The child repeated the move perfectly.

“Excellent! You’re a natural.”

His eyes alight, he grinned ear to ear. “Truly?” He even did a little bounce on his toes.

“Aye. ’Twas perfect.” Och, the lad near carved his heart from his chest at times. Maybe because he looked so much like Gwyneth, with those blue eyes. Or ’haps it was because Rory made Alasdair realize how much he missed his own son.

But he must not dwell on the past. Here and now were the important things.

Rory stood beside him, awaiting the next instruction.

Alasdair backed up to give himself room. “Now, if the enemy is slashing from left to right, trying to take your head off, you would block the blow this way.” He flicked his blade at the correct angle.

“What are you doing?” the incensed female voice echoed from behind them.

Alasdair turned. Gwyneth stood with her fists propped on her narrow hips, her brows lowered, and her mouth crimped into a thin line.

Now I’ve gone and done it.

“He’s showing me how to use a claidheamh mòr.” Rory proudly demonstrated his new skills for his mother.

She stiffened. “Why don’t you go find Little John Ray and show him? I need to talk to Laird MacGrath.”

“Aye!” The boy ran from the garden.

“Do not run with that sword!”

“’Tis not real, Ma,” Rory said as if she were daft.

“I know that, but you could still fall on it and hurt yourself.”

Rory let out an impatient breath and walked the rest of the way.

Gwyneth faced Alasdair again and crossed her arms over her chest. He would like to kiss the tightness and annoyance from her lips. But first he would, without doubt, have to endure an unpleasant sort of tongue-lashing. He would much prefer the other type, a flick of her tongue against his lips, inside his mouth. Saints! He could not look at her without hot arousal stirring his blood.

“I do not want you teaching my son how to wield a blade,” she said firmly.

Alasdair returned his broadsword to the scabbard at his hip. “And why is that, m’lady?”

Her face darkened. “Rory will not be a Highland warrior when he grows up. You people fight over everything. It’s your favorite pastime. I tell you, killing should not be a pastime.”

“’Tis a matter of survival. Do you think we invited the MacIrwins to burn the village? Nay. Every man must learn to defend himself and those he cares about. I make sure all the lads are trained so that when they become men, they can protect themselves, their families and the clan. If Rory grows up without knowing how to handle weapons, he will be at a disadvantage. If he is attacked, he will be unable to defend himself. Is that what you’re wanting?”

“No. I just don’t want him fighting, or using weapons at all,” she said in a calmer but stubborn tone.

“You’re a woman, and English at that. I don’t expect you to understand what it means to be a man of the Highlands. But Rory has undoubtedly inherited his interest in swords and protecting his family from his father.”

“From his father? That’s preposterous.”

“Baigh Shaw was ever a man who relished battle and fighting.”

Gwyneth opened her mouth, then closed it. Twice. For a moment she reminded him of a grounded salmon. Then the skin of her face and throat turned that adorable pink color. He wondered if her whole body blushed in just that way during lovemaking.

“The p-point is…I will not allow Rory to learn to fight or go into battle. I am giving him an education, and he will one day find a good position in a safe place. He could be a scholar, perhaps a professor at university, or even a physician.”

She had a grand dream for her son, and there was naught wrong with that, except it might not be what Rory wanted. When he grew up, he might wish to join the king’s army instead. But Alasdair wouldn’t deepen her anxiety. “Aye, I ken your meaning. No parent wants to think of their child in a dangerous circumstance.”

“You’re not a parent, so you cannot grasp the import of it.”

Her words flayed him like the sharp edge of a blade. “You’re right. I’m not a parent because my son died before he could be born.”

Gwyneth pressed her eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them, managed to look most contrite. “Pray pardon, my laird. I did not mean that,” she said softly.

He didn’t respond, but tried to lock his emotions away again. He didn’t like them breaking free at the least provocation, nor did he wish to speak harshly to her.

“I only meant that, I don’t want anyone to encourage Rory in his interest in swords,” she said. “He’s always fighting mock battles with imaginary people. I usually try to divert his attention to something else.”

“’Tis a good habit. But you must realize the lad has a lot of Scots blood in him, and making him lose interest in fighting or weaponry will be a task. ’Tis natural. He was born to it. I was the same way as a lad. I was always hacking away at something with a wooden sword, as were my brother and cousins.”

“That’s fine. I’d just prefer you didn’t show him any more techniques for killing people.”

“I wasn’t showing him how to kill people. I was showing him how to block the blows of blades coming at him, moves that could one day save his life.”

She stared at the ground in silence and rubbed her forehead. He hoped she would think that over thoroughly, because a grown man who couldn’t defend himself was as good as dead.

“He but wants to protect and defend his ma,” Alasdair said.

“Did he tell you that?”

“Aye. When I was hurt and in your byre, he said he would protect you from the MacIrwin.”

“I see.”

He wasn’t sure she did. “Even then, Rory knew Donald was evil and that you were afraid of him. Rory’s a bright and canny lad, m’lady, and he’s but trying to develop the skills he needs to be a man.”

“He’s only five,” she said, her voice low and vulnerable.

Alasdair restrained the urge to take her into his arms and hold her, to soothe away the tension and fear. “He’ll be six soon, but it doesn’t matter his age. He’s a lad without his da, so he feels ’tis his job to protect the women of his family—you.”

“I must take him from the Highlands.” She locked her determined gaze onto Alasdair’s. “I’m sure Lachlan won’t be back for weeks with news of a position in Edinburgh. Have you thought of a family I might find a position with?”

Here it was again, the task he didn’t want to push forward with. It created too much turmoil within him. He’d already told her he didn’t want her to leave. But it would be best for Gwyneth, Rory, and the MacGrath clan if she did. Still, Alasdair knew he was a greedy, selfish bastard. He wanted…

What did he want?

“I have thought on it some. But I know very few Lowland families. None come to mind with young children.”

“What about your in-laws?”

“I’ve had little contact with them for some time. Perhaps one of Leitha’s brothers or sisters would be in need of a governess. I’ll send a letter.”

Her face brightened. “I would be in your debt.”

And what he would like in payment was a kiss. But how ridiculous he was—like a green lad on the edge of becoming a man, gazing at a pretty lass.

How he would love to be the cause of the happiness she now showed. But it was the prospect of leaving the Highlands—of leaving him—that filled her with joy.

“I thank you for your recommendation, Laird MacGrath.”

“You’re welcome. And ’tis Alasdair,” he corrected for the thousandth time. After the intimate way he’d touched her in the library, he couldn’t believe she would address him so formally, especially when they were alone. Clearly, she was trying to push him away.

She sobered, a guarded expression falling into place. “Very well, Alasdair.”

He shouldn’t have said anything. He preferred her smiling and carefree. She had the look of a very young lass then.