In Scot Water - Caroline Lee Page 0,20

belonged.

The chickens began clucking now, the sounds a reminder of a childhood he’d rather forget.

Above him, he watched the water streaming in through a break in the thatch, down a beam, and across the floor. Over the night, he’d come up with a half dozen solutions to that leak, but none of them had distracted him from where his mind kept returning; the little mewls of pleasure she’d made as she came apart in his arms.

Mayhap because he was thinking of exactly that, but when he heard a little noise from her half of the home, Malcolm jerked upright in time to see her climbing softly down the ramp-ladder she’d fashioned.

When her toes squished into the muddy floor, he winced for her. She turned and met his eyes, and there was a moment when…something passed between them. Something soft, and promising, and mayhap funny?

But then she flushed and looked away, heading for the door. She grabbed a short length of plaid which hung from a peg, pulled it over her head, and slipped outside to take care of her morning ablutions.

Sighing, Malcolm pushed himself to his feet and took care of his own ablutions. He was tending to the animals—funny how easy it came back to him, caring for chickens—when she returned and blew on the coals to start the fire again.

As she was mixing morning porridge, Liam woke, and the bairn wasn’t too long after that. The morning was…chaotic. Chaotic, but nice. He enjoyed watching her work, seeing the patient way she handled Liam’s questions.

She was just ladling porridge into bowls—there didn’t appear to be any honey or nuts to sweeten the meal—when wee Tomas’s babbles turned to cries.

Evelinde blew out an exasperated breath and glanced at the hanging basket. “One moment, honeybun. I’ll be done soon.”

“Mama, I’m honeybun! Ye have to come up with something else to call him.”

Malcolm didn’t quite hear her response because he was already headed for the bairn’s basket.

In his life, he’d had few opportunities to hold babes. But this lad would be his son, if he had his way.

So, taking a deep breath, Malcolm slid his hands under the bairn’s arms and lifted.

Tomas immediately stopped his impatient fussing and stared at Malcolm with serious eyes. He had his mother’s hair color, the same as Liam: a black, so dark, it reminded Malcolm of the ink of the squid. But whereas Liam had his mother’s bright green eyes, Tomas’s were a blue that were almost gray.

The same color Malcolm saw when he looked into his twin’s identical eyes.

The same color as his own.

“Good morning, wee one,” he whispered, knowing he had the lad’s attention.

Tomas’s study immediately turned to delight, and his face broke into a gummy grin. He had a dimple on one cheek, which Malcolm knew would be more pronounced the chubbier the wee lad got.

When Tomas—and his brother and mother—were settled in Oliphant Castle, Malcolm vowed they’d never want for food or treats again. This lad would grow into the plumpest little lad the castle had ever seen.

St. Thomas kens I was never chubby.

He settled the bairn against his shoulder and turned to find the lad’s mother staring at him, the spoon she held dripping porridge into the bowl, while Liam chattered away in the background. Her eyes were wide, but as they dropped to the bairn who was now twisting around to see her, her expression softened.

It was as if…as if she liked the way he looked, carrying her son.

The moment passed when Liam asked another question, so Malcolm slid into the chair he’d occupied yesterday. When Evelinde placed a bowl in front of him and reached for her son, he reluctantly relinquished the lad.

But when Tomas craned his head over his mother’s shoulder as she carried him over to the bed to change his nappy, it seemed as though he were looking for Malcolm, and the man smiled.

“Well, what shall we do today, Liam?” he asked, dragging the lad’s attention from his bowl of porridge.

“I can show ye my toys! Or we can take the cow out to the pasture. Mama says as long as it’s no’ thundering, and I strip bare, and Nanny doesnae mind going with me, I can go outside!”

“Well, that’s a blessing, I suppose.” Malcolm didn’t wrinkle his nose at the porridge, but it was far blander than Cook made, thanks to the lack of frivolities. “Will I have to strip bare too, if I want to go outside?”

For a moment, he thought Liam had fallen