HIGHLAND PROMISE (THE SONS OF GREGOR MACLEOD)

Chapter Eighteen

Caitlin sat in her chair in front of the small hearth in the great hall. She didn't remember walking there after Darach had left, but the glow of his kiss had faded, and now she felt drained.

Wallace MacInnes wasn't her real father.

Tucking her feet beneath her, she wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her head to her knees. It was all too much. Everything that had happened in the last three days – the last three years – came crashing down and threatened to smother her.

Her mother had been pregnant when she'd met Caitlin's father...nay, not father...when she'd met Wallace. Did Caitlin's real father die? Had her mother loved him?

Who was he?

She choked back a sob and closed her eyes. A piece of her had been torn away today. The piece that knew she was the beloved daughter of Claire and Wallace MacInnes, part French, part Scot, orphaned by an accidental fire. Now none of it was true. Not only was MacInnes not her father, but his brother had killed him and her mother for reasons Caitlin couldn't fathom. Didn't want to fathom.

The evil of it appalled her, and she shuddered.

Something cold and wet touched her brow. She raised her head to see Fergus standing in front of her between Hati and Skoll, whose snout had roused her.

The lad looked at her gravely, then leaned forward and wrapped his skinny arms around her neck. "When I feel sad, Edina and Nell, even our Laird, tell me 'tis all right to cry."

She bit her lip, trying to contain herself, then lowered her feet to the floor and pulled him closer. "I know."

"I doona always want to, but when I do, I feel better, aye?"

Nodding, she kissed his hair. He sounded just like Darach, and a lump formed in her throat. Most likely her husband had said those exact words to the lad. Pressure built in her chest and a tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

"You can cry, too, Caitlin. I'll comfort you." He climbed onto her lap and tucked himself beneath her chin. She curled around him, resting her cheek on his head.

When Hati lowered his jaw to her knee and looked at her with his soulful, brown gaze, her heart squeezed. She tried to muffle the sobs, but they kept coming, one after the other. Her father had been so dear to her. She'd been his Little Lass, his Piglet.

No longer.

A fresh wave of sorrow hit her and she covered her face. "I'm sorry. I shouldnae be carrying on like this."

"Nay, you should." Fergus pried her hands away, so he could wipe her cheeks. "Our Laird told me to take care of you since he canna be here. 'Tis what family does for each other, aye?"

"Aye."

"Then 'tis all right. I'm not your son, and I doona think I can be your husband since you already have one, but I'll be your brother. I always wanted a sister."

Caitlin half sobbed, half laughed. "And I always wanted a brother." She kissed his brow. "But you must know I'll also love you as a son."

The lad smiled and laid his head on her chest. "'Tis all right if it makes you feel better. I'm glad to have a mother again even though I miss my ma. She made the best oatcakes and would let me take my frogs to bed."

A memory rose of Caitlin wanting to take her pet mouse to bed when she was just a wee thing. Her mother had demanded her father get rid of it when she'd discovered Mousey in Caitlin's pocket. Caitlin had cried her eyes out when he did, but in the morning she'd awakened with one of the kittens from the barn sleeping in her arms. Her father – aye, her father – had winked at her from his spot at the table before heading out to do his chores.