bed. “I won’t let them hurt my ma!”
“Of course not.” She hugged him fiercely. “And I won’t let anything happen to you.”
That’s how he knew she was leaving them, him and Deian. All day she’d been playing with names for the lad and stories for him to use when people asked where the boy came from. She claimed she’d stay behind and keep the horses, in case the men who attacked had reached towns, would recognize their lost horses.
“I want to ride Snip,” Deian argued, only she didn’t call him Deian any more, she called him Eban.
“Snip?” she’d asked.
“Aye. The horse I ride because he’s got a snip of white on his muzzle,” he’d told her.
“It’s a good name.” She’d praised him, was always praising him and hugging him. And he’d caught her watching him, too, as if he might disappear, when he knew who it was who would be gone. She’d been working up to the moment they reached a village or town.
Padraig didn’t like playing games. Didn’t like pretending something that wasn’t true. But if Seonaid’s plan was to be played, the name Eban made sense in an odd sort of way.
Back at Glen Toric, Deian and Deidre’s little Eba had been inseparable. If a body called for Eba, they would be calling for Deian. Just as a mother would mix up her own kinders, when people would shout for Eba half the time they meant Deian, and the reverse. Or they’d start with one name and change it mid-shout and end up yelling Deba or Eban.
He’d argued the idea anyway, because the plan worried him.
“How will I explain traveling with a child?” he’d asked her.
“You found travelers who were sick and dying and you took their son, to save him.”
“They’ll think he carries the illness.”
“He’s your long-lost son.”
Padraig refused to respond to that one. Plenty of men risked leaving bastards across the highlands. He was not that kind of man.
“He’s the son of a lass you loved and lost to a horrible accident.”
He snorted. “The whole clan would know of that.”
“Then what would you suggest?”
“Nothing. I don’t have to answer to anyone.”
“They’ll ask.”
“No. Never.”
Seonaid insisted, leaning close enough to the truth to make it easy. Young Deian—or Eban, as he was to be called—was found wandering alone in the wild. He’d been traveling with his mother, who was trying to get to her sister, and he’d gotten lost.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like what Seonaid was thinking. Every night he fretted she’d not be there in the morning. He was that afraid she would take off and leave.
Now certain of it, in the way she clung to the lad, as if the last time she would ever see him, Padraig knew she planned this night to be their good-bye.
If she had her way. Only she wouldn’t have her way. He’d not let that happen.
Still, for tonight, he’d let her think whatever she wanted to. Let her believe she’d never see him again so he could prove she couldn’t do it.
It would be that good between them. He had no doubts.
Light of foot, he headed for the high ground, a large slab of rock that overlooked where young Deian lay. Seonaid would curl up with the lad, then come to him when it was her turn to take the watch.
He’d best get ready. It took careful planning for a man to win a woman.
CHAPTER 7 ~ SEDUCTION
“Yow!”
Seonaid sat up, bow in hand, only to see Padraig hopping about, nursing his finger.
“What did you do?” She scrambled to her knees.
“Burnt my finger!” His sour look at a steaming pot of water explained where the damage was done.
“Bring it here,” Seonaid ordered, but he jutted his chin toward Deian and she realized they risked waking the lad. Reluctantly, she rose, crossed to him, a stern mother, badgered into caring for an injured child.
Only something in his eyes, a glint, the lazy way his lids dropped halfway, as though to hide something, held her gaze to his. It didn’t even slip when she reached him and
“Of course not.” She hugged him fiercely. “And I won’t let anything happen to you.”
That’s how he knew she was leaving them, him and Deian. All day she’d been playing with names for the lad and stories for him to use when people asked where the boy came from. She claimed she’d stay behind and keep the horses, in case the men who attacked had reached towns, would recognize their lost horses.
“I want to ride Snip,” Deian argued, only she didn’t call him Deian any more, she called him Eban.
“Snip?” she’d asked.
“Aye. The horse I ride because he’s got a snip of white on his muzzle,” he’d told her.
“It’s a good name.” She’d praised him, was always praising him and hugging him. And he’d caught her watching him, too, as if he might disappear, when he knew who it was who would be gone. She’d been working up to the moment they reached a village or town.
Padraig didn’t like playing games. Didn’t like pretending something that wasn’t true. But if Seonaid’s plan was to be played, the name Eban made sense in an odd sort of way.
Back at Glen Toric, Deian and Deidre’s little Eba had been inseparable. If a body called for Eba, they would be calling for Deian. Just as a mother would mix up her own kinders, when people would shout for Eba half the time they meant Deian, and the reverse. Or they’d start with one name and change it mid-shout and end up yelling Deba or Eban.
He’d argued the idea anyway, because the plan worried him.
“How will I explain traveling with a child?” he’d asked her.
“You found travelers who were sick and dying and you took their son, to save him.”
“They’ll think he carries the illness.”
“He’s your long-lost son.”
Padraig refused to respond to that one. Plenty of men risked leaving bastards across the highlands. He was not that kind of man.
“He’s the son of a lass you loved and lost to a horrible accident.”
He snorted. “The whole clan would know of that.”
“Then what would you suggest?”
“Nothing. I don’t have to answer to anyone.”
“They’ll ask.”
“No. Never.”
Seonaid insisted, leaning close enough to the truth to make it easy. Young Deian—or Eban, as he was to be called—was found wandering alone in the wild. He’d been traveling with his mother, who was trying to get to her sister, and he’d gotten lost.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like what Seonaid was thinking. Every night he fretted she’d not be there in the morning. He was that afraid she would take off and leave.
Now certain of it, in the way she clung to the lad, as if the last time she would ever see him, Padraig knew she planned this night to be their good-bye.
If she had her way. Only she wouldn’t have her way. He’d not let that happen.
Still, for tonight, he’d let her think whatever she wanted to. Let her believe she’d never see him again so he could prove she couldn’t do it.
It would be that good between them. He had no doubts.
Light of foot, he headed for the high ground, a large slab of rock that overlooked where young Deian lay. Seonaid would curl up with the lad, then come to him when it was her turn to take the watch.
He’d best get ready. It took careful planning for a man to win a woman.
CHAPTER 7 ~ SEDUCTION
“Yow!”
Seonaid sat up, bow in hand, only to see Padraig hopping about, nursing his finger.
“What did you do?” She scrambled to her knees.
“Burnt my finger!” His sour look at a steaming pot of water explained where the damage was done.
“Bring it here,” Seonaid ordered, but he jutted his chin toward Deian and she realized they risked waking the lad. Reluctantly, she rose, crossed to him, a stern mother, badgered into caring for an injured child.
Only something in his eyes, a glint, the lazy way his lids dropped halfway, as though to hide something, held her gaze to his. It didn’t even slip when she reached him and
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