Page 62 of The Laird's Secret Bairn

Skye was grateful for the distraction, but she couldn’t calm her racing heart. Every time she looked up from her meal and locked eyes with Dougal, she remembered the way he had pressed her against the wall, his body hard against hers, his breath hot against her ear. She pushed her food around her plate, painfully aware of every look he sent her way.

Lily chattered about the goat’s latest mischief—they still hadn’t thought of a proper name for him—and Kenna laughed at the appropriate times. Skye merely nodded along. If she were asked about what Lily had spoken about, she didn’t think she would be able to answer.

It was certainly going to be a long meal.

22

Dougal was going mad, his thoughts consumed by Skye. Never did a moment pass by that he didn’t think of her. The way she laughed, the way she smiled, the way she cared for Lily as if she were her own.

Right after that dinner where he nearly broke her rule, he ducked outside to train. He needed to work off his frustration, and what better way than to fight?

The distraction was exactly what he needed. He didn’t hear Stephen approaching or calling out to him. He was far too focused on swinging his sword as he sparred against one of the younger guards.

Stephen drew to a stop two feet away, and one look at his face was enough to make Dougal lower his sword mid-swing. It was rare for his man-at-arms to look so rattled, for he usually remained calm even through the most dire of situations.

Dougal dismissed the guard with a wave and set his sword against the fence.

“Ye’ve a look about ye,” he noted. “What is it?”

“Angus Lawson.” Stephen kept his voice low, glancing over his shoulder as though the man himself might be lurking behind the stable wall. “He’s here, me Laird. Rode in nae ten minutes past with a handful of guards.”

Dougal’s blood ran cold.

“Here? At the gates?”

Elsie’s father had always been a thorn in his side. The man blamed him for Elsie’s death, refusing to believe anything except the rumors that persisted around her disappearance after the fire.

It would have been easy to end the rumors, but doing so would mean tarnishing Elsie’s memory and risk putting Lily in danger.

Angus could never know about her existence, or else he would never stop pursuing her because of her connection to him. Only God knew what he would do once he had the girl in his clutches. He might kill her if it meant not bringing shame to Elsie’s memory. This was exactly why he had been against letting Lily out too often. It put her at risk.

“Aye, he is at the gates,” Stephen confirmed with a wince. “I thought ye ought to ken right away, given the circumstances.”

“Why is he here? Why now, Stephen? It’s been seven years.”

Something had changed, and Dougal had a feeling that it had to do with Lily.

“He said it was about the child and that he means to speak with ye, and willnae leave until he does.” Stephen hesitated, and that told Dougal more than the words themselves. “He’s got a look about him, Dougal. The kind of look a man gets when he’s finally found something he’s been hunting for a long while.”

“He found out about Lily.” Dougal hated saying it out loud. It made it too real.

The question was who had told him. Had he hired the wrong people? He made sure to be careful, but it seemed he had made a mistake along the way that cost him his daughter’s safety, the very thing that mattered to him most.

“Dougal—” Stephen started to say but Dougal cut him off.

“Damn it all.” Dougal dragged a hand down his face, the mask shifting slightly beneath his palm. “Seven years, Stephen. Seven years of silence, and now this. I had begun to believe that he might have left us alone for good.”

“I thought death would take him,” Stephen muttered.

“Death couldnae be bothered, apparently.”

Stephen said nothing, which was answer enough.

“Where is he?”

“The gates. I told him to wait.” He fell into step beside Dougal as he started walking, sword still in hand. “Dougal…”

“What?”