The Striker Read online

  The thought that her son might think less of her was something she couldn’t bear.

  Eoin was a few steps ahead of them, presumably to give his parents a quick warning, but it proved unnecessary. Lady Rignach’s gaze seemed to find hers instantly. Beneath the surprise, Margaret would have sworn she saw what looked like relief before the other woman’s eyes shifted down to the side. Her face lost every trace of color, and she might have slid to the ground had her husband not caught her by the arm.

  The proud chief looked almost as shaken when he realized why his wife had almost swooned.

  Eachann was not a timid boy, but when the two imposing figures stared at him as if he were a strange creature from a menagerie, he drew in tight against her.

  Lady Rignach’s fingers went to her lips. The dark eyes that turned back to Eoin were shimmering with tears. “My God, he looks just like you. I’d feared . . .”

  Her voice dropped off.

  Margaret stiffened, realizing what she’d feared: that the boy wasn’t his.

  But a few moments later, she wondered if she’d been mistaken. The gaze that met hers now wasn’t filled with derision or animosity but with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing him here. After what happened, I feared nothing could make you come back.”

  Margaret would have thought Lady Rignach would consider that a good thing, if she hadn’t been looking at her with such obvious relief.

  Feeling as if she’d just stepped into some kind of faerie hole, Margaret didn’t know what to say. But with her hand losing feeling from being squeezed so tight and the small body pressing against her side in danger of giving her bruises, she shook off the disquiet. “Eachann.” She drew the boy forward. “These are your grandparents, Lady Rignach and Laird Gillemore, Chief of MacLean.”

  Eachann, looking very serious, gave them a short, formal bow, murmuring that he was glad to meet them.

  Lady Rignach looked at the boy with such longing Margaret thought she might try to pull him into her arms.

  Apparently, Eoin thought so as well. To save the boy from being more overwhelmed than he already was, Eoin stepped in front of him. “Should we go inside? It has been a long journey, and we are all tired.”

  “Of course,” the laird said. “Your mother will have some rooms prepared.”

  “Room,” Eoin said firmly. “My wife and I will share my chamber, and my son will sleep in the antechamber.” If there was any doubt about her place, there wasn’t any longer. Even Margaret was surprised by the leave-no-room-for-objection tone.

  She quirked a brow, but his only reply was a forbidding frown, which she assumed was his way of telling her to behave.

  Trying not to laugh, she followed Eoin and his parents into the Great Hall. Not much had changed in the years since she’d been here last. The room could have rivaled one at any royal palace. Fine tapestries hung on the freshly limed walls, colorful cloths covered the rows of trestle tables, and the table on the raised dais was adorned with heavily embossed silver candelabrum and other rich plate.

  As it was late afternoon and the midday meal had already been completed, the Hall was relatively quiet. They hadn’t been expected, so a feast had not been prepared, but Lady Rignach promised that would be rectified on the morrow. The clansmen would be eager to meet the laird’s grandson. His first grandchild, Margaret realized. Apparently, Marjory had yet to have a child. Sensing the subject was a painful one, she did not ask any more questions.

  From the little Eoin had told her about his sister and foster brother, Fin had made his peace with Bruce and was now serving as the laird’s henchman. He and Marjory would live in a new tower being added to the castle, but for now were residing in a house in the village.

  Margaret admitted she’d wanted to turn back when Eoin had told her of his presence on the isle that first night of their journey, but pride had prevented her. She would not let Fin drive her away. She might not be as convinced as Eoin that Fin had changed, but she was willing to try to put the past in the past.

  Though she was just grateful not to have to do so right now. There were only a few clansmen gathered in the Hall, and Fin was not among them.

  Without thinking, Margaret almost took a seat at the table just below the hie burde—the high table—where she’d so often sat with Tilda (who had married and moved away a few years ago). But Eoin drew her forward to the place where his mother was waiting at the dais. She sat between Eoin and Eachann as they took their seats on the end of the long bench. Lady Rignach looked like she was contemplating squeezing in beside them, but the laird steered her to the middle of the table.

  Eoin and his father filled most of the conversation, as they enjoyed a light meal of roasted fowl and mutton, cheese, and bread. Eachann was very subdued, although he did revive a bit when a few pies and cakes were brought out for him to sample.

  Margaret was laughing to herself as she noticed how he and Eoin chose the exact same plum pie and spiced cake, when she looked up and caught her mother-in-law’s teary but also amused gaze. Clearly, she’d noticed it as well, and for the first time the two women who couldn’t have been more different shared a moment of understanding.

  Margaret didn’t know what to think. She’d expected politeness from Eoin’s proud mother, but this seemed to be something more. Was she perhaps not the only one trying to put the past in the past?

  It seemed so. Before they retired to their chamber, Lady Rignach pulled Margaret aside.

  “I owe you an apology,” the older woman said. Though over six years had passed since Margaret had seen her, Lady Rignach had not changed much. She was still an attractive woman, though she must be a few years past fifty.

  Margaret was too taken aback to respond.

  “You were my son’s wife, and I should have made you feel welcome. I should have made you feel as if you could come to me with whatever problems you were having with Finlaeie.” Her face hardened with distaste. “I knew something was wrong. I should have never let Marjory marry him, but she was so sure he loved her.” She gave a shake as if she’d said too much and met Margaret’s gaze again. “My deepest regret is that you felt your only choice was to leave. I . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was a fool and listened to gossip. You were right, I should have trusted my son’s judgment.” Her gaze drifted over to where Eachann stood with Eoin and the longing there was almost palpable. “It nearly cost me my son and my grandson.”

  Apparently Eoin had held his mother partially responsible for Margaret’s leaving.

  Seeing the proud lady humbled might have once been satisfying, but Eoin’s mother wasn’t the only one haunted by regret. Margaret, too, had made her share of mistakes. She hadn’t known how to relate to the great lady any better than Lady Rignach had known how to relate to the wild, backward girl she’d been. Margaret had stormed in here paying no heed to rules or customs. She’d done what she wanted without any thought for how that would reflect on her husband or his family.

  She doubted they could ever be friends, but perhaps they could learn to accept one another. Besides, they had two important people in common: Eoin and Eachann.

  “That was a long time ago,” Margaret said. “We both did things we regret, but as we cannot change them, perhaps we could try to start anew?”

  “I should like that,” Lady Rignach said solemnly.

  “Mother,” Eoin said with an unmistakable note of warning in his voice. “Is there a problem?”

  Margaret hadn’t realized he’d come up behind her. For such a large man, he moved like a cat. It was a little disconcerting.

  Before Lady Rignach could reply, Margaret put her hand on his arm reassuringly. “Everything is fine.” She did not need him to rescue her, although she appreciated the effort. “I was just going to ask your mother if she would like to go with me and Eachann to Oban on Monday. I should like him to meet the nuns at the convent.”

  “I could take you,” Eoin said, perhaps anticipating his mother’s objection.

  But Lady Rignach was