meeting Coinneach—whose mere mention usually quickened her pulse.
As she approached the croft, she spotted him crossing the meadow with his familiar smile. Her chest tightened. She inhaled sharply, blinked back tears, and broke into a run toward him.
6
Coinneach couldn’t wait to see Aisling. He hoped that her talk with her mother had resolved the issues of him mating Aisling. He wanted to be hopeful, but hope had always felt slippery to him, something best left to children and fools.
When he saw Aisling heading through the heather, her red hair flying behind her, making her appear like one of the fae folk, he rushed to join her. He caught her in the middle of the path, the two of them surrounded by a sea of bracken and blooming heather, pockets of purple and gold trembling under a skittish wind. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her mouth.
She gripped the back of his neck as if she meant to anchor herself to him forever. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair catching the fading, golden lights of day. She smelled of the earth, the woods, and the sweet fragrance of heather, the scent he loved on her.
He could see instantly that she’d been crying, but she met his gaze squarely, her lips parted in a way that spoke of wild, reckless longing.
He was desperate to ask her about her mother, desperate to know if everything had changed or if everything was all right. At that moment, the only truth he could bear was the taste of her breath and the urgent, shuddering way she pressed herself against him. But when she pulled her soft mouth from his and licked her lips, he could see tears welling up in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” He just couldn’t believe anything could be so bad.
She held onto him tight, resting her head against his chest, not letting go, not talking either.
“Do you want to visit the waterfall?”
She nodded, and he took hold of her hand, and they walked, arms tangled, to the mouth of the burn where the water ran fast and noisy, shielding them from the rest of the world. She perched on a flat stone, her skirts pulled tight around her knees, and he knelt before her, heart thundering. The silence between them was thick, textured by anticipation and dread.
Coinneach watched her, trying to read the future in the tilt of her chin, the tremble of her fingers. Behind her, the waterfall poured over the cliff in a deluge of water, as if waiting for the verdict. He didn’t want to force her to tell him what she had learned. Maybe her mother hadn’t even told her anything, just put her off like she had done so many times before.
Still, he couldn’t quit thinking about it. “Is it really bad?”
Aisling nodded, which didn’t reassure him. The birds were chirping in the trees, fluttering from one branch to another, a rabbit bounded off in the bracken, the forest alive.
He took hold of her hand and caressed it gently. “Whatever you say willna affect how I feel about you.”
