for Adam was naught like the way he cared for Fia. But he’d loved Adam from the moment they’d learned Fia was carrying him…whereas it had taken longer for his love for her to grow.
But this wasn’t answering his question. “My father?”
Agata’s gaze dropped to the sleeping bairn on his chest. “Ye ken I never loved David Mackenzie.”
That wasn’t what he’d asked. Callan’s heart was still thumping away, tight and questioning, as his stomach twisted.
For the first time ever, there in the dim light of a winter evening, he had the courage to ask the question he’d always wondered.
“Agata, was David my father?”
It wasn’t until—after an interminable length of time—she lifted her eyes to his that Callan realized he was holding his breath.
But she didn’t answer him. Instead, she stood, stepped over to the pair of them, and leaned down. She brushed a kiss across his forehead. “Ye should get this laddie to bed. The celebrations start tomorrow, after all.”
His free hand flashed out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. “Agata, answer me.”
She smiled sadly and shook her head. “I cannae. ’Tis a conversation ye and yer father must have.”
He studied her expression, this woman who’d raised him as her own. Would it matter finding out the previous Laird Mackenzie—harsh, cruel, and heavy-handed—hadn’t been his real father? Would it really change anything?
Aye, whispered a small voice in the back of his head. Because it would mean that Jaimie might be yer da.
And that would be a blessing.
So, he slowly exhaled and loosened his grip on her wrist. “Tomorrow, then,” he said with a nod. “And that’s the Mackenzie speaking.”
In other words, Uncle Jaimie would answer his questions.
Agata nodded and offered him another gentle smile. “In the meantime, think about my words, Callan. About the nature of love.” She briefly rested her hand on Adam’s curls. “Ye have so much love to offer, and I’ll no’ see ye lock yer heart away. No’ when there’s so much love in the world, waiting for ye.”
With those parting words, she nodded and slipped from the chamber.
Waiting for ye.
Love waiting for ye.
The refrain echoed in his mind, alternating with Yer father is a wonderful man, as Callan tucked Adam into his bed in the lad’s chamber beside his various cousins. The words swirled around him as he prepared himself for bed, and when he settled into the big bed he’d once shared with Fia, he stacked his hands behind his head and stared up into the darkness.
Love is waiting for ye.
The logical part of him knew Agata was right. He’d seen enough grief and heartache, even in his short time as laird, to understand that the world moved on, for all but the dead. The living were forced to mourn…and then get on with living.
Is that what Agata meant? By clinging to Fia’s memory, Callan hadn’t gotten on with the living again yet? Here ’twas, Yuletime, and he was surrounded by family, determined to bring him joy. And he was still mourning.
Nay. Nay, mourning for a wife not yet dead a year was no sin. ’Twas natural.
But…
Love is waiting for ye.
Was it possible that, somewhere out there, there was another woman whom he might one day love? One who would love him in return?
He missed the touch of a woman, the feel of a woman in his arms at night. He missed sinking himself into her softness, knowing she was his, and hearing her call his name in passion. He missed the sweet smiles and knowing glances, and the quiet discussions, late at night.
But more than that, he missed knowing he was loved.
Love is waiting for ye.
He’d never forget Fia, aye. But mayhap…mayhap Agata was right about this at least.
He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming.
At the beginning, he dreamed about Fia quite often, but over the last year, those dreams had mellowed. Now, when he saw her in his dreams, his joy was tinted by the knowledge she was gone. So seeing her in his dreams was bittersweet.
But now…
He was alone, almost. Standing on a dark plain, knee-high mist stretching in all directions. When he turned, searching for something, he kicked it up, causing the mist to swirl. The blackness stretched overhead but seemed to blend in with the mist in the distance.
There was no noise, but something caused him to whirl about. That’s when he saw her.
He was certain it was Fia, but not like he’d seen her before. Before, she’d appeared as the wife he remembered. Now, she was different.
For