“You’re welcome.” Alasdair surprised her by kissing her. Though the kiss was brief, it was warm, potent and delicious. It made her recall with vivid clarity all the things she loved about him. He then picked Rory up. “Are you all right, lad?”

“Aye.” Rory grinned ear to ear. “I wanted to see you in a real sword fight, but Ma wouldn’t let me.”

“She had to keep you safe. Come, let’s go.” He headed toward the door.

“Wait! I must dress.” Wearing only a smock, Gwyneth grabbed her armload of clothing and ran behind a screen. “Where will we go?”

“Back to the inn until Southwick is captured. You and Rory are not safe until he is. In the morn, Lachlan and I shall meet with the king.”

***

Gwyneth was in the midst of telling her son a story when a fist pounded on her door at the inn in London the next day. Maybe Alasdair and Lachlan were back from Whitehall Palace.

Though the meeting with the king concerned Rory’s future, Alasdair had not allowed her to attend. It was common knowledge King James did not look favorably upon women, especially ones of questionable morals and character which, though she hated to admit it, described her reputation.

She rushed to the door but didn’t open it. “Who is it?”

“There is someone here to see you, m’lady,” Angus called from the passage. Alasdair had left the five clansmen to guard her and Rory until Southwick, Maxwell Huntley, could be captured.

Well, who was it? She unlocked the heavy door and yanked it open.

Her gaze fell upon her mother’s face. Heaven help me! Gwyneth clutched at the door for support, her vision blurring with tears.

“Mother?” she whispered, almost afraid the dear woman was an illusion.

“Gwyneth.” Her mother smiled, came forward and tugged her into an embrace. “Oh, child, how I have missed you.”

Gwyneth squeezed her mother, though not enough to hurt her fragile frame. For six years she had feared she would never see her mother again. “Thanks be to God for this blessing.”

Her mother pulled back and placed a palm against Gwyneth’s cheek. “Indeed. I’m so glad you have come home.”

“You are?” Gwyneth’s throat tightened when she noticed her mother’s hair had turned gray and wrinkles creased her face.

“Of course. I never wanted you to leave.”

“None of us did,” another female voice said.

Gwyneth glanced over her mother’s shoulder and found three of her sisters standing in the passage, smiling.

“Margaret, Elizabeth, Katherine!” She hugged each of them in turn.

Two small boys ran past Gwyneth, almost tripping over her skirts.

“Boys!” Margaret scolded.

“It’s fine. Come in.” Gwyneth backed up and allowed them all to enter. Angus entered also, obviously still guarding, and closed the door.

“This is my son, Rory.” Please God, let them accept him and love him as I do.

Gwyneth’s mother knelt and touched Rory’s hair. “Hello, Rory. You are such a handsome young man. He favors you, Gwyneth.”

A ray of hope shone through her fear. “Rory, this is your grandmother.”

He frowned at her and she realized he didn’t know what a grandmother was.

Gwyneth swallowed back the constriction in her throat. “She’s my mother and that makes her your grandmother.”

“Oh.” He smiled and hugged her. Gwyneth introduced everyone else, and each of her sisters complimented Rory and seemed sincere in their acceptance of him.

“Your father is an imbecile and we have shown him the error of his ways,” her mother said. “We’ve made him promise to beg your forgiveness.”

Father will never do such a thing.

“And we heard Maxwell Huntley, Lord Southwick has been arrested,” Katherine said.

“He has?” A spurt of gladness shot through her.

Her sisters nodded. Another knock sounded on the door. Angus opened it. Alasdair waited in the corridor. His gaze flew past his cousin and scanned the people in her room.

“Laird MacGrath, please meet some members of my family,” Gwyneth said.

He entered and she introduced everyone. Alasdair employed his most genteel manners in greeting them.

“We have heard Southwick was captured,” Gwyneth said.

“Aye, not three hours past. Pray pardon, m’ladies.” He bowed. “I’m needing to speak with Lady Gwyneth about a matter of much import.”

She turned to her family. “Will you watch Rory for me? I’ll return forthwith.”

They nodded, their wide eyes curious.

Alasdair left Padraig and Angus guarding Rory.

Once inside his room, Alasdair turned to her. “’Tis a surprise to see your mother and sisters here.”

Gwyneth smiled. “A very pleasant surprise. I never thought I would see them again.”

“I have news. Indeed, Maxwell Huntley has been arrested as a traitor to the crown and his titles and property stripped from him. Therefore, he is no longer marquess of Southwick and the title is forfeit. As a reward to us for uncovering the conspiracy, King James is creating a new title for Rory, that of Viscount Mackem, and granting him the former Southwick’s estate in the north of England.”

Gwyneth felt suspended, as if the floor had disappeared from beneath her feet. “Surely you jest.”

“Nay. ’Tis true.” Alasdair grinned. “His Majesty was feeling rather generous and created another lesser title for me as well, for my future heir.”

“In faith! Are you saying this estate in the north is Rory’s now?”

“Aye, though His Majesty will watch over it until Rory is old enough to manage it himself. It is a working estate with a steward and full staff to run it. And income.”

“I cannot believe it.” Chills coursed over her skin. “So, if I choose, Rory and I can live on the estate?”

Studying her for a long moment, Alasdair stiffened, his expression darkening. “Aye, if you so choose.” He paused. “But you need not if you don’t wish it. They will be his even if you both come back to Kintalon with me.”

Oh, good lord! Now the terrible choice confronted her. She had only thought she was in a quandary when faced with the possibility of having to marry Southwick. Now she had to choose between what she’d wanted most for six years, to take Rory from the Highlands…or to marry a man like no other. A man she had fallen in love with so effortlessly and deeply, she’d had no defense against it.

Guilt assailed her when she realized how selfish her love for him was. If she chose him, surely she would be punished for her greed, for wallowing in the sensual pleasures of him. She must not think of herself. She must do the right thing—what was best for Rory.

Her sacrifice would rip her heart out. “Alasdair.” She swallowed hard, then forced the words to form on her tongue. “I pray you will forgive me. Since Rory was born, I wished to take him out of the violent Highlands, and you have allowed me to do that. I can never thank you enough.”

“You wish to stay in England?” His tone deepened, just shy of a growl.

“I don’t want to; I have to. Rory will be much safer here.”

He regarded her as if she were his worst enemy. Though Alasdair had never struck her, other men had. She backed up a step, then two.

“For Rory. Not for myself. You have allowed him to have everything I could’ve ever hoped for and more. I never dreamed he would have property. And now all this—a title, an estate. It all astounds me. But to be an English lord one day, he will need to live here, in England. My family has been kind enough to welcome me back. And your clan could never be safe from Donald if I were there. He might burn the village again, or worse, in an effort to retaliate against me.”

“Don’t worry about Donald. He will be taken care of in due time.” More controlled anger seeped into Alasdair’s tone. Her words had caused him to transform into the fierce warrior she had only glimpsed on a few occasions. “Gwyneth, I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you one more time—I love you. And I wish to marry you. You are most likely carrying my bairn. Possibly my heir! Are you thinking I’ll just go back to Kintalon and forget about all that?”