Even in his inebriated state, he seemed to register the terror in her voice, because he instantly released her. “Then where is my son?” he demanded. “Where is Andrew?”
She blinked. Opened her mouth, closed it. Then blinked again.
“Andrew?” she echoed, quite mystified. Had he misspoken? Didn’t he refer to his brother, Gavin St. James?
Whirling away from her, Liam skirted her bed and stalked back to the door. “He’s not in his room, or the ground floor. I was told he was ill. I need to find my son.”
A new fear dawned on Mena as the unsteady Scot disappeared into the hall. Andrew was likely still outside with Rune, and if Liam was on alert—
“Just what the bloody hell is this?” the marquess roared.
Oh, no. Dropping the counterpane, Mena dashed across the room to the stand where her robe hung, and she snatched, donned, and belted it in one frenzied move.
“Doona be angry, Father,” Andrew was saying, as Mena nearly stumbled over her feet in her haste to reach the door. She turned the corner to see Andrew facing her, clutching a squirming puppy in the crook of his chest and crossing his other arm over his body as though to shield Rune from his father’s infamous wrath.
“Angry doesna begin to describe it,” Ravencroft bit out. “How long have ye been keeping the beast from me?”
Both father and son’s blue-black hair gleamed beneath the gas lamps in the hall, and Mena saw a temper that could mature to rival that of his father’s flashing in Andrew’s paler eyes. “She’s been in the keep for two weeks now,” the boy stated. “And ye havena even noticed. What harm is there in keeping her?”
“Two. Weeks?” The words were growled from deep below the marquess’s ribs. A preternatural stillness settled upon Ravencroft’s enormous shoulders like the shroud of death as Mena hurried to place herself between the boy and his fuming father.
Once Mena faced off with the Demon Highlander, she came to understand that the more still he became, the wider his lids peeled away from his deep-set eyes, the more true danger they faced.
Lord, but he was the most fearsome man. Had Andrew not been behind her, she would have stepped back. But she drew what strength she must to protect the boy from his anger.
This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened. The absolute worst way he could have discovered them. Now, all she could think to do was to delay this terrible discussion until the light of day.
“Perhaps, my laird, we should leave this conversation for the morning,” she suggested evenly.
Ravencroft assessed her with eyes almost shrewd enough to be sober. “Ye knew.” It was a statement, not a question, though he posed it to her breasts rather than her eyes.
Mena glanced down, and noted that her nipples still pebbled through the thin silk of her peach robe. She crossed her arms over them and scowled at the man. How he could notice such a thing at a time like this was inconceivable.
“I found out recently,” she admitted. “I wanted Andrew to tell you, instead of tattling on him. And he was planning to talk to you about it, tomorrow, in fact.”
“Tomorrow. How convenient.” Ravencroft’s scowl deepened. “This is inexcusable, Andrew. The rule has been, and forever will be, no beasts in the house. No pets. Especially dogs. Now get rid of it.”
Mena’s own brows drew together as she felt the desperation of the boy behind her, could sense the gathering storm. “Let’s not be hasty,” she cajoled. “Andrew’s taken good care of the little thing, and shown great responsibility.”
“Responsibility? He lied!”
“And—and that should be addressed,” she conceded around the heart beating in her throat. “But you said yourself he should learn to care for something other than his own desires, and he’s worked very hard to—”
“Uncle Thorne said I could keep her.” Andrew found his courage, hurling the argument from behind her shoulder.
Mena squeezed her eyes shut. It was the worst excuse he could have made. She knew what she would find when she again opened them and faced the rage that had ignited behind the laird’s eyes, watching his fists curl into white knuckles with trepidation.
“I doona give a bloody shite what Gavin told ye,” he roared, gesturing wildly. “I’m yer father, and I already told ye, nay.” He thumped his chest for emphasis.
“Some father,” Andrew muttered.
Every muscle in Mena’s body tensed.
“What did ye say?” Liam took a dangerous step forward, all his fire turning to ice as he regarded his son as though he were a stranger. An intruder.
“With a father like ye, I’d rather be an orphan,” Andrew spat, and must have clenched his grip in his anger, because the puppy let out a whimper.
“Andrew,” she gasped, though her eyes flew to the laird’s face to gauge his reaction. The rage hadn’t deserted him, but something tormented and bleak had dampened the fire there.
“That’s right.” Andrew’s voice gathered strength and volume, yet shook with anger and probably more than a little fear. “I wish all the time that ye’d never come home. Or that ye’d died at war so that all the years we spent missing ye, hating ye for leaving us, would have meant something.”
That was it. She’d had about enough of hotheaded Highlanders. It was time for cooler British sensibility to make order of this mess.
Mena whirled on Andrew, drawing herself up to her full height, which at this point was still barely taller than him. “Don’t you ever talk to your father in such a manner. How dare you?”
His mouth fell open in the exact gesticulation of shock his father had demonstrated only moments ago.
Mena wagged her finger, much as her beloved father had done the rare times he’d had to scold her. “He lives to protect your legacy. To protect you and keep you safe and happy and you simply refuse. He is a soldier—no—is a hero, and though you’ve made sacrifices as his son, he deserves your respect if not your ardent admiration.” Grief over the loss of her own father seized her so acutely, she wanted to collapse beneath the weight of it. She was able to fight the tears that threatened by seizing hold of her righteous indignation. “One day, you’ll have outlived him and, God willing, you’ll have children of your own. You’ll see what is out there in that dark, cruel world. You’ll know the horrors that people can inflict upon each other, and what dastardly things he protected you from. There will be so many words you’ll want to say. So much gratitude to express and so many questions to ask, and an understanding that you’ll want to share with him and … he won’t be there anymore. So you will take Rune and march yourself to bed, and when you wake up in the morning, you will draft the most heartfelt apology you’ve ever given in your life, do you understand me, Andrew Mackenzie?”
Silence jangled about in the hall until she planted her fists on her hips.
“Well?”
After a moment, the boy nodded mutely.
“And you.” She directed her wrath back at the Mackenzie laird, who regarded her as though she’d become an oddity he’d never before seen. Astonishment smothered his anger, before his eyes dipped to her breasts once again.
Crossing her arms, she scowled at him. “Don’t you understand that there is nothing better for a lonely child than a loving pet? Perhaps if you’d had the company and unconditional regard of such a sweet dog you wouldn’t be such an incurable ogre all the time.” His lashes flicked down, shadowing his glare with the same boyish petulance his son had conveyed.