was near sleeping anyhow.
Laying them both on the large bed, she focused on changing the bairn’s nappy. At least here she didn’t have to worry about his nappies drying in time. Goodness, there was probably someone who did the washing for Malcolm here!
He was still holding Liam when he turned for the door. “I’ll get Liam settled in the nursery, then come back for—”
“What?” She whirled around, one hand on Tomas’s stomach, afraid he might roll off when her back was turned. “Ye’re taking him away from me?”
“Nay, Evie,” Malcolm said in a calm voice. “The lads will stay in the nursery, which is right—”
“I dinnae care where ‘tis!” And she couldn’t seem to help the fact that her voice had risen to a frantic pitch. “They’re staying with me!”
He frowned, and in his arms, Liam stirred. “I’m no’ trying to take them from ye.”
“If ye think I’m letting my babies away from my sight any moment longer than necessary, ye’re mistaken.”
Cocking his head to one side, Malcolm studied her. “Do ye no’ trust me?”
Damnation, she did trust him! Or at least, she had trusted him…before he’d lied to her.
“They’re staying with me,” she repeated mulishly. “They belong with me.”
“Ye belong with me.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned back to the bairn, so Malcolm wouldn’t see her cry. “ ’Tis yer chamber.”
He didn’t reply, but while she tucked Tomas into his basket—and what would Malcolm’s family say if they knew her son slept in a basket? One she’d made herself?—she heard him murmuring softly to Liam. Was he telling the lad his evening story? Mayhap ‘twas for the best, with the way she was feeling.
After Tomas was asleep, she saw Malcolm had made up a pallet for Liam under one of the windows. The rushes and blankets he’d piled up would likely be the most comfortable mattress Liam had ever slept on, truthfully.
Stepping away from the boy, Malcolm nodded to her, and she hurried across the room to kneel beside her son.
“Goodnight, honeybun. I love ye.”
“Is this where I’ll be sleeping, Mama?” he whispered in a tired voice.
“I dinnae ken.” She wanted her sons near her, but if there was space for them to have their own room, was she being selfish, trying to keep them near? “But we’ll worry about that tomorrow.
“I trust Malcolm.” Her son’s declaration was interrupted by a yawn. “He’ll take care of us, Mama.”
She leaned down and brushed a kiss across her son’s forehead. “I hope ye’re right, honeybun.”
“I am. Love ye, Mama.”
“I love ye too,” she murmured, as she pushed herself to her feet.
Across the room, Malcolm was settling Tomas’s basket atop one of the trunks. She took a deep breath, then moved toward him.
They met in the middle, beside the bed.
“What is this really about?” Malcolm asked in a low voice. “Are we all just over-tired from the journey?”
Tired? More like exhausted.
But Evelinde gathered her anger about her like a cloak and stuck out her chin. “Yer father is laird, Malcolm!”
“Aye?”
“Well, ye might’ve mentioned something so important! I thought ye a simple man!”
Despite knowing she needed to keep her voice low, she heard it turning shrill. Malcolm, on the other hand, kept his tone quiet when he patted the air in front of him.
“I am a simple man, Evie. And I did tell ye—”
“Nay!” She tried to get her breathing—and her volume—under control. “Ye told me ye found yer father’s family, and ye hinted that he was wealthy. Ye said ye had access to the castle library, and that yer brother trained Oliphant warriors. Ye never said ‘twas because ye lived in the castle, or because yer brother was the Oliphant commander! Ye never said, ‘Evelinde, I am the laird’s son’!’ ”
His gaze flicked over her shoulder to Liam’s pallet, but she didn’t turn. Instead, she planted her fists on her hips and glared at him.
“Mayhap I didnae.” He shrugged. “But does it matter?”
Did it matter!
“I thought mayhap ye were a merchant’s son, or even the seneschal’s, since ye had access to the castle. But the laird’s son?” She waved one hand around the chamber. “This is finer than anything I could imagine, Malcolm! We were standing in mud a sennight ago before ye fixed the roof!” She pressed her fingertips into her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “Ye’re a laird’s son, and I’m— I’m naught.”
“Dinnae ever say that in front of our sons.”
The anger in his voice—closer than she expected—had her opening her eyes to find him standing in