On a Cold

Winter Night

By Stephanie Sterling

For my horrible little brother. I love you, Ryan!

-S.

On a Cold Winter Night

Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie Sterling.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

On a Cold Winter Night

Muira MacRae shifted in her chair. She tried to find a position that at least bordered on being comfortable.  Perhaps she should get up and take a walk around the room?  She dismissed this notion almost as soon as it occurred to her.  The last time that Muira begged Maisie and Thomas to help pull her out of her chair, her two eldest children had been so overenthusiastic in their endeavor that she had almost tumbled onto the floor.

Muira would not normally mind such exuberant spirits or their consequences, but given her delicate condition, she was very wary of being dragged about like a sack of potatoes.  She rested a hand on her hugely swollen belly, and fanned herself with her free palm.  Surely, the baby would be coming soon.  She thought to herself, with desperation that almost bordered on hysterics.

“Duncan, darling?” Muira said, speaking to the towheaded four-year-old boy who sat at her feet playing with toy soldiers.  “Would you be a dear and push the window open a little bit more for your poor mama?  It’s so hot in here!”

Duncan wrinkled his nose and scowled.  He shared a glance with his elder sister, who was also sitting in the room. The blonde haired, blue-eyed angel was perched on a nearby chair. She was working diligently on a sampler, but her mother’s request caught her attention.  Maisie and Duncan both wore extra layers to ward off the bitter December chill.  Muira caught her daughter’s glance and blushed slightly.

“I could go and fetch a cold drink for you instead mama,” Maisie offered. She jumped to her feet, eager to help.  “Cook has ice now,” she smiled, wonderfully impressed by the novelty.

“Oh Maisie, there’s no need-” Muira began kindly, but her daughter had already skipped off to the kitchens.

“Ma, Maisie shouldn’t run around doing servant’s work should she?” Duncan demanded, looking faintly disgusted.

Muira laughed softly.  Her daughter had been especially helpful over the past week or so. Rather than suppose this was due to her own heavily pregnant, condition, Muira thought it had more to do with the fact that her father had promised them all presents for Christmas if they would start behaving themselves.  They had been terrors recently.  Maisie had taken the challenge to heart more readily than either of her brothers, something that Muira found perversely amusing.  Frankly, out of all of his children, Maisie was the one that Lachlan MacRae was most likely to spoil – whether she deserved it or not.

A dreamy smile blossomed on Muira’s lips as she thought of her husband.  He was away from the castle now, but due to return the next day. He should be home just in time for Christmas.  Muira sighed wistfully, and wished she were in a better state to welcome him home.

Of course, it was her inability to resist the lure of welcoming her husband home that had placed Muira in her current, ripe, situation.  Their rapidly expanding family was the talk of the clan.

Muira could not contain a wistful sigh.  Her unorthodox marriage had turned out to be so much better than even her most fanciful girlhood dreams.  She had a husband that she loved and who loved her back, three children that she adored, and a fourth about to make its appearance in the world.  All she wanted was for this little one to be as healthy as its brothers and sister, and Muira felt that her life would be nearly perfect.

“Are you thinking about the baby again?” Duncan asked suddenly. Her son’s voice was sullen. It dragged Muira out of her musings.

“What makes you ask that, darling?”

“You had that funny look on your face again,” Duncan muttered, picking up two of his solders and making them fight.

Muira’s brow furrowed.  She looked down at her youngest son anxiously.  He had been a little bit out of sorts lately, but Muira had put that down to nothing more overexcitement. Winter in Scotland was long and deep. She could scarcely fault a child’s giddy anticipation of the upcoming holiday festivities.  Thomas could be the same. Her oldest son’s moods went up and down like a ship at sea in a storm when he was wound up about something. Duncan didn’t seem to have many “up” days lately though.

“Duncan, is something wrong?” she asked softly, trying to shuffle around so that she could look at him better.  He shook his blonde head decidedly.  “Are you sure?” Muira pressed.  “You don’t seem very happy, dearest.  Are you sure that there isn’t something bothering you?”

“I’m sure!” Duncan grunted.  He turned his attention back to his soldiers, but they did not seem to interest him quite as much as before.

“Are you missing your Papa?” Muira suggested, shuffling to the edge of her chair awkwardly.

“No!” Duncan blurted. A fierce scowl marred his face.

Just then, Maisie reappeared with a glass of something that looked deliciously cold.  This was, apparently, the last straw for Duncan.  He sprung up onto his feet and glared at his sister.

“Why did you have to come back?” he demanded.  “Mama and me were fine on our own!”

Maisie gaped at him.

“Duncan MacRae!  You apologize to your sister this minute!” Muira demanded, almost as shocked as her daughter by this outburst.

“No!  I won’t!” Duncan screamed.  He gave his sister a hard push. It almost sent her sprawling onto the floor, and it did knock the glass from her hands. He paused to frown at his handiwork and then darted out of the room.

..ooOOoo..

This time tomorrow, he would already be home. Laird Lachlan, high chief of Clan MacRae considered this happy thought, as he urged his mount on towards Eilean Donan castle. Lachlan hated leaving his family, and he particularly hated leaving his wife in her current condition, but being the Laird had its disadvantages. Sometimes his duty to the clan unavoidably called him away.

A tender expression settled across his handsome features when he considered his wife’s current condition.  He wondered if Providence would bless them with a boy or a girl this time.  Lachlan honestly wasn’t partial. All he really wanted was a healthy baby, and a healthy mother.  He hated the lurking fear that accompanied each one of Muira’s pregnancies.  It wasn’t fair that she had to risk her own life to bring their children into the world.

“Sir?”

Lachlan glanced over his shoulder at his captain.  He nodded for the man to continue speaking. Hamish looked exhausted and in danger of falling out of his saddle.  Lachlan’s lips twitched into a smug grin. Well past forty, he still cut an impressive figure. His dark hair was flecked with gray, but his tan body was still taut and muscled. His chiseled features betrayed no sign of fatigue. It felt good to be in better condition than the young soldiers chasing on his heels.

“We’ll be stopping overnight at the next village,” Lachlan informed his subordinate.  The young captain couldn’t hide his relief at the news. Personally, Lachlan would have preferred to ride on through the night and reach Eilean Donan the next morning, but supposed he couldn’t justify that to his men.

One more day. He comforted himself with the notion. One more day until Muira was back in his arms.

..ooOOoo..

Little Duncan MacRae was found, a couple of hours after he had run away from his mother and sister, by one of his older cousins.  Colin, the son of one of Lachlan’s sisters, found his younger cousin hiding in one of the attic rooms of the castle.  It was dusty and deserted. The MacRae boys often came up here to play when the weather was too bad to permit them to venture out of doors.  None of the adults ever went there, which was an added bonus for the children.  It was there secret little realm.

“Aunt Muira’s got half the castle looking for you,” Colin told Duncan matter-of-factly.

“Don’t care,” Duncan muttered.

Colin shrugged his shoulders carelessly.  “Thomas told me that he’d already looked for you up here, but I thought he might have missed you.”

“I hid from him,” Duncan confessed.  He scowled down at his clenched fists.  “I didn’t want him to find me.  He would make me go back and say sorry to Maisie and Mama… I’m not sorry!”

“You’re not?” Colin seemed to find this amusing.  He sat down beside his cousin.  “Well, maybe you won’t have to say so anyway,” he said thoughtfully. A mischievous gleam flickered in his eyes.  “If you can just hide until the new baby comes, then everyone will be far too busy to think about you and making you apologize to your sister.”

“That’s not true!” Duncan shouted, but he looked uncertain.  “My mama and father love me!  They won’t ever be too busy for me!”

Colin stared at Duncan in the vaguely patronizing manner of an older child.  “Well, of course they love you,” he said easily.  “But love is like a cake, isn’t it?  There’s only so much to go around, right?”  Colin waited for Duncan to nod his head before continuing.  “So, the more people that there are in a family, the smaller everyone’s slices are going to be.  Makes sense, see?”

Duncan stared at his cousin.  A horrified expression was now dancing across his face.  “You- you mean they won’t love me as much once the new baby’s here?” he asked, shakily.

“Right,” Colin smiled.  “That’s what happened to Maisie when Thomas was born, and what happened to both of them when you were born. Now it is just going to happen all over again when Aunt Muira has her next baby.  It’s only natural,” he said in a terribly cheerful tone.

“But- but I don’t want Mama and father to love me less than they do now!” Duncan wailed.  He was already feeling apprehensive about getting a little baby brother or sister. He liked being the youngest. He had never imagined that things were going to get this bad.  “I don’t want to share them,” he sniffed.

“You already share them with Maisie and Thomas,” Colin pointed out brightly.  “Just think how poor Maisie must feel.  She used to have them all to herself before you and your brother came along. Now she’s going to have to share them with three of you!”

“She must hate us,” Duncan sniffled miserably.

“Oh, don’t be such a goose!” Colin laughed.  “Of course she doesn’t hate you!  Now, are you going to come down and see poor Aunt or do I have to drag you back downstairs?”

“I don’t want to go downstairs,” Duncan muttered unhappily.  “I want to stay here.”

“Well, you can’t,” Colin argued, sounding a little exasperated.  “Come on, Duncan,” he said bracingly.  “What would your father say if he knew that you were up here hiding like a girl? You’re lucky Uncle Lachlan is away from home.  Now come on and come downstairs!”

Sighing heavily, Duncan struggled to his feet.  He still didn’t want to go back down into the castle and face everyone, but what Colin had said about his father really hurt.  Duncan worshiped the ground his father walked on, and even the suggestion of the thought that he might have disappointed him in some way was horrifying.

“All right, I’m coming,” he mumbled.

Colin jumped to his feet and gave his little cousin a bracing clap on the back.  “There’s a good lad, Duncan, I knew you’d see sense,” he said, pushing the younger boy ahead of him as they descending from the dusty attic into the main body of the castle.

Duncan’s brother, Thomas, was the first person that they saw when they got back downstairs. Duncan flinched when he saw the stern look on his big brother’s green eyes.  Thomas however, showed a cleverness of mind in excess to his seven years. He held his tongue and simply took Duncan by the hand.

“I’ll take him to see Mama,” Thomas told his cousin firmly.  The other little boy gave Thomas a sulky look, but he did not argue.

“Thomas,” Duncan whispered quietly, once they were alone.  “Thomas, Colin said that-”

“Shhh! You don’t want to go listening to what cousin Colin says, Duncan,” Thomas said decisively.  “You know that he’s always spinning tales!”  Duncan did know that, but it didn’t make him feel any better about what he had heard in the attic.

“But he said-!”

“Look, Mama’s in her room here,” Thomas interrupted, giving his brother a nudge towards the door to their mother’s room.  “You go in and say you’re sorry and make her stop crying.”

“She’s crying?” Duncan whimpered.  His little face turned pale and his eyes become huge.  “Why?”

“Because she was worried about you, silly!” Thomas snapped.  “Now go and say sorry and maybe you’ll still get some supper.”

Duncan pushed open the door and crept into the cozy, feminine room.  His mother looked around and let out a cry of relief when she saw her errant son.  Her face was red and flushed from crying.  Duncan’s unhappiness redoubled.

“Oh, Duncan!” Muira exclaimed, holding out her arms. She tried to rise, but couldn’t get out of her chair.  “Come here, darling, and give your mama a hug!”

Duncan hesitated for a moment, but then he bounded across the room. He jumped into his mother’s arms as well as he was able - which given her current size, wasn’t really all that well.

“I’m sorry I made you cry, Mama,” he said, in a small, sad voice.  His arms wound around his mother’s knees, and he held her tightly.

Muira stroked his soft blonde hair.  “It’s all right now, darling,” she said softly.  “I was just so worried about you.  What’s the matter?  Can’t you tell your mama?”

Duncan sniffed, trying to hold back his tears.  “I was- I was just angry with Maisie,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders, and kicking at the floor with his toe.  He was refusing to meet his mother’s gaze, so Muira hooked a finger under her son’s chin and coaxed him to look back up at her.

“Were you?  But why?”

Duncan just sighed and turned away. Unconsciously, his finger played with one of the springy red curls that fell around his mother’s shoulders. He refused to answer her. After a long pause, he simply shrugged and looked around at the room.  Muira chewed her bottom lip fretfully.  She wished that Lachlan were home. She felt so much more competent when he was near.

“Duncan, you’re not worried about the new baby, are you?” Muira asked her son carefully.

“No!” he said, but his answer was so fast and so vehement that it did not set Muira’s mind at ease.

“Darling, you know that your father and I will always-”

“Am I allowed to have anything for supper, Mama?” Duncan interrupted, catching his mother by surprise.

“Why- of course you are, Duncan.  I’ll have some broth sent up from the kitchens for you,” she said slowly.  A small smile peeped out across the little boy’s lips when he realized that he was not going to have to go to bed hungry.  It vanished however, when he heard what his mother had to say next.  “I’ll ring for your supper, Duncan, but you must go and say that you’re sorry to Maisie.”

“Oh, Ma!”

“Come along, Duncan. It’s not like you to behave like this,” Muira said gently. She struggled for a moment but finally managed to ease herself out of the chair.  She caught hold of her son’s hand before he had a chance to flee.  “We’ll go and find Maisie together, and then we’ll go and see about getting you something to eat.”

Duncan grumbled, but submitted.  He trailed in his mother’s wake as she waddled down the castle corridors to the nursery.  They found Maisie sitting on her bed, playing with a couple of very well loved dolls.  Duncan offered her an apology, after prompting from his mother, which his sister very prettily accepted.  She even went on to ask him if he wanted to join her tea party.  Duncan made a disgusted face, and Muira couldn’t suppress a giggle.

“I’m afraid your brothers just don’t appreciate a well planned tea party like we girls do, Maisie,” she laughed.

Maisie nodded her head, sighed, and looked dreadfully hard done by.  She eyed her mother’s swollen belly wistfully.  “I do hope you have a little girl next, mama,” she said longingly.

Muira smiled, and stroked her daughter’s head tenderly.  “Well, we won’t have very much longer to wait and see,” she said softly.  “I hope!” she then added with feeling, unaware that Duncan’s face had fallen again.

..ooOOoo..

After she had seen to it that Duncan had eaten something to fill his belly, Muira put all of her children to bed.  Maisie and Thomas made their usual protest against turning in so early, but Duncan was unusually quiet and docile.  Muira was beginning to worry about her little boy.  He was normally so bright and bubbly.  She stole many a glance at him as she told her children a bedtime story, before then coaxing them to say their prayers.  She kissed each of them as she tucked them in, and then slipped towards the door, as quietly and gracefully as she could manage in her current condition.

“Goodnight, darlings,” Muira whispered from the doorway.

“G’night, Mama,” Maisie and Thomas answered in a sleepy chorus.  Muira didn’t hear a peep out of Duncan though.

“Duncan?” she frowned.

“Goodnight, mother,” he muttered, sounding as though he was wide-awake.  Muira chewed her bottom lip anxiously.  Should she go back and speak to him now?  She was torn.  Her little boy was obviously upset, but her feet and back ached, she was exhausted, and any attempt at talking now would disturb everyone else.

“Goodnight, Duncan,” Muira whispered, feeling wretchedly guilty as she pulled the door to.  She left it just slightly ajar, so that the children got a little light from the corridor.  Maisie was a little bit afraid of the dark, although she always swore that she wasn’t in front of her brothers.

Muira struggled back to the rooms that she usually shared with her husband.  She perked up a little when she remembered again that Lachlan would be home the next day.  He would know exactly what to do about Duncan.  He always knew what to do about everything.  It was a somewhat irritating, if incredibly useful, trait of his.

Contenting herself with the knowledge that things would be better when her husband returned, Muira allowed her mind to wander over what else it meant to her that Lachlan was coming home.  She felt even larger than when he had left. She knew that Lachlan had seen her pregnant before, three times in fact, Muira thought with a blush, and it had never stopped him loving her before, but it still didn’t stop her from worrying that it might.

Silly woman… Muira could hear Lachlan’s voice so very clearly in her head that it made her smile, but her smile was somewhat bittersweet.

Oh, fair enough, she knew that he loved her, but did he still desire her?  Her current condition would appear to prove that he did, or had at any rate, but Muira was well aware that she was not precisely the young, toned girl that he had married.  How could a man possibly continue to lust after a body that had born him four children?  Muira asked herself this question miserably.  It made her sick to think that he might, even now be spending the night in the arms of another woman!  Muira knew that she wasn’t being fair to Lachlan, but she was feeling so- so pregnant and irrational!

She called a maid to help her undress for bed, and studiously avoided glancing at her reflection in the long mirror that stood in the corner of the room.  Muira promised herself that she would take up walking or riding as soon as the baby was born, forgetting that she made herself the same promise before each of her children’s births, and always failed to follow through. The only strenuous activity that Muira partook of would no doubt result in her being with child again.

..ooOOoo..

After eating his fill of the simple rustic meal provided by the wife of the innkeeper at the Black Bear Inn, Lachlan trudged wearily up the rickety wooden stairs to bed.  He bitterly regretted that he had not been able to persuade the men to ride through the night. He could have simply given an order, but he didn’t have the heart to do it.  Of course, he still would have loved to arrive at Eilean Donan several hours earlier than expected and surprise his little family.

A smile tugged at Lachlan’s lips as he thought about Muira and their children.  He wanted to be with them so badly.  Lachlan had never thought that he would become so sentimentally attached to his wife, or the children that she bore him, but he was the most doting husband and father that he knew.  Grinning a little sheepishly, he threw himself down onto the hard bed that he would rest on tonight.

One more night.

..ooOOoo..

Muira did not sleep well that night.  She always found it difficult to sleep when Lachlan was away. The bed they shared felt huge and lonely when he was gone. Muira’s size and condition made it even harder than usual to drift off into dreams.  Those were the reasons that Muira thought she was kept awake, but when the next morning came, she wasn’t sure that she hadn’t been troubled by a mother’s intuition.

“Mama!  Mama!  Mama wake up!”

Muira eyes opened instantly when two little bodies flung themselves onto her bed. Not content with this intrusion, Maisie and Thomas shook their mother until they were certain that she was awake.  Their young faces were pale and full of worry.

“Why!  What- whatever is the matter?” Muira demanded breathlessly.  She clutched a hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath. Her heart felt like it had punched a hole through her chest after waking up in such a frightful manner.  “Maisie?  Thomas?  What’s-?”  Then she realized that one of their party was missing.  “Where’s Duncan?” she whispered, her voice filling with terror.

“We don’t know!” Maisie wailed.  “Oh Mama!” she wept, dashing her hand across her eyes. Tear were running freely down her cheeks.  “I woke in the middle of the night- but I- I thought it was a dream!  I thought I was still asleep!” she cried, desperate to assure her mother of this fact.

Muira nodded her head quickly, and gathered her daughter close to her side.  “Of course you did, dearest,” she assured her desperate to hear what it was that her daughter thought she had dreamed.  “What was it that happened in this dream, Maisie?”

“I- I saw Duncan,” Maisie sniffed miserably.  “He was packing up a few toys and belongings in a little pack.  I- I asked him what he was doing, and he told me to go back to sleep, and that if I made any noise he would- would- would tell the monster that lives until my bed to gobble me up!” she cried.  “S-So I thought it was a bad dream, and I hid under my blankets,” she said miserably, and then she started crying so hard that everything else she tried to say was completely unintelligible.

Muira looked to Thomas for help.  “But it wasn’t a dream?” she asked him, her body going cold with terror.

“No, Ma,” Thomas shook his head gravely.  “Maisie woke me up this morning when she saw that Duncan’s bed was empty,” he said quietly.

“Empty?” Muira croaked.  She struggled to get out of bed, and was panting hard by the time that she managed it.  “Have you looked for him?  Do either of you know where he might have gone?  How long do you think he’s been missing?” she asked, firing off rapid questions at her remaining two children. They just looked back at her, silent and scared.  Something told Muira that this was serious.  Duncan wasn’t playing around this time. He had really run away.

Muira pulled a shaky hand through her tangled red hair, fighting off a wave of dizziness that washed over her as she stood.  She pulled on her dressing gown and rang the bell for a maid.  She would wake up the entire castle if she had to do it.  Duncan had to be found and she was hardly in a fit state to scour the caste and its grounds on her own- not that she didn’t intend to try!  She turned back to Maisie and Thomas, trying to feign a sense of calm for their sakes at least.

“Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone?” she asked, eying the door, in the hopes that the maid would arrive soon, so that the search for Duncan could begin in earnest.

“Not- not really, Mama,” Thomas said anxiously.  “Cousin Colin found him hiding upstairs in the attic yesterday, so I went up there to look for him before bringing Maisie to tell you that he was gone, but he- he wasn’t there,” he said unhappily.

Muira nodded her head. Her brows knotted together in a deeply worried frown.  She was just going to ask if Thomas thought that Duncan might have gone outside when there was a light knock on the door and Muira’s maid appeared.

“Lady MacRae?”  The maid bobbed in a neat little curtsey.  “You wanted me, my lady?”

“Yes!  Oh yes, Maggie!” Muira cried- and then she set about telling her maid about Duncan’s disappearance.  She instructed Maggie to go and tell a couple of the men to start the search, and then she begged her to hurry back as fast as she could to help with her toilette.  “I’d try to manage on my own… but I don’t think I’d manage it,” she said, but looked guilty down at her stomach.

“Don’t you worry about it, my lady!” Maggie said.  “I’ll be back in a flash!” she promised.  Obviously realizing the urgency of the moment, she darted out of the room.

..ooOOoo..

Three hours later, Duncan MacRae still hadn’t been found.  His poor mother was on the verge of a nervous collapse.  The clan scoured the entire castle. They searched in every nook and cranny for some sign of the Laird’s son.  Muira was sick with worry, convinced that she would have to tell Lachlan that his son was missing- or- or worse!

Oh, but nothing that terrible could have happened. Muira tried to convince herself of this fact, but as time ticked by, snow began to fall outside. It kept coming down harder and harder as the morning went on. She began to lose the little hope that she had retained.

Then, as if all of this wasn’t bad enough- when Muira was awkwardly climbing the stairs up to the old attic, where her nephew Colin had found her son the day before, she stopped dead.  A very familiar pain had caused her to double over.

“Oh!  Not now!” Muira grimaced, trying to remember to breathe as the pain seized her.

“My- my lady?!” Maggie gasped, rushing up a few steps to her mistress’s side.  “Is it the baby?”  The maid had been absolutely horrified at the idea of a woman in Lady MacRae’s condition taking part in the search for her son, but when she realized that her mistress could not be dissuaded, she took it upon herself to follow Muira as though she were her shadow.

“I-” Muira paused and winced.  “I think it might be,” she panted, holding her stomach while waiting for the upsurge of pain to cease.  “But- but this little one probably won’t be joining us for hours and Duncan-”

“You can’t mean to carry on looking for the little lad yourself?” Maggie demanded, so aghast at the notion that she forgot her place.

Muira looked sheepish.  She eased herself back against the wall, so that she could use it to lean on.  “Maybe- maybe not, after all,” she mumbled weakly, and ran a hand over her brow.  “But Maggie, you must go and double check the attic!” Muira insisted.

“Well… I suppose…” the maid said uncertainly, “but, not until I get you down these stairs, my lady.”

Muira nodded her head shakily.  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Perhaps- perhaps you’re right.” She was feeling dizzy, and wasn’t at all sure that she trusted her legs to carry her safely downstairs again.  “Just help me to the bottom then,” she murmured, leaning on Maggie. The maid steadied her as they descended.  Once they had reached the bottom step Muira implored the other woman to go back up into the attic and search for Duncan.

Maggie sighed, and looked reluctant, but she did what her mistress told her to do.  She was gone for quite a little while, but Muira suffered only one more contraction while she was alone.  If this had been her first baby, Muira would have felt much more afraid at being on her own, but she considered herself an old hand at birthing babies, and she couldn’t push Duncan out of her mind. When she saw Maggie return, without her son, Muira’s heart sank.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Maggie said sadly.  “But we really must get you back to your room!”

“Yes, I know,” Muira nodded miserably.  “If only Lachlan would get back!” she sobbed, fearing that she was about to burst into tears in front of the servant.  The maid patted her hand in a surprisingly motherly fashion and shepherded her back to the Laird’s suite of rooms.

Muira changed out of her fine gown and let Maggie send for the midwife, but Muira’s mind was not on the baby she was about to deliver. It was on her little son. Alone, perhaps lost, perhaps… Muira choked back a sob, and started to pray silently.

Every few minutes she begged one of the women attending her to go and ask for news on how the search was going.  They all came back shaking their heads miserably, until finally one returned looking slightly buoyed.

“They’ve found him?  He’s all right?” Muira gasped, struggling to sit up.

The woman shook her head apologetically.  “No, my lady. I’m so sorry, they haven’t, but they have spotted the Laird’s party returning.”

“Oh!  Thank heavens,” Muira closed her eyes and sank back into her pillows.  Lachlan was home.  He would be able to find Duncan.

..ooOOoo..

Lachlan knew, as soon as he arrived home, that something was wrong.  He had barely ridden through the gates of castle wall when he sensed that something was amiss.  People were scurrying about all over the place, and no one seemed to be particular keen to catch his eye.  It looked as though they were searching for someone.  Had someone gone missing?  Lachlan looked around the deep snowdrifts that surrounded the castle and sincerely hoped that this wasn’t the case.

One of the grooms finally rushed forward to take his horse, and the Laird asked this young boy what had caused all the commotion.  The stable hand remained frozen for a moment, and then offered a spluttering reply.

“Lady MacRae sent word down from the castle earlier this morning that one of the bairns was missing, sir, Laird MacRae, sir.”

Fear coiled around Lachlan’s heart, squeezing and clutching terribly.  “One of my children, did you mean?” he demanded gruffly.  The men that he had brought back with him were all listening in anxious silence.

“Aye, sir,” nodded the groom unhappily.  “Your son Duncan, sir.  That what we’ve been told.”

“Duncan?” Lachlan murmured quietly to himself.  His little son was missing. Lachlan cursed.  Adrenaline surged through his veins.  “Where is my wife?” he barked at the boy, the bearer of this bad news, but the stable hand just stammered his apologies and was forced to own that he didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t know where she was, Lachlan berated himself for supposing otherwise.  It was hard to imagine that Muira wasn’t making herself a part of the search though, which is why he had supposed that her whereabouts would be known.  Perhaps Muira was comforting their other children though.  Once it occurred to Lachlan, this explanation seemed most likely, so he strolled swiftly into the castle and made his way to the nursery.

Muira was there, but she was not, as Lachlan had supposed, sitting with Maisie and Thomas.  His son and daughter were nowhere to be found, and Muira was pacing the room, a worn-out rag toy clasped in her hands, while her maid danced around behind her.

“Muira?”

She hadn’t noticed her husband enter the room, but when she heard him speak her name Muira let out a little shriek and turned to him- face white, eyes red and lips trembling.

“Oh Lachlan!  They said you were back.  Oh thank God!” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands and the tattered toy.

Lachlan covered the room in a few long strides, and before he said another word, he took his wife in his arms. He crushed her against his chest.  “What happened?” he demanded.  “Is Duncan really missing?”

“Oh Lachlan,” Muira cried.  “He ran away!  I don’t-” she started to said, but stopped when another contraction made it impossible to speak.

Lachlan watched as she braced herself against him, clenching both her fists and her eyes as she rode out the pain that was surging suddenly through her body.  “M-Muira?” he breathed uncertainly.

“I know!  I know!  It couldn’t have happened at a worse time!” she wailed.  “They won’t let me go and look for him-”

“I should think not!” Lachlan boomed.

Muira continued as though she had not even heard him.  “But you will be able find Duncan, won’t you, Lachlan?” she asked, hope and expectation filling her watery eyes.

Lachlan wished that he could tell her yes. The look on Muira’s face tore his heart into shreds, but he did not want to make her any promises that he might not be able to keep. Lachlan hated that the thought even occurred to him, but he could not banish it completely.  Duncan had been missing for hours now from what he had been able to gather. It was freezing outside and his son was only a tiny boy. He wouldn’t know where to take shelter. He wouldn’t be able to keep warm.

“Lachlan?” Muira croaked.  She tugged at his sleeve when he stayed silence.  “You- you will find him?  Tell me that you will,” she sobbed.  Lachlan pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I’ll do everything I can,” he murmured.  He could swear to do that much at least.  He would search for Duncan until there wasn’t an ounce of strength left in his body, and he made himself a promise at least- he was going to find his son, he only prayed that he got to him in time.

“But Lachlan-” Muira whimpered.  Her husband was almost relieved that she was prevented from saying whatever had been on the tip of her tongue by another contraction.

“For God’s sake, Muira, go back to our room!” he commanded.  He shot a disgruntled glance at her maid, who fairly cowered under such a look from the Laird.  Lachlan didn’t really blame the servant, but he couldn’t hold his temper in check.  He knew what Muira was like, and he could only imagine how helpless and afraid she much have felt - with him gone, and her body turning on her - when she discovered that Duncan was missing.

“I- I will,” Muira nodded unhappily.  She offered him a very small, shaky smile.  “I feel a little better knowing that you’re here, Lachlan,” she sniffed, squeezing his large hand between both of her palms.

“Good,” he breathed softly, and bent to kiss the top of her head.  “You concentrate on looking after yourself, and leave me to do all the worrying for both of us,” he begged.

“I don’t think that will be possible,” she said weakly.

Lachlan held Muira tight, but then, painfully aware of how much time he had already wasted, he turned from her with a few words of parting and marched swiftly out of the room.

He was tired and cold, but those difficulties had failed to register in his conscious the second that he knew his son was in danger.  Feeling certain that Duncan must have slipped outside, into the wilderness beyond the castle walls, the Laird promptly gathered a few of his very best and most competent soldiers, and took them with him to search for his little boy.

They scoured the surrounding countryside, looking for any clue that might lead them to Duncan. It was almost an hour before they found anything. Then, when Lachlan was almost beginning to give into despair there came a shout from one of the men.

“Sir!  Sir, I’ve found footprints, Laird MacRae!”

Lachlan ran towards the man who had made the discovery.  There were indeed child sized footprints tramped through the snow.  They travelled beside a low stone wall.  No doubt that was what had saved them being covered over by fresh flurries of snow.  Hope swelled in Lachlan’s heart, and he started to believe that things might truly turn out all right.  He followed the trail quickly, almost breaking into a run, as he chased after his son. Then, all of a sudden,  there was nothing.  The trail had run out.

“No!” Lachlan growled beneath his breath. He offered up a desperate prayer for heavenly intervention.   Perhaps his eyes were only playing a trick on him?  Perhaps he had missed a spot where the trail changed direction?  “No, this can’t be happening!” Lachlan muttered, casting his gaze about, trying to see if they footprints reappeared a little further. They did not, or at least, they didn’t appear to.

“Sir?”

Lachlan turned back to his men.  The hopeless looks on their faces said much more than words ever could.  The Laird looked away from them again, unable to bear to see the pity in their eyes.  “We keep looking,” he grunted.  “The footprints might have been covered by snow here, but they’re bound to reappear further along, if we keep looking.”

No one dared contradict him, but Lachlan was well aware how full of folly and false optimism his words had to sound.  The snow had obliterated almost every sign of life.  They had no idea where the right direction to look in was, and it was so bitterly cold that a child wandering around out of doors without the proper clothes to protect him wouldn’t stand a chance against the unforgiving elements.

Lachlan continued looking, unable to go back to Muira before he had some news to tell her.  Her reaction didn’t bear thinking about if he had to go back with bad news. She positively doted on Duncan.  They were so similar in both temperament and character.  A bitter smile crossed Lachlan’s face when he recalled that he had met Muira while she was running away from home.

Trust Duncan to inherent that trait from his mother…

It wasn’t a fair judgment to make, but at least it lent a black note of humor to the affair.  Lachlan didn’t know what else he could do.  The snow was beginning to fall even harder, and he truly began to despair of finding Duncan alive.  How could such a little boy possible survive this?  Lachlan had already sent two of the search party home. Fully grown who had succumbed to the cold.  No child could withstand this torture.

He wouldn’t return to Eilean Donan until he had found his son, one way or another. The men from the castle seemed to realize how bleak things were.  They had stopped calling out Duncan’s name hours ago.  Their keen, warrior eyes, were now searching for a body, not a boy.  Lachlan didn’t know how much longer he could ask them to remain in the near blizzard conditions.  It wasn’t fair of him to keep them out in the terrible weather when all hope was gone, but when he suggested that they leave him to continue the search alone their refusal was unanimous.

It was when dusk started to approach that Lachlan began to pray in earnest.  He wasn’t a deeply religious man, but he knew that everything was out of his hands now.  The search party had walked so far from the castle, much further than Duncan could have managed, that he was beginning to wonder if they would make it back alive themselves.

God… I know I haven’t been the best Catholic, I haven’t even been a particularly good Catholic, but if You can hear me, I need Your help, Lord.  Not for my own sake, but for my son’s, and my wife’s.  My son might already be with You Lord, and if that is the case then I beg You, in Your infinite wisdom not to judge him for the sins of his father, I beg you also to look after Muira, and to give her the strength to survive what we must endure.  But Lord, if Duncan isn’t with You yet, then please, please help me to find him, guide me to him, Lord.  In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

Lachlan murmured the words aloud, and lifted his eyes to the heavens.  Surely he couldn’t have lost his son. Surely life wouldn’t be so cruel?  He didn’t pray for himself, because he wasn’t concerned with his own safety, but he was not a selfish man, and he would not be willfully responsible for the deaths of his men.

“We have to turn back!” he yelled above the roar of the wind. As he had already noted, they had travelled further than Duncan could have managed on his little legs.  The boy must have journeyed in a different direction. Whatever had befallen him Lachlan hoped that he hadn’t suffered.  The pain in his chest was almost unbearable now. He could hardly force himself to breathe, but when he thought of Muira, and the other children, and knew that he had to make himself go on.

“Sir!  I know a barn where we can shelter over night,” one of the men offered.  “It’s a few miles away, and slightly out of our path, but-”

“We’ll head there!” Lachlan called back.  If it wasn’t exactly on the trail that they had already walked, then maybe they would find some clue of Duncan?  Even if they didn’t, Lachlan decided that he could leave the men safe in the barn, while he continued to look. Stopping was not an option.

Night fell quickly. Darkness spread through the drift-covered hills.  The snow had eased though, and the sky was clear.  There was almost a full moon in the sky. Without it they would have surely been lost forever. Lachlan was very guiltily aware of this fact.  His determination to find his son could have cost the lives of several of the clan’s best men. It was a demonstration of their unswerving loyalty to him that they had all followed without question.

Just when Lachlan’s body was starting to mutiny against the strength of his mind, the barn came into view. One last surge of adrenaline spurred him on.

Lachlan felt frozen solid when he eventually made it through the barn doors.  He made sure that every one of his men entered before him and was the last to seek shelter from the cold.  It was much darker inside the sturdy building than it had been out in the open of course, but the weathered wood walls blocked the wind and it was much warmer than it had been outside in the snow.  The men stomped around and clapped their hands, trying to stir their blood back into their numb feet and fingers.

If only Duncan had managed to find somewhere like this. Lachlan turned the thought over in his head bleakly.  He was a practical man, and it was no good pretending any longer.  The chances of his son being alive were virtually nonexistent.  He didn’t understand why they hadn’t found a body though.  Duncan was an adventurous boy, but practical too. The snow was impassable beyond the even surface of the roads. He expected to find the boy along its course. The only other reasonable possibility was that Duncan might have fallen into the river nearby. The water had partially frozen over, but the ice was not thick enough to take even a child’s weight.

Lachlan shuddered at the direction that his thoughts had turned and walked away from the other men.  Now that his eyes had had a little time to adjust to the lack of moonlight, he was able to pick out the basic outline of his surroundings.  The other men were settling down in the straw, huddling together for added warmth, but Lachlan took it upon himself to scout around.  After all, they might not be the only ones who had thought it best to duck inside the barn.

He didn’t draw a weapon, but crept about with keen straining eyes. After deciding that the lower level of the barn was completely empty, save for his men and a few mice, he decided to check the hayloft.  He called out his intentions to his clansmen, and then set about climbing the ladder that led up to the high platform at the top of the barn.  Nothing looked amiss.  It was lighter by the roof. A small hole let in some light.

A moonbeam poured watery light down onto the hay, and something caught Lachlan’s eye.  He told himself that it was probably nothing more than a rag, or a torn piece of sack, but Lachlan pulled himself up into the loft and took a closer look.  He stripped off his thick gloves, reached for the scrap of material, and found it much of much finer cloth than he would expect to find in an abandoned barn.  In fact, it looked to be a lady’s delicate lace handkerchief.

Lachlan frowned, and squinted in the darkness.  He held the cloth up to the moonlight, and spotted two initials sewn neatly in one corner – M.M. Lachlan’s heart started to beat a little bit faster.  He didn’t know if it was just his imagination but he was certain that he could smell an achingly familiar scent too.  He pressed the lace to his face, and breathed in.

“Muira?” he whispered.  Why would Muira’s handkerchief be here, in the middle of nowhere?  There seemed to be only one logically answer.

“Duncan?” Lachlan croaked.

He scanned the hayloft frantically, heart plummeting when nothing appeared to be amiss.  He didn’t give up though. Lachlan had tasted hope, and he would not surrender it again without a fight. Steeling himself, as though he could will Duncan to be there, Lachlan began to search around more thoroughly.  He started at one side of the loft and slowly made his way to the other, hoping, praying that Duncan had buried under the hay for extra warmth.

God appeared to heed the Laird’s prayers.

The fingers of Lachlan’s right hand brushed something soft and small and… alive?  He couldn’t describe the emotion that welled up inside his chest, but it was powerful and humble and had a lot to do with love.

“Duncan?  Duncan?  Lord, Duncan, please- please-” Lachlan didn’t know what he was pleading for. A response? To be certain that the tiny ragged creature curled up in the hay was his son?

“P-Papa?”  The cry was hardly audible, but it was as sweet as music to Lachlan’s ears.  He crushed his son to his chest in a fierce hug, almost unable to believe that he had really found the boy.  For a second he wondered if the strain of the day had finally tipped him over the edge into insanity, but then he saw how terrified and wretched Duncan looked, and knew that he would never have imagined such things.

“Oh Duncan,” he sighed, brushing the boy’s hair off his face tenderly.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Duncan sniffed, burying himself further into the heat and comfort of his father’s body.

“It’s all right, Duncan,” Lachlan assured him quickly.  “Everything’s going to be fine now.”  He rocked the child in his arms like a baby.  “We just need to get you home and fed, back where it’s warm. Back to your mother!  God, Muira will-” but he stopped short.  However worried Muira might be now, it would be forgetting in the rush of relief she would feel upon her son’s return.

“Home?  Will you take me home?” Duncan asked. His voice was teary and his cheeks were wet.

Lachlan frowned, puzzled by the question.  “Well of course I’m going to take you home, Duncan,” he promised him.  “We won’t be able to set off until morning when it’s light though.” He frowned.  “Are you all right?” He sat his son down so he could examine him for injuries.

Duncan nodded his head.  “I’m just cold, Pa,” he said and then burrowed back into the safety of his father’s arms.  “And hungry,” he muttered miserably.

“Come on,” he said, bundling Duncan up in his arms, as he made for the ladder.  “Let’s see what your old Pa can find for you.”

“I love you, Pa,” Duncan whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck.

Lachlan’s heart lurched.  “I love you too,” he said softly. He was surprised to see that Duncan was crying again.

“And…and you won’t… you won’t ever stop, will you, Papa?” the little boy wailed.

“Stop?” Lachlan’s voice echoed his son’s fear.  A deep, troubled frown drew his brows together.  He stopped moving.  “Of course not!  I would never ever stop loving you!” he declared.  “What in the world would make you ask such a question, Duncan?”

“Cousin Colin said that you and Mama would love us less when the new baby arrives!” Duncan wailed, drawing attention to himself from the men below the hayloft.  There were a couple of anxious cries, but Lachlan silenced them with the news that, yes, his son was here, he was safe, and they would be down in a minute.  Not daring to question this declaration from their Laird, the other clan men began talking amongst themselves.

“Now Duncan,” Lachlan said softly.  “What stories has Colin been telling you?” he sighed.

Duncan dashed a hand across his face.  “That you and Mama wouldn’t love me so much when the new baby came,” he sniffled miserably.  “That you loved Maisie and Thomas less when I was born,” he added unhappily.

“And this is why you ran away?” Lachlan asked gently.  Duncan gave his head a tiny nod.  His father pulled him into his arms even more tightly.  “Oh Duncan,” he sighed.  “Love isn’t something you run out of, and it’s certainly not something that has to be rationed and shared around!”

“It’s not?” Duncan asked, hesitantly.

“No, it most certainly is not!” Lachlan said firmly.  “If anything, there will be more love in our family once your little brother or sister arrives, not less,” he argued confidently.

Duncan lifted his eyes to his father’s face.  They were wide with hope and wonder.  “Do you- do you mean it, Papa?” he asked breathlessly.

Lachlan chuckled and nodded.  “Of course, I do,” he smiled, stroking his son’s hair.  “So you just remember that next time you decide to run away from home,” he added, speaking more sternly.

Duncan looked contrite. “Sorry, Pa,” he murmured.  “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” he whispered sheepishly.

Lachlan thought about all the trouble that the boy had caused, but he shook his head carelessly.  “It doesn’t matter. Now is not the right time to think about that,” he said kindly.

He carried Duncan back down the ladder to the barn’s floor.  The men cheered at seeing Duncan safe in his father’s arms.  Between them, the clansmen managed to find an apple for the lad to munch on and a drop of whiskey to warm his belly.  Lachlan pretended not to see as his captain pressed the liquor to Duncan’s lips. He hated lying to Muira, and he hated to think what he reaction would be if he ever had to argue the medicinal properties of straight scotch.

Once Duncan had warmed up, and the worst of his hunger pangs had been eased, he curled up on his father’s lap and closed his tired eyes.

“’Night, Pa,” he yawned.

“Goodnight, Duncan,” Lachlan murmured, watching over his son as he slept, while he said a prayer of thanks himself.

..ooOOoo..

Little Ewan Graeme MacRae lay in his crib without making a noise.  He had scarcely cried at all since coming into the world, late on Christmas Eve.  “Most unnatural” the midwife had declared, but Muira silently thanked her new son.  She had looked on him, and fed him, but now she couldn’t bear to have anything to do with him.  She glanced guiltily at his cot.  It stood right beside her side of the bed.  It wasn’t that she didn’t love the baby.  It was just that her mind was full of Duncan.

Muira eased herself out of bed, where her maids had left her to sleep.  She had feigned slumber, wanting them to leave her alone.  It had seemed to take forever, but they eventually left.  Muira picked up her robe from where it lay across a chair and shrugged it onto her shoulders.  She knotted it around her waist. Taking her candle with her, she walked to the window.  It was colder there. An icy draft blew through a hairline crack in the glass, but that was where she intended to stay for the rest of the night keeping a silent vigil.

“Lachlan, where are you?” she whispered wretchedly.  The puff of her breath clouded the glass.  She wiped it clear with the back of her hand, and continued to stare outside. She could barely see anything through the wavy pane. What she did make out looked dark and uninviting. It was so cold and bleak. Yet, that was where her beloved husband and son were now, swallowed up by the inky blackness.  It was unbearable.  She needed them both so much.

Muira clenched her eyes shut and tried to stop a fresh batch of tears.  She had cried so much today that she was amazed she still had tears to spare.  Every second that passed without news of her son tore at her soul like rusty claws.  Nothing in the world seemed to exist beyond Duncan.  Her other children had begged to see her and their new brother before being put to bed, but she simply could not face them. She instructed her maid to tell the nanny that she had fallen asleep.

She couldn’t sleep though.  When she closed her eyes, her mind whirred and refused to settle.  She thought about all of the terrible things that might have happened to Duncan, from freezing to death, to being eaten by wolves. Nothing seemed impossible.

Her only hope lay with her husband.  Lachlan had never ever failed her in the past.  He had always been able to correct her mistakes.  Muira sobbed.  That was how she saw Duncan’s runaway. It was her mistake. It was her fault.  She was his mother. She had been the one at home with him, and she had known that he had been upset the night before!  If only… if only… if only… her mind was awash with “if only”.  She truly didn’t know what she would do if anything happened to Duncan.  She didn’t know how she would keep living.

Ewan Graeme whimpered in the corner and Muira flinched as though someone had struck her.  She held her breath and waited, and was hugely relieved when the baby settled down again without needing anything from her.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered.  “I’ll be a better mama to you tomorrow, I promise.”

For all of her claims that sleep was impossible, Muira did finally succumb to its numbing lure.  She was still sitting beside the window when she dropped off. When she woke a couple of hours later her whole body ached with pain.  Ewan’s crying had roused her.  He was probably hungry again.  Muira dutifully limped over to his crib and picked him up.  He was so snugly warm to the touch that she forgave him for rousing her and bringing her back to the waking nightmare that was her life at present.

Shivering with the cold, Muira slid back into bed.  Ewan hadn’t stopped crying yet, but his wails were not too harsh or jarring.  She recalled how demanding Duncan had been from the very second that he was born and choked back a sob.  Her poor beautiful boy!

Muira gathered the blankets around herself and her new son, and guided Ewan to her breast.  He latched on hungrily and suckled hard.  Muira stifled a yawn, feeling increasingly detached from her body.  She couldn’t fall asleep until Ewan was finished.  She couldn’t.  She-

..ooOOoo..

A blazing fire, a soft armchair, and a plate of steaming roast beef to fill his starving belly. Lachlan trudged through the snow, thinking of all the little comforts that awaited him when he got back to the castle.  There was also the little luxury of his wife’s kiss to help keep his mind off the cold, and his tired body, and his hungry stomach. Surely he had earned a little something special from his wife for his pains?

“Pa!  I can see the castle!” Duncan cried happily.  “We’re almost home!”  He bounced around on his father’s shoulders and pointed towards Eilean Donan.  How Duncan had the energy to bounce around, or to sound so terribly cheerful Lachlan didn’t want to know.  He supposed that was one of the advantages that came with youth. He suddenly felt terribly old.

“Not far to go now,” he agreed.

Lachlan spent the last couple of miles of their journey thanking the men who had been at his side throughout the whole ordeal.  The men’s loyalty to him and their regard for his son had truly touched the Laird, but by the time they all walked through the castle gates, he only had one thing on his mind- sharing the good news with his wife.

Without stopping to speak to a soul, Lachlan carried Duncan up to the chamber that he shared with Muira.  He wanted to reach her with their son and surprise her before she heard of their arrival through any other means.

There was a maid just leaving the bedchamber of the Laird’s suite of rooms when Lachlan and Duncan turned into that particular corridor.  She let out a squeal of delight on see the Laird and his son, and then remembered herself enough to curtsy.

“Is Lady MacRae within?” Lachlan asked.

“She is, sir, yes,” the maid answered with a radiant smile.  “Nanny and I are just giving the wee one a bath, so the mistress is all alone, Laird MacRae.”

The wee one… Lachlan hadn’t even permitted himself to think about the new baby while he had been gone searching for Duncan.  “And- are they both-?” He couldn’t seem to force the words out.

“They’re both fine, sir,” she said, still smiling.

“Thank you,” Lachlan said and nodded. He brushed past the servant, eager to see his wife, to show her their son, and to meet the new baby.  He pushed open the door and called out Muira’s name.

Muira was sitting up in bed, dressed in a very pretty nightgown with her hair neatly curled and arranged about her face.  Her maid had taken it upon herself to make her mistress look as lovely as possible for the master’s return.  However, it was actually the radiant glow on Muira’s face when she laid her eyes on Duncan that caught Lachlan’s notice more than anything else.  In every other way, she was always beautiful.

“Duncan!” she exclaimed, pushing off the blankets and meaning to leap out of bed.  “Oh Duncan!” she cried again. Her son jumped out of his father’s arms and ran to his mother, climbing up onto the mattress before throwing himself into his mother’s waiting arms.  “Lachlan you found him!  You found him!” Muira wept, crying yet again. This time her tears were tears of joy.  She hugged her son so hard that the boy was obliged to tell her that he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Mama,” Duncan said quietly.  He nestled into his mother’s embrace.

“Oh darling, I’m just so pleased to have you home!” Muira assured him, feeling so relieved that she was dizzy with the emotion.  “When we woke up and you weren’t in your bed-” but she stopped herself and shuddered.  The memory was too horrible to relive.  “Why would you ever do something like that?” she asked.

Duncan glanced around at his father.  Lachlan strolled closer to the bed and sat down upon the mattress.  “I don’t think we need to go into that now. Let it suffice to say that I shall be having a quiet word with one of my sister’s boys.”

Muira looked between her husband and her son with a puzzled expression on her face.  She trusted Lachlan’s judgment though, and so didn’t press him for an explanation.  “The pair of you must be hungry,” she said instead.  “I’ll ring for some food to be sent up.”  She wasn’t about to let them leave her sight just yet.

“That would be lovely,” Lachlan sighed, unable to remember the last time he had eaten.

“And we need to tell Maisie and Thomas that I’m back!” Duncan said brightly.  “Can I go and find them, Mama?” he asked.

“Oh I don’t-” Muira started to speak, panic clear in her voice.

“That would be fine, Duncan,” Lachlan interrupted smoothly.  “Have your nanny change you into some clean, warm clothes while you tell your brother and sister all about your adventure, but make sure they know their poor old father doesn’t want to chase after the next little MacRae who takes it into their head to run away.”

Duncan blushed.  “Yes, Papa,” he said and nodded meekly before slipping off the bed and rushing towards the door.  He turned around at the last moment.  “Is the new baby here yet?” he asked cheerfully.  “You have to love me even more when he arrives!” he announced brightly before turning and bounding out of the room.

Muira blinked at her husband.

“He took it into his head that he wouldn’t be loved quite so much when the baby came,” Lachlan explained softly.  Muira gasped, horrified.  Lachlan took her hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “I set his mind to rest on that score.”

“I should hope so!  Oh, my poor baby!”

“Speaking of babies,” Lachlan grinned slowly.  “I hear we have a new one?”

Muira smiled shyly.  “We do indeed,” she nodded.  “Another little boy,” she added, trying to judge her husband’s reaction to this news.  “You’re not- you’re not too disappointed are you?” she asked hesitantly.

Lachlan looked at her askance.  “Why on earth would you ask that?  Of course I’m not disappointed!  I’m thrilled!” He popped a kiss on Muira’s cheek.  “I’m just relieved that the pair of you are all right and I’m really sorry I wasn’t here for you, lass.” He ran his fingers lovingly through her hair as he spoke.

“You were exactly where you needed to be,” Muira assured him. She squeezed his hand tightly between her fingers.  “Oh Lachlan, was it awful?  How did you ever manage to find him?”

Lachlan actually managed to summon a laugh.  “He was tucked up safe and sound in someone’s barn,” he chuckled.  “Hungry and a little cold, but no worse for wear.”

Muira’s eyes widened.  “No, really?” she gasped.  “I was so terrified that- that something truly awful had happened to him!”

“Poor lassie,” he murmured, rubbing her back in soothing circles.  “You’ve had a terrible time of it, haven’t you?”

“No- no worse that you, I’m sure. Oh Lachlan, you must be so tired and hungry!” Muira exclaimed, looking him over anxiously.  “Ring for Maggie, and I’ll have her send up a tray of food from the kitchen immediately.”

Smiling at his wife’s concern, Lachlan did what she asked.  “You know, I’m really more interested in seeing our new boy,” he confessed, trying to temper his excitement.

Muira summoned a smile.  “I’m sure he’ll be brought back to nurse soon.”  She paused for a moment, but then spoke.  “Do you suppose Duncan will come to accept Ewan in time?”

“Ewan?” Lachlan raised an eyebrow and Muira blushed.

“I- I hope you don’t mind that I named him without you. Ewan Graeme seemed just the right thing to call him.”

“I think it’s a fine name,” Lachlan assured her.  He took a moment to look her over.  “And are you all right, Muira?  You’ve been so busy worrying about everyone else, but you’ve had quite an ordeal to go through yourself.”

“Childbirth, you mean?” Muira giggled.  “Oh, I’m getting to be an old hand at that,” she teased.  Something hot and dark flared in Lachlan’s eyes, but Duncan’s reappearance prevented him from acting.

The little boy bounced into the room, closely followed by Thomas. Maisie came after her brothers, dancing around Maggie’s skirts.  The maid was carrying little Ewan Graeme in her arms.  Lachlan stood up to greet his family.  Maisie and Thomas ran at him, while Duncan hurried over to his mother. He climbed up onto the bed beside her.  Maggie handed the baby over to his father, who stared down at the tiny bundle with obvious reverence, and then the maid excused herself, leaving the family alone.

“Merry Christmas, Mama!” Duncan was chattering happily, as though nothing had ever been amiss.  “Thomas was worried, because don’t have a present to give you, but I said that I could be your present this year, because I came home on Christmas Day,” he beamed, and then added as a careless afterthought, “oh, and Papa can have baby Ewan, I suppose.”

The End

NOTE: Lachlan and Muira’s story begins in A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes, Book 1). Duncan’s tale (as an adult) continues in Another Lifetime (The Camaraes, Book 3) (free excerpt follows!) and the tale of baby Ewan Graeme’s namesake, Muira’s brother Laird Ewan Cameron, is contained in A Year and A Day (The Camaraes, Book 2).

Also by Stephanie Sterling

A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes, Book 1)

A Year and A Day (The Camaraes, Book 2)

The Perfect Candidate (Modern Romance)

Another Lifetime (The Camaraes, Book 3) – Excerpt Follows!

Just One Kiss (Regency Romance)

Written as Chelsea Scott:

Hungry For More (Modern Romance)

And Coming Soon:

His Greatest Treasure (The Camaraes, Book 4)

Another Lifetime

By Stephanie Sterling

“Thomas, do you see?  Do you see the castle?  I told you I’d get you home!  I told you I’d do it!”

Thomas MacRae didn’t answer.

Thomas MacRae was dead.

Duncan, Thomas’s younger brother by all of three years, wasn’t about to stop and admit that yet though.  He couldn’t let himself pause and allow the slow comprehension of his brother’s death to creep over him.  Nor would he let himself think about all of the friends and comrades that he had left behind him, slaughtered on the battlefield, because if he did- if he drew breath for even a moment- he was going to do something stupid.  Like give up.  And he wouldn’t give up, not until he knew that Thomas had made it home.  He owed his brother that much at least.

Why was he alive when everyone else was dead?  Pain wracked the whole of Duncan’s body, but he welcomed it.  It numbed his brain and heart.  He could no longer remember how far he had walked, leading his horse, on whose back he had struggled to place his brother’s body.  He knew that he could see Eilean Donan, the seat of his father, the Laird- and that was all the light at the end of the tunnel that Duncan needed.  He couldn’t think of a future beyond getting to the castle.  He didn’t know if he had a future beyond that moment.

Death wasn’t so frightening really.  Not for a man had witnessed it on such a horrific scale, not when all of his friends had succumbed to it, and he was so tired, so very tired.  No, death didn’t scare, Duncan MacRae.  It was living that terrified him now.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

“Muira, love, you have to eat.”

Muira blinked at the sound of her husband’s voice.  She hadn’t heard him enter the room, but then she was too consumed by her own grief to notice anything or anyone else these days.  Since the news had come from the messenger who had been at Sheriffmuir she had not been able to stir from her room.  Virtually the whole clan… gone… taking her two sons with them…

She tried to summon fresh tears for Thomas and Duncan, but she had cried so much that tears would no longer come.  She felt hollow, completely empty inside, as though someone had ripped out her heart at the moment they had slaughtered her boys.

“Muira, try and eat something?”

“Why?” she whispered, lifting her eyes to look at her husband.  He had aged in the last week.  If Muira’s heart was broken, then Lachlan’s spirit had suffered a similar fate.

“Because those of us who are left still need you,” he murmured, but Muira still couldn’t be persuaded to try her food.

There was a gentle tap on the door.  Muira winced at the sound and retreated back into her own little world of sadness.  Lachlan sighed heavily and turned to see what was wrong now.  He opened the door and found Ross standing on the other side, looking pale and agitated.

“Sir, you have to come.”

Lachlan frowned, he glanced over his shoulder at Muira, but she was lost in her own thoughts.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping out into the hall and following Ross.

“Sir, it’s- it’s…”

“God Ross, just say it, how much worse can things get?”

Ross stared at him and swallow.  “It’s your sons, sir.  We’ve found them.”

“Alive?” Lachlan choked, unable to suppress the almost painful rush of hope that seized him.  He knew in his head that the chances of Thomas and Duncan returning home alive were so slim as to be virtually nonexistent, but they were his boys, and his heart couldn’t keep from hoping.  The bleak look on Ross’s face was all the answer that Lachlan needed however.  “They’re dead, aren’t they?” he demanded numbly.

“Master Thomas is dead, sir,” Ross confessed, his voice breaking over the words.  Lachlan had to stop walking.  He pressed his hands to his face to keep the anguish that he was feeling from breaking out of his body in a wounded cry.  His son, and heir, was dead.

Lachlan had always had a special bond with Thomas.  Of all of Lachlan and Muira’s children, Thomas had been the most like his father.  Lachlan had taught him everything that he knew, he had groomed Thomas from such a young age to take over the lairdship when he died.  A bitter laugh almost fled from Lachlan’s lips.  He was supposed to have died first.  He should have joined his sons in battle… and made sure that he didn’t out live them.

“And Duncan?” he asked numbly.

“Sir Duncan was- Duncan was conscious when they found him-”

“What?” Lachlan cried.  He started at the other man.  Why the hell were they standing here dawdling if Duncan was alive?  “He’s all right?”

“He was alive, sir, but his injuries-”

Lachlan didn’t pause to wait for any further explanation from Ross.  He needed to be with his son.  If there was even the smallest chance that Duncan was going to make it then maybe he could believe that hell hadn’t descended on earth?

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Duncan drifted in and out of consciousness.  He had collapsed out on the heath.  He remembered falling.  Eilean Donan had been less than a mile away when he saw two of his clan men.  Old gentleman.  Their sons were probably lying dead back on the Ochil Hills.  When Duncan had seen them and heard their shouts, he had known that they would take care of Thomas, and he had let go, not expecting to ever open his eyes again.

His eyes had opened again though, several times on the journey to the castle.  The men were talking, but Duncan didn’t understand what they were saying.  Why couldn’t they be quiet?  Why couldn’t they leave him to die on the heather?  Where the ground was soft and the air smelled sweet, and there was no more pain.

It seemed that Death was not yet ready to take Duncan MacRae however.  He woke again, after a longer spell of blackness, and found himself at Eilean Donan.  Panic was the first feeling that seized him, because he could no longer see Thomas.

“Tom?” he slurred, loss of blood made it hard to think.  “Tom?” he croaked again.  Duncan tried to sit up, but he was held down and was too weak to push the hands holding him away.

He heard the sound of running feet though, and then a jumble of agitated voices.  The words were lost on him again, but he recognised the tone of one voice.

“Dad?” he choked, and then his father was there beside him.

“Duncan?  Thank God!  Duncan?  Can you hear me?”

Duncan struggled to try and sit up, but failed.  “Dad.  Thomas!”

“Shh- I know- you did well, you brought him home.”

Duncan tried to nod, but the action was too painful.  He had known that his father would understand.  “I couldn’t leave him behind,” he sighed, sinking back into the bed that someone had laid him in.  “Had to bring him home,” he mumbled, before the lights again went out.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Aileen MacKenzie was sitting in the chapel at the heart of Eilean Donan Castle praying for the soul of her fiancé.  She started in surprise when two women walked into the chapel and she overheard them talking.

“…aye, and to think he walked all that way!”

“Completely torn to shreds too, and him alive, while his brother had just the one clean bullet wound to the chest that killed him, God rest his soul.”

Aileen frowned.  She was unwilling to let herself believe what the women’s words where implying- that someone had made it back alive.  Even if they had… it wouldn’t be Thomas… she couldn’t believe that they would be that lucky.  She couldn’t believe he would have left his men by living.  But still, she rose to her feet, which drew the women’s attention to her.  The way they glanced nervously at each other when they saw her made Aileen hesitate, but it didn’t make her stop.

“One of the men has made it back?” she whispered, twisting the handkerchief that she was holding around her fingers.  “W-Who was it?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

One of the women stepped forwards and laid a hand on Aileen’s arm.  The clan had celebrated her engagement to Thomas MacRae the month before, and ever since reports of the battle had got back to the castle she had been treated in the same way as all of the young widows.  She wasn’t a widow though… Aileen felt that she was something less than a widow.

“Duncan MacRae, Aileen, that’s who made it back.”

“D-Duncan? Not-?” perhaps there had been a mistake… Duncan and Thomas didn’t look very similar, but they were brothers, there might have been a mistake…

“He brought Thomas back with him, Aileen.”

Aileen gasped, almost unable to comprehend the news.  She had to go to him!  He would need her- (although he would never admit it)!  And then she realised the woman hadn’t let her go, and that she was still talking.

“He brought Thomas’s body back, lass.  I’m so sorry.”

Aileen didn’t hear the condolences.  She sank down onto the cold slate floor and felt her heart crack in two.  She cried violent tears of misery and regret.  She cried for the love she had lost, and for the future she would never know.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Lachlan couldn’t bear to leave his son’s side.  Duncan had slipped into a light state of unconsciousness, but his heart was steady and his breathing didn’t appear to be laboured.  But that didn’t mean he was going to make it… it killed Lachlan a little to keep that thought firmly at the forefront of his mind, but he knew that Duncan wasn’t out of the woods yet, not by a long way.  He wouldn’t let his hopes run away with him, not yet- that was why he hadn’t sent word to Muira.

Duncan was injured badly.  His body was slashed to ribbons, and he bore more than one bullet wound.  Lachlan had seen more men than he was willing to admit die from injuries less severe than his son’s… but Duncan had always been a fighter.  Lachlan smiled ruefully.  If anyone could bounce back from this it was Duncan.  He had to believe that… or else what was the point of going on?

“Lachlan?  Lachlan MacRae!”

Lachlan started when he heard his wife’s voice.  She sounded more alert that she had done since- well since they had fast got the news about the battle.  But hell!  She wasn’t coming into the sickroom, was she?

Of course, she was, she was Muira MacRae.  Lachlan didn’t know why he had even momentarily thought that he could stop her.  The door burst open and there stood his wife.  She raised a hand to her mouth, as she took in the scene before her in an instant, and then looked frantically between her husband and her son.

“Oh Lachlan…” she breathed, her voice trembling.  “Is he- is he-”

“He’s holding on.  Just,” Lachlan murmured, standing up so that Muira could take his stool.  She half sat, half collapsed onto it.

“Oh, my baby,” she whispered, tentatively stroking Duncan’s face with the back of her fingers.  “What did they do to you?” she sobbed, picking up one of his hands and kissing it.

Duncan stirred.  He sighed heavily and forced his eyes open.

Lachlan dragged a hand through his hair as he watched his son’s eyes focus on Muira.  If he had shared a special bond with Thomas, then it was Duncan, out of all their children, who held a special place in Muira’s heart.  Lachlan sensed instinctively that if Duncan could survive then Muira would also find the will to live again.  He clenched his eyes shut, in agony, as he contemplated how much he still had left to lose.

“Ma?” Duncan croaked.

Muira gasped.  She shot a hopeful look at husband and then leant a little closer to her son.  “Yes, Duncan, I’m here, your mother’s here,” she said gently.

Duncan struggled to try and raise himself up, but he didn’t have the energy or strength for such a task.  Lachlan step forwards and rested a light reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder to keep him in place.

“It’s all right, Duncan, just lie still.  It’s all right now,” he said soothingly.

Duncan relaxed, but he his features showed his restlessness.  “I’m sorry, ma, dad, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Oh!  Duncan, you have nothing to be sorry for, darling!” Muira cried instantly.  Lachlan could see that she was desperate to embrace her boy, but he was too injured for her to take him into her arms.  “You came home,” she whispered.  “You came home to us.”

Duncan muttered something else, something that neither his mother nor his father could quite make out, and then he slipped back into unconsciousness.  Muira gasped fearfully and turned to look worriedly at her husband.

“He’s been slipping in and out like that ever since they brought him back,” Lachlan said.  The words were punctuated by a heavy, heart-weary sigh.

“But… he will wake up again?” Muira demanded shakily.

“God willing,” Lachlan whispered.  He stared down at his son and wished that they could trade places.  He didn’t know what he would do if Duncan was snatched from them after his seemingly miraculous survival.  He didn’t know what Muira would do either…

“T-Thomas didn’t make it… did he?” Muira asked, in a voice that was so quiet it was hardly audible.

Lachlan knew that in her heart his wife knew the answer, but he had to shake his head in denial anyway.  She raised her hand to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles to keep from sobbing out in pain.

“But Duncan brought him home so he could be mourned and buried by his family,” Lachlan said numbly.

Muira nodded her head, stared gratefully at her injured son, and then she started to weep again.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

“Duncan MacRae!  You little hellion!  Get away from that stallion!”

Duncan looked over his shoulder and laughed as the head groom came charging towards him.  The man was rather old, grey-haired and a little bent over with rheumatism.  He didn’t stand a chance of making it all the way across the stable yard before Duncan managed to swing himself up onto the bare back of the black stallion.

He’d had his eye on this horse ever since his father had bought him as a present for Thomas’s sixteenth birthday.  Thomas hadn’t even ridden him yet; his birthday wasn’t until the following day, and Thomas would never break the rules and sneak a peak at his present early.

At thirteen, Duncan had rather fewer moral reservations than his older brother.  He kicked the animal’s sides, and they flew out of the stables across the courtyard and through the castle gates before anyone could stop them.

Duncan laughed out loud at his success… there would be trouble when he got back that was certain, but for the moment he was on top of the world!  He had never ridden a horse with such speed or with such a comfortable motion- it felt like they were flying!  He had known this horse was special.  Typical then that it was going to Thomas, he thought bitterly.  Duncan considered himself just as good a horseman as his brother, and what was more he was three years younger!

Pushing all thoughts of his brother aside, Duncan gave the reigns a gentle tug to the right; they were heading towards some very uneven ground, and the stallion was liable to break a leg if he took it at this speed!  But the horse had ideas of its own about where it wanted to go… the animal gave his head a violent shake and pulled the reigns out of Duncan’s hands.

“Oh bugger,” Duncan swore… he had no saddle and now he had no reigns and the stallion didn’t appear to be slowing down…

“DUNCAN!!!”

Duncan glanced over his shoulder and cringed when he saw his father chasing after him… or, was it his father?  He clutched at the stallions mane and risked another look behind.  It was definitely Fiadhaich that was galloped after them, but it wasn’t Lachlan MacRae who was in the saddle.

Duncan groaned (and almost lost his balance), trust Thomas to be the only person in Eilean Donan who could manage their father’s huge bay warhorse!  If that didn’t just add insult to injury!

“Duncan stop!” he yelled.

Well, as if he wouldn’t have stopped by now if he could, Duncan thought wryly.  The terrain was pitted with boulders now.  He couldn’t even jump from the animal’s back without the risk of serious injury… as the realisation of the danger that he was in slowly kicked in, Duncan became suddenly very grateful that his big brother was chasing after him.

Another glance behind told Duncan that Thomas and Fiad were gaining.  The stallion had speed on his side over flat ground, but here the experience and stamina of the older horse (and possibly the skill of his rider) gave him an advantage.

“Pull him up, Duncan!” Thomas yelled.

“I CAN’T!!!” Duncan shouted back.  He thought he heard Thomas swear, but Thomas never swore…

Duncan tightened his hold on the stallion’s mane as he was again almost thrown to the ground.  His hands were damp with sweat and aching from holding on so tight, he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to keep his seat. So his heart leapt with relief when he saw that Thomas had made it up alongside him.  The stallion snorted furiously and tried to take a bite out of Fiad, but Fiad’s whinny of outrage mollified the younger horse and Thomas was finally able to lean over and snatch up Duncan’s fallen reigns.

Both horses slowed to a stop, when they did, a very shaken and grateful Duncan slide from the back of the stallion and collapsed on the grass.  Once he had caught his breath he looked up at his brother, who had dismounted and was standing over him, looking rather pale himself.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much trouble do you think I’m in?” Duncan asked sheepishly.

“Eleven,” Thomas said, but he cracked a small smile.  He looked up, and glanced over the rough ground that they had just galloped across.  “I can’t believe you didn’t fall!” he said, shaking his head, obviously impressed, which made Duncan feel rather better.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders.  “Aye well, I can’t believe you caught us!  On dad’s horse too!”

Thomas winced.  “Reckon I’m in trouble too,” he sighed.  He cheered up when he looked back at Duncan though.  “But at least you didn’t break your neck!”  He pulled Duncan up onto his feet.  “Come on, let’s go back before Ma hears and gives herself a heart attack,” he laughed.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Duncan’s eyelids twitched.  Never had such a small movement caused such a big stir before.  Everyone in the sickroom drew a collective breath and edged closer to the bed.  Duncan had been unconscious for three days… and hope had started to wane.  Lachlan and the castle doctor tried to gently persuade Muira and Maisie (who had arrived at Eilean Donan castle just the night before) to ease back and give Duncan some room, but mother and sister wouldn’t be moved.

Vivid blue eyes finally fluttered open.  Duncan’s gaze was unfocused at first; for several seconds he hardly appeared to recognise the faces that were looking down on him in concern.  Muira lightly stroked his cheek, and Maisie reached tentatively for his hand, but Duncan seemed to look at his father and mumble some sort of apology for stealing a horse.

“He’s delirious!” Maisie cried, distressed.

“He’s just woken up!” said the doctor curtly.  “Give him a moment to get his bearings.”

It took Duncan quite a few moments to get his bearings.  His brain appeared to be trying to protect him from the terrible fact that he had been dreaming before and that this nightmare was his real waking life.  Thomas was dead… the clan had been practically wiped out… Thomas was dead.

“How do you feel, Duncan?” asked his mother quietly.

Duncan made himself look at her, but what he saw in her face made him want to look away again.  She looked so thin and pale, and the sparkle in her eyes had been extinguished.  He felt guilty, as though he had wrought all of those changes.  If only he could have saved Thomas… but he hadn’t even been with his brother when he died.  It was only later that he found him…

“Duncan?”

The sound of his father’s voice fortified something within Duncan.  Somehow, from somewhere, it enabled him to find some hidden source of strength.

“I feel…” he started to speak, but realised he didn’t even know how to continue.  How did he feel?  Duncan had been in so much mental anguish that he hadn’t spared his body much thought.  He shifted slightly, testing his muscles, and hissed with instant pain.  “I’ve felt better,” he murmured darkly.

Lachlan managed to summon a small smile.  “Aye, I bet you have, lad,” he said gently.  “It took the doctor almost an entire day to stitch you back together again.”

“What’s the damage?” Duncan asked, although at this point he hardly cared.  He still seemed to have all of his limbs, although in truth, he was so distracted that he might have lost a leg and not noticed.

“Nothing that won’t heal given time,” answered his father quietly.

For a second, Duncan wondered his father was sorry for that… he wondered if his family would have preferred it if he had died and Thomas had made it home… that thought was so painful, so guilt inducing, that he had to clenched his eyes shut against the agony of it.

“Duncan?  Duncan?  Are you all right?”  Maisie’s panicked voice drew Duncan back from the edge of despair.

“Can I have some water?” he croaked, finally realising that it felt like he was talking with a mouth full of ash.

Muira and Maisie both leapt to make themselves useful, but the jug was on Maisie’s side of the room, so she poured out a glass of water for her brother and helped him to drink.

Once Duncan had a taste of the sparkling cool liquid he realised the full depth of his thrist.  He drank greedily, heedless of the doctor, who was imploring him to sip.   Duncan finished the glass and begged for another before his thirst was quenched.  It was amazing how much a drink cleared the haze from his mind.  The trouble was that Duncan didn’t know if he wanted that haze cleared…

He turned to look at Maisie and frowned mildly, which hurt his poor battered face.  “You’re here?” he said slowly.

“Well of course I’m here, little brother!” she tutted.  “Uncle Ewan and Aunt Cait came too for the-” she stopped speaking all of a sudden and paled.  Muira let out a sob, while Maisie turned and looked in horror to her father.

“They came to pay their last respects to Thomas and to be here for you, Duncan,” Lachlan said carefully.  His voice was steady, but it didn’t sound anything like normal.

Duncan closed his eyes and wished that he had never woken up.  He didn’t want this life!  He wanted to be laid to rest beside his brother.

“Duncan?” Maisie whispered.

“I want to sleep,” he said numbly, refusing to even open his eyes again.  He couldn’t bring himself to say I want to be alone.  What right did he have to ask them for anything?  To act ungrateful for their care, when by rights they should disdain from seeing him?  Ever perceptive, his father seemed to know what he needed though.  In a quiet, but firm voice he managed to empty the room.

Muira clearly didn’t want to leave her son, but grief and exhaustion had sapped most of the fight out of her.  Maisie gave her brother’s hand one last squeeze and then she led her mother out of the room, following after the doctor, who had gone before them.  Left alone with his father there was so much that Duncan wanted to say… to ask… but in the end he said nothing, and Lachlan left the room a few moments after his wife and daughter with one backwards glance at his son.

Duncan folded in on his himself, and kept all of the hurt inside.  He should have found comfort in his family, but they didn’t understand what he had been through, they couldn’t understand the depth of loss he felt.  Thomas had been his hero- he had been his best friend.  Thomas had been the standard by which Duncan measured everything he did… so how was he meant to go on living without his brother to guide him?

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