He smiled slowly. “You’re certain.”
She nodded gravely. “I didn’t particularly want to say anything to anyone else here—I didn’t want to encourage anyone in the belief that there would be more Douglases, since it’s dangerous enough around here not being an actual target.”
“My love, that makes good sense. But you can share the secret with me.”
She smiled. “I’ve done so. Are you happy?”
“Well, other than the fact that we are surrounded by danger, my brother is in grave difficulty, and my world in America is falling apart—yes. I am blissful.”
“Oh, Hawk.”
“I am blissful,” he said softly. “For the core of my world is you. And now, you and our babe.”
When David returnedto the castle, he went straight to the great hall, heedless now of who might come upon him.
David, Laird Douglas, was back. He had learned what he could in disguise and as a dead man.
And now, it was time to take his rightful place. And to deal with those who had deceived him.
Shawna…
He poured a large tumbler of whiskey from a tray on the long table, then stood before the fire.
Shawna.
He slammed a fist against the stone of the mantel, seeking to rid himself of the visions of her face that plagued him. Her eyes, blue in the extreme, her hair, silken skeins of blue-black, entangling him, when he knew far better than to seek her, then to want her. Have her.
And every time he left her, he wanted her more.
He had believed her. He had believed her! But the fear inside him allowed him to doubt her. Damn Fergus Anderson!
He trembled, thinking of the boy. He had a son. Daniel. The boy was brave, resilient, intelligent. A handsome child. With the very strange Douglas hairline…
And his mother’s eyes. And hair.
He’d believed in her again tonight. Her shock at being told that Danny was hers had seemed so very real. She had passed out quite cold. She had been deadweight in his arms.
Had she deceived him again? Even now, he didn’t want to believe it. But Fergus, at sword’s point, had spoken desperately. Shawna’s maid had brought him the child, and according to Fergus, Shawna was the one who wanted the secret kept.
He inhaled deeply. He’d certainly not take Fergus Anderson’s word over Shawna’s. And come the morning, he meant to have a very long talk with Mary Jane.
Yet, still, perhaps…
God, he was tired.
And he had learned through great torment that love could weaken a man and make him vulnerable.
Even if he were to trust Shawna completely, she was still dragging him down dangerously every time he tried to find the truth. She kept trying to protect the MacGinnis family. He had to be firm with Shawna, cold if need be. Her loyalty to others could be their very death now. It was her maid—who had been with her and the MacGinnis clan for years—who had brought the child to Fergus. God! Shawna gave him so little of her faith, yet…
He was in love with sky blue eyes, silken hair, and a lithe form that awakened and renewed him, with a voice that was soft and sensual, stroking him like the gentle touch of a finger, with a promise…yet he could never quite capture the truth. It evaded him like a dark, winding trail.
She hadn’t told him about having the bairn. If she had done so, he could rid himself of the doubts that tormented him now.
He heard a slight sound behind him and spun around, ready to draw a sword or pistol at a second’s notice.
Alistair, tall, head high, a handsome young man. He was dressed in his own tartan, a variation of the Douglas pattern and colors, since the MacGinnises of Craig Rock were considered a Douglas of Craig Rock sept.
“Alistair,” he said warily.