Lachlan chuckled and raised his tankard. “Since most people think baths cause agues, ’tis a flimsy excuse to have a woman in your debt.”

Alasdair sent his brother a hard stare.

“Aye, I can see you’re calf-eyed over her.”

“I cannot wait for the day you meet a lass who ties you up in so many knots you’ll never be free again.”

“Och! How can you place such a curse upon me?” Lachlan’s expression was one of exaggerated insult and shock.

“’Tis only a matter of time, I wager.”

“Never mind that. There is something I’ve been wondering about. This knave who took Rory, am I to understand that he is Rory’s natural father?”

“Aye.”

“What of Baigh Shaw?”

“Gwyneth married him after the fact, to give her son a name.”

Lachlan raised his brows. “Ah. ’Tis not a terrible situation, then, is it? He may gift Rory with property one day.”

“Aye, but ’tis likely Southwick will mistreat and abuse Rory. He slapped Gwyneth down once. I’m tempted to strangle him for that. She also said she has heard of him beating his servants and ’haps even killing one, but no one could prove it.”

“Hell, you’re right then. The lad shouldn’t be with him, especially since he’s so young.”

“I cannot let her down.”

“You would do anything to make her happy, aye?”

“I’ll do what I can. Southwick is a vile serpent. In truth, I cannot stand for him to take custody of wee Rory. I was tempted to sever Southwick’s limbs from his body when first I met him.”

Lachlan snorted. “Mayhap you will get your chance. In the meantime, I will ride to the Newhaven docks and talk with some people I know to see if Southwick and his party have boarded a ship of late.”

“I’ll go with you. How far is it?”

“About two miles north. But what of the lady in her hot bath? Do you not want to check on her?” Lachlan winked.

“Nay.” Alasdair stared into his ale, remembering the last bath of hers he had intruded on. She was temptation itself, her skin warm and damp, scented like flowers. Again, he would need to taste her essence, sweeter than honey, drugging like lotus. Och! He was daft, in truth.

He wouldn’t impose upon her, mentally or physically, anymore.

“And why not?” Lachlan asked.

“All she will be thinking of is the damned tutoring position you’ve found for her.”

“I’m sorry I’ve made your task harder, but I’m thinking you’re up for the challenge. A good swiving does soften up the lasses and make them look at you with dreamy eyes.”

“You’re a goat.”

Lachlan laughed and rose. “We should be on our way—if you’re certain you’d rather visit Newhaven than the room above stairs.”

***

In her room, Gwyneth savored the warm bath water and the soothing fragrance of the chamomile, bog myrtle and wild thyme soap she’d brought with her. A thrill trailed along her nerves. Lachlan had found her a tutoring position. Thanks be to God. Now they had only to recover Rory, and she would have what she wanted.

They would get him back. There was no other alternative.

She imagined herself teaching three small boys, along with Rory, at a beautiful country estate just outside Edinburgh. It would be a good life.

But Alasdair’s absence would linger like a great, dark cloud in her bright day. She would miss him. She would have to lock her heart away in a chunk of ice. But she must, for Rory’s sake.

She lathered her hair. What other man would have sent her up a bath? None.

He was willing to risk life and limb to help her recover Rory, even willing to pay for this trip, their lodgings and food. If they took a ship to London, that would be another cost. Perhaps it was nothing to him, being an earl. But she cringed, thinking of the money he was spending on her account. She felt an obligation to repay him the money, and she would once she earned wages.

Unlike Donald, Baigh, or her father, Alasdair supported her emotionally. He did not wish to strip away her strength, but reinforced it with his own. This was something completely foreign to her. And because of it, her gratitude ran so deep it hurt her not to be able to give him everything he asked of her—and she would, if it were in her power. But it wasn’t. Her responsibility to Rory superseded everything, even her own heartbreak.

After her bath, she dried her hair before the hearth, recalling the night she had sat on Alasdair’s lap while he combed his fingers through the snarled strands.

How tempting he was.

How I love him.

Tears dripped onto her cheeks. She wished he would knock on her door.

She waited what seemed like hours, her hair long since dry, then finally crawled beneath the covers of the bed. She was alone. It was no more than she’d asked for. She didn’t have Rory nor Alasdair to hold. Her throat ached, and her tears soaked into the pillow.

When next she became aware, knocking sounded on her door. Dawn light filtered through the small window.

“Gwyneth?” The voice belonged to Alasdair.

She rose, wrapped her arisaid about her and opened the door.

He stood in the corridor, his large frame overpowering the small space. Even in the dimness, the dark circles beneath his eyes told her he probably had not slept last night. “We need to board ship within the hour. Southwick and his party, including Rory, sailed day before yesterday.”

***

Two days later, Gwyneth stood on the threshold of Southwick’s London residence. Alasdair’s presence behind her did little to calm her nerves.

“La—” Gwyneth swallowed past the constriction in her dry throat. “Lady Gwyneth Carswell and Laird Alasdair MacGrath, earl and chief of MacGrath, to see Lord Southwick, if you please.” Not for more than six years had she called herself Lady. And she felt like a fraud doing so now.

The stuffy, gray-haired steward in blue and gold brocade livery gave a curt bow and widened the carved walnut door.

Because Lachlan had several friends and connections in London, he’d soon learned Southwick was at his home and an unidentified boy with him.

The steward ushered them across the pale gray marble floor, opened a door off the main hall and motioned them inside. “Pray, wait here. I will notify his lordship of your presence,” he said in a nasal voice.

Gwyneth stepped into a huge book-lined library, three times the size of Alasdair’s cozy one at Kintalon. With its gilt furnishings, tapestries and dark wood furniture, the room had a regal quality that further increased her jitters. The scent of musty, leather-bound tomes usually calmed her, but this time the smell reminded her she was back in England. Back where she’d made the decision that had forever altered her life.

Wearing his finest blue and black plaid kilt, along with a midnight blue doublet, Alasdair stepped close to her. “I still say we should’ve stolen Rory back.” His eyes gleamed dark and dangerous.

“No. I would not have this lead to bloodshed. We must work this out civilly.”

“As you wish.” His hand rested on the shining silver basket-hilt of his sword at his left side. A sheathed, brass-hilted dirk hung from his belt, and he had a smaller sgian dubh hidden inside his doublet. The tension emanating from his body told her he expected trouble and was ready for it.

“You do not think civility is possible, do you?”

Alasdair lifted a brow and let his gaze wander over the ornate furnishings and along the bookcases. “I wouldn’t hazard a guess.”

After the whirlwind of travel they had engaged in for the last week, the room around them was too still and quiet.

She glanced up and found Alasdair watching her.

“I thank you for coming with me.”

“I wouldn’t want you to arrive here alone. No telling what Southwick will do.”

I must see Rory. Was he terrified? Hungry? Hurt? Her gaze kept darting to the door. She crossed her arms over her queasy stomach. She had been truly sick with worry since they’d left Edinburgh and had not been able to keep a bite down.