Her good sense insisted on self-protection, on retreating from this encroaching closeness. Nonetheless, she found herself giving him a candid reply. “I don’t want to be apart from you either, but I don’t like my son knowing that I can’t keep my hands off you.”
Malcolm’s glance was mocking. “He’s a clever boy. I suspect he may have already guessed.”
Rhona sighed and set her half-empty mug on the small table near her chair. “You could be right.”
“I don’t want to make things difficult for you.”
As if she believed that. His arrival made her life infinitely more complicated, and from what she could see, he had no qualms about that at all. She rose to her feet. “Would you like some mulled wine?”
He stepped closer, looming over her in a way that did nothing to bolster her self-control. Mixed with the fresh fragrance of the Christmas greenery and the spices in the wine, she caught the drift of Malcolm’s clean male scent. Desire tugged against common sense, and looked sure to win the battle.
“Aye, please. But first, there’s something I must do.”
Puzzled, she looked up at him. “Oh?”
“Aye. This.” His lips curved in a devilish smile, warning her of his intentions. He didn’t catch her unawares when he drew her into his arms for a leisurely kiss that left her staggering by the time he finished.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, clinging to his shoulders so she didn’t collapse into a heap at his feet.
He smiled and kissed her once more, before stepping away and leaning his hips against the bench. “How do you think Patrick is coping with everything?”
Before she could answer, Rhona needed a few seconds to banish the haze that blanketed her brain after that kiss. “On the surface, he’s taken it all in his stride. But it’s been a day and a half of dramatic, life-changing revelations, and he’ll need time to come to terms with what has happened. At least he likes you.”
To her surprise, Christmas dinner had been lighthearted fun, but once they returned to the warmth of the kitchen in the afternoon, Malcolm and Rhona had at last told Patrick about the events leading up to his birth. He’d listened in uncharacteristic stillness, and she could see that the story left a deep impression on him. He remained more pensive than usual when he went to bed.
She wasn’t surprised. It was a lot for a young man to take in. For anyone, really.
All three of them had sat talking until nearly eleven, and Rhona had the strangest feeling that the long, intense discussion had forged bonds that could never break.
The faint smile that lightened Malcolm’s face turned him into the image of her son. At least after this Christmas, that resemblance would no longer set her heart cramping with agony.
“I like him, too.” He ran his hand through his rumpled, silver-streaked hair and his voice deepened with emotion. “By God, I love him. I always knew I would, but that doesn’t change the shock or the power of the feeling when it hit me. He’s an impressive young man. I’m proud to call him my son. You did a wonderful job bringing him up.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “I take no credit for that. Patrick was born good. You’ve never seen such a beautiful baby, and he never cried or caused trouble.”
Rhona regretted that she’d spoken when sadness darkened Malcolm’s eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t see that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see him grow up.”
As pity made her eyes mist, she took his arm. “I wish I could make up for everything that you’ve missed.”
It was startling how natural it felt to touch him. In fact, she’d reached a stage where it felt unnatural not to touch him. Goodness knew what state she’d be in if he stayed much longer. Already she fell back into the intimacy they’d once shared.
She struggled to remind herself that after all this time apart, Malcolm was a stranger. But he felt even less like a stranger than he had last night. And he hadn’t felt much like a stranger then.
When he laid his hand over hers, warmth surged up her arm and settled in her troubled heart. “At least I’ve found you both. And after today, Patrick knows about his heritage and his inheritance.”
Rhona struggled to lighten the portentous atmosphere building between them. It had been a long day, crammed with emotional strain. She wasn’t sure she was up to facing any more demands right now. She forced herself to smile, although she wouldn’t wager a groat on how convincing it was. “He rather fancies himself as king of the castle.”
To her relief, Malcolm responded with a short laugh. “Let’s hope he still feels like that when he sees it.”
They’d made no arrangements for a visit, but she assumed Malcolm wanted Patrick to come to Dun Carron as soon as possible. She suspected he’d want their son to live there, too, at least some of the time, so he could make a place for himself as the heir.
Rhona hoped to heaven the clan accepted him. His obvious resemblance to his father should help.
Today had been very much focused on the past. She had an inkling that tomorrow might mark the start of plans for the future.
Malcolm must have had a similar thought because he lifted her hand from his arm and drew her toward the center of the floor. “What about you, Rhona? Are you going to come back to Dun Carron?”
Her heart did another of those disconcerting cartwheels. She tugged her hand free and buried it in her skirts to hide its shaking. She wasn’t sure she was ready to have this conversation. “How can I? Everybody knows about the old scandal.”
His dark eyes were somber and unwavering. “How can you not? It’s your home.”
“It hasn’t been my home since I was a silly girl, carrying your bastard in my belly.”
He flinched. “Don’t call Patrick that. In my mind, he’s my legitimate son.”
Old cynicism twisted her lips. “That’s all well and good, but in everyone else’s mind, I’m a slut and he’s your by-blow. I have a good life and an unblemished reputation here in Muirburgh. Why should I give those up?”
Malcolm remained composed under her attack. She should be used to that by now. “You have a place at Dun Carron as my wife, Rhona. In my heart, you’ve always been my wife. If we make it official and you become the glen’s lady, who will care about what we did twenty years ago?”
She frowned, even as her asinine heart told her to throw herself into his arms and tell him she was happy to spend the rest of her life with him. “Malcolm, this isn’t fair. You only turned up last night. It’s too soon.”
The stubbornness that had appeared so often since he’d arrived hardened his features. “I came here last night after a lifetime of loving you. I still love you. Nothing that has happened since then has changed that. The question now is how do you feel about me.”
He still loved her. He told her so.
She’d been right to fear that emotional honesty. I still love you. Those four words contained such power. Her heart swelled with dangerous pleasure, even as fear prickled across her skin.
“I… I don’t know,” she said and cursed herself as a coward.
Because she had an inexorable suspicion that she still loved him, too. She had a horrible feeling that she’d never stopped loving him.