A Fierce Archer (Clan Ross Book 6) by Hildie McQueen (best story books to read .TXT) 📗

her own clan,” his mother advised. “If she refuses, then set some ground rules. If she is to take a lover, it must be discreetly.”

“What of the child?” He paced in front of the fireplace. “Everyone will think it is mine.”

“There is naught we can do about it,” Lady Ross said with a sigh. “The only thing I can suggest is that ye go away. Create a life away from here.”

“Yer son will be seen as a bad father who deserts his own child,” her mother’s companion interjected. “Perhaps what should be done is for her to be sent away. If we find out who the father is, he can be bribed to take her.”

Moments later, Ewan returned to his wife’s chambers, not at all looking forward to the argument that would no doubt ensue.

Familiar noises made him stop from knocking. Grunting and moaning came from behind the door. Immediately, his hand went to his broadsword. Before drawing it, Ewan considered this was a good thing. He was about to find out who his wife’s lover was. He would barge in and demand the man take her away or face death.

The swishing of his sword slipping out of its holdings somehow permeated through the thundering blood rushing past his ears.

Stepping through the doorway, he allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the dimness. The couple was so enthralled that they did not notice his presence until he was beside the bed.

It was then the male turned and met his gaze.

For a moment, Ewan was sure he’d made a mistake, walked into the wrong bedchamber. But Una’s gasp brought him to realize he had not.

His father pushed away from her slowly, withdrawing from her body in a way to ensure Ewan saw it clearly. All the while, Una remained frozen, her legs spread.

“I thought ye said he would not return tonight,” his father said to Una, who other than to swallow visibly had yet to move. “I suppose it is best for it to be known. I tire of hiding,” the laird said in a bored voice.

When Ewan’s fist crushed his father’s nose, the sounds of bones crunching seemed to hang in the air. It was not a fair fight. Ewan was over a head taller than the laird and outweighed him, all muscle.

The second punch to the midsection slammed his father into a table that toppled over, spilling the contents and breaking the furnishing with loud crashes and cracks.

Ewan punched him a third and fourth time, each hit harder.

When the older man fell to the floor, Ewan fell upon him like a wild beast, pummeling and pounding him until strong arms dragged him away.

And still he continued fighting, landing punches to both his brothers and a guard who’d come when hearing Una scream.

The door was slammed shut to keep others out, but not before some of the servants, who’d also rushed there, saw what was happening.

“Stop, Ewan!” Darach shouted, shoving Ewan against the opposite wall while  Duncan lowered to the floor next to their father.

“To the dungeon,” his father sputtered. “Lock him in the dungeon for daring to strike me.”

Neither brother replied. Instead, Darach motioned to the guard to help him carry the bloody man out of the room. “Take him to his bedchamber then find the healer.”

“The dungeon!” their father screamed. “Ewan! Ye are dead to me!”

The room became eerily silent. Ewan shoved Darach aside and went to the bed, his face twisted in fury. “Ye are a whore. Ye are my father’s whore.”

Una, who’d yanked blankets up to cover herself, seemed not to hear him. Instead, she looked straight ahead to the door.

When Ewan turned, his mother stood there, her gaze riveted on Una.

 

Knocks woke Ewan and he called whoever it was to enter. Two servants carried in a wooden tub and another two, each with pair of buckets filled with water.

A woman walked in last with a fifth bucket, this one steaming.

“I can assist with yer bathing if ye’d like, sir,” she said with a light smile.

Once the water was poured into the tub, he sent all the servants away but the woman.

“Ye look refreshed,” Ruari said, looking Ewan up and down. “I have been told the news of yer lairdship. I am glad for ye.” They hugged, his cousin patting his back a bit hard. “Do not let it mean ye think yerself better than us commoners.”

Ewan laughed. “Only when it comes to the last bits left at the bottom of a bottle. Then I will demand that what is left is mine.”

They walked into the great room and Malcolm motioned for him to join those at the high board.

As was customary, the McLeod and his wife were seated on Malcolm’s left, first the visiting laird, then Lady McLeod and, lastly, Lady Ross.

As per usual at Dun Airgid, conversation and music filled the air. Food a plenty was brought out and Ewan’s mouth watered. Of all the things he’d missed the most since leaving, it was the food. The cook there had no compare.

Movement caught his attention. Three women entered the room. One was Gisela, Kieran’s wife, the second was Merida. Upon noticing the third, he waited for the familiar pang to fill him. Instead, he managed to taper it down.

Catriona was still there.

She and the women commanded the room’s attention as they walked in and forward to the high board where he sat.

It was interesting that despite the passing of time, he could sense that she knew he was there. Purposely, she kept her head turned just enough so that he could not make eye contact. When it was impossible for her not to acknowledge Malcolm as was customary, she managed to only look to the laird.

He kept his gaze on her until she slid