O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,19

her smile in Adam’s laughter.

“Ye should no’.” Jaimie leaned back against the chair, seeming to relax. “But that doesnae mean ye willnae love again.”

Apparently, he and Agata had been conspiring. Callan twitched a brow. “And how can ye be so certain?”

“Because…” Jaimie’s gaze dropped to his ruined hands, the fingers cut short at the last knuckle, thanks to the bite of the cold all those years ago. “Because I thought my life was over when I lost yer mother.”

Slowly, Callan straightened. “Because of yer hands?” he asked carefully, knowing his mother’s death had somehow maimed Jaimie.

“Nay. Aye—well, more than that.” His uncle shook his head, his attention on the hands he now curled into fists. “Because I loved her.” He slowly lifted his gaze to Callan. “I loved her, and ’twasnae until her death that I was able to see her as the self-centered, cruel bitch she was.”

His words didn’t bother Callan; he didn’t remember his mother but had heard plenty of stories of her manipulations. It was the way his uncle so casually admitted he’d loved Aileen Mackenzie, his brother’s wife.

“Ye loved her?”

Jaimie nodded. “I did, once. And I thought that was it for me until Agata came into our lives and showed me how much more I had left to give. Aileen was naught like Fia, but ye will love again.”

He’d loved Callan’s mother? The younger man shook his head, trying to make sense of the clues.

Yer father is a wonderful man.

They were speaking candidly, and Callan felt as if his world was changing around him with each breath. There was a question he needed to ask.

“Uncle Jaime…are ye my father?”

He knew he was holding his breath as the older man caught and held his gaze. Guilt and yearning warred in Jaimie’s dark eyes before he blew out a breath and looked away.

“I dinnae ken.”

The admission allowed the band around Callan’s chest to ease, and he exhaled as well. He wasn’t sure if he’d wanted confirmation his uncle—the man who’d raised him, the man he honored above all others, the man who shared his interests and sense of humor—to be his father. Or would that raise more questions?

But Jaimie, with a sigh, planted his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. When he met Callan’s eyes, his chin jutted defiantly, as if daring Callan to call him to task.

“I loved Aileen, aye, but for a long time, dinnae see her for who she really was. I never lay with her when she married my brother, but ye…” He dropped his gaze. “Ye were born no’ a full nine months after their marriage.”

I could be his son.

Silence stretched between them. After a long moment, Jaime lifted his gaze, his expression hesitant.

He was worried? Worried how Callan would take the knowledge he’d slept with Callan’s mother all those years ago?

Callan’s chest squeezed with helplessness and, shaking his head, he stepped toward the man who’d raised him. “I dinnae care,” he assured the older man. “Ye’ve been a father to me in every way that counts.”

Jaimie’s dark blue eyes—eyes which Callan claimed, and Adam as well—cleared with something like relief. He gave a quick nod, then opened his arms, the way he had when Callan had been younger.

And he might be too old for hugs these days, and unused to embraces…but Callan stepped into the circle of the older man’s arms and hugged him back.

“I love yer brothers, Callan, but nae more than ye,” Jaimie whispered against his shoulder. “Ye are my son in every way that matters.”

Smiling, Callan pounded on the older man’s back. “And ye are my father, in my heart. Agata has always been a mother to me. I’m lucky to have both of ye, nae matter what the past held.”

“Aye.” Straightening, Jaimie rested his hands on Callan’s shoulders, smiling proudly. “And the future is all that matters anymore. So”—he gave Callan a little shake—“go. Go celebrate the Yule with yer clan. Relax today.”

Callan’s brow twitched. “And ye?”

“Bah! Ye ken I dinnae like the cold. I’ll finish up these contracts and then join yer aunt and the bairns in front of the hearth.”

Nodding, Callan strode for the door. But before he stepped out, he turned to his uncle once more. “Thank ye.”

“For handling the contracts?” Jaimie quipped as he slid into the seat behind the desk. “Or for finally confessing my deepest, darkest secret?”

Callan’s lips twitched. “For both. And for yer words.” The lesson.

Jaimie nodded as if understanding. “Aye. The future is