In Scot Water - Caroline Lee Page 0,58
rocking back on his heels and slapping his belly with a huge smile. “ ’Tis a priest’s job to care for his flock physically, as well as spiritually. Of course, I dinnae exactly have a flock anymore, do I? Since my dau— Since Evie married and moved off, I’ve been more of a traveling, rambling priest.”
The laird hummed thoughtfully and glanced between Evelinde and Ambrose. She wondered if he saw the man’s green eyes and made the connection. Slowly, his craggy face split into a grin.
“Well, Father Ambrose,” he said suddenly, slapping the priest on the shoulder, “how would ye like to consider a more permanent position here? The Oliphants have recently lost our priest, who was a bloody pain in the arse, if ye’ll pardon my French, Aunt Agatha.”
“ ’Twasnae French, nephew.”
Evelinde, however, was breathless. “Ye’re offering my— I mean, ye’re offering Father Ambrose a place here in Oliphant Castle, milord?”
The Oliphant grinned. “Or in the village nearby. What do ye say, Father? Will ye consider caring for Oliphant souls and social hygiene— Whatever ‘twas ye said?”
Beaming, Ambrose looked between the three of them, then glanced over his shoulder at Malcolm and Liam. With a sudden burst of laughter, he slung his arm around William Oliphant’s shoulders.
“Well, what can I say? The laird works in mysterious ways!”
Both men laughed at that, and Agatha joined in.
“Come along, then. Let’s discuss this over a flagon of my favorite ale!” the laird declared.
The three of them shuffled off toward the keep, leaving Evelinde standing in the courtyard, staring at her husband and son.
She took a step forward, and Malcolm did the same, tugging Liam along. It almost broke her heart to see her bairn hesitate with her, so she wrapped her arms around her middle and pressed her lips tightly closed.
Malcolm stopped in front of her, then glanced down at Liam. The boy looked up at him, as if he had all the answers.
They trust one another.
She wanted that. She wanted to go through life knowing she could trust these two—and Tomas—and they could trust her.
But still, she said nothing, and Malcolm jerked his chin toward her.
“Liam, is there something ye’d like to say to yer mother?”
The lad stepped forward, his gaze now on her knees. “I’m sorry, Mama, for running away.”
Her arms ached to hold him, but she forced herself not to reach for him. As great as her worry had been, ‘twas obvious he and Malcolm had chatted, and he needed to understand how worried she’d been.
“I was afraid, Liam,” she said quietly. “I was afraid ye’d been hurt.”
His little toe scuffed the drying mud of the courtyard. “I ken. Da explained it to me. I shouldnae have worried ye.”
Da?
Her gaze jerked up to meet Malcolm’s.
There was pride in those blue-gray eyes.
She held Malcolm’s gaze, joy and relief and surprise battling within her. “Yer—yer Da is correct, Liam. A gentleman must think of others, as well as himself.”
Liam blew out a breath. “Being a gentleman is hard sometimes.”
When she dropped to her knees in front of her son, she was smiling through her tears. “Aye, ‘tis. But with yer Da and me here to guide ye, it should get easier.”
“Mayhap. Can I hug ye now?”
All she had to do was open her arms, and her son threw himself into them. She couldn’t contain the little sob of joy, which escaped her at the feel of his little arms around her neck, and she closed her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder and inhaled his sticky-sweet scent.
“I love ye, Liam.”
“I love ye too, Mama,” he muttered against her.
After a long moment, he squirmed and she loosened her hold. To her surprise, Malcolm was crouching in front of them, and as Liam straightened, he threw one of his arms around the man’s shoulder. Now Liam was holding on to both of them, and it felt…right.
As if they were a little island of calm in a crazy world.
As if they were safe.
“Mama, Da says he’s sorry he made ye mad.”
She raised her brow, and Malcolm smiled ruefully as he reached out and took her free hand.
“Our son is right, Evie. I should never had made that clot-heided plan, and I am sorry for it.”
“Nay,” she quickly corrected him. “The plan was logical and well thought out. ‘Tis no’ what ye should be sorry for.”
She’d surprised him, judging from the way his eyes opened wider. Without making him ask, she continued.
“What ye should be sorry for, is no’ telling me about it