Keeley grinned, easily searching out the girl named Gretchen in the group. She was sitting astride one of the boys, holding his arms to the ground while he shouted his protests.
“Crispen is Ewan’s son from his first marriage,” Mairin explained. “His wife passed when Crispen was but a babe.”
“ ’Tis obvious he holds you in high regard.”
Mairin’s face softened. “I am heavy with a child of my own, but Crispen will always be my first. The child of my heart though he didn’t come from my womb. He is the reason I came to Ewan. He brought me here.”
Impulsively Keeley reached over and squeezed Mairin’s hand. “You are a very fortunate woman. ’Tis obvious the laird loves you dearly.”
“You must stop. You’ll have me all weepy.” Mairin sniffed. “I cry over the least little thing these days. It drives Ewan daft. All his men avoid me for fear of doing or saying something to make me cry.”
Keeley chuckled. “You aren’t the only lass who suffers so. Many of the women I’ve attended find themselves overly emotional. Particularly as their time draws near.”
They continued to walk along the hillside farther from the children and as they circled around the keep, Cormac at their heels, the courtyard came into view. At first Keeley paid little attention to the goings on. Men spent their time fighting. ’Twas the life of a warrior. A man had to be prepared to defend his home at all times.
But then a particular warrior caught her eyes. He wasn’t practicing. He didn’t even hold a sword. He stood to the side with the laird watching as the other men sparred.
“That bloody fool,” Keeley muttered.
“What?” Mairin asked in a startled voice.
Ignoring both Mairin and Cormac, Keeley charged down the hill toward the courtyard, fury bubbling with each stomp.
“Ignorant, stubborn, impossible fool!”
She hadn’t realized that the men had paused the moment she came into the courtyard or that her words flew like arrows. Ewan tilted his head heavenward as if praying for patience while Alaric grinned and put his arms out to ward off her impending attack.
“You were saying?” Alaric asked when she came to a stop in front of him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “I told you to stay abed. In your chamber. To rest! You shouldn’t be outside in the cold. You shouldn’t even be on your feet. How can I tend you when you won’t listen to even the most common sense directives?”
Alaric winced while Caelen chuckled. Alaric shot his brother a dark look.
“I believe the lass just suggested you’re lacking in common sense,” Caelen drawled. “Clearly I didn’t give her enough credit. She is an astute lass, indeed.”
Alaric turned, fist raised when Keeley grabbed his wrist and forced him to face her. Then she rounded furiously on the laird and Caelen.
“You two are just as guilty of lacking in common sense. Why didn’t you insist your brother return to his chamber the moment he stepped outside?”
“He isn’t a child to be coddled,” Ewan growled. “You’ll stop with your insults immediately.”
“This has nothing to do with being a child. The man clearly has no judgment. It’s up to you to lay down the law. You are laird, are you not? Would you allow one of your other warriors to endanger his health by rising too soon from his sick bed? Would you then explain a defeat in battle away by saying that the warrior wasn’t a child to be coddled when he wasn’t present to help you defend your keep because he lies in a cold grave?”
“The lass has a solid point,” Caelen pointed out. “And I’d also like to offer that ’Twas me who suggested you were a dolt for being up.”
Ewan scowled. He clearly had no liking for being reprimanded by a woman. By this time, Mairin and Cormac had arrived in the courtyard and Ewan looked even less happy that his wife was present.
“Mairin, you should not be out in the cold,” he said sternly.
Keeley gaped at him. “Oh, so you’d reprimand your wife who is hale and hearty, but not your brother who has only just recovered from his fever and has many days to go before he is well enough to be out of his bed?”
“God spare me,” Ewan muttered.
Keeley returned fiercely to Alaric. “Are you trying to kill yourself? Have you no care for your well being?” She poked him in the chest and rose up on tiptoe so she could look him more squarely in the eye. “If you tear my stitches, I’ll not repair them. You’ll have to bleed to death. The wound will fester and your flesh will rot away, but don’t expect any help from my quarter. Stubborn, infuriating man.”