Highland Chieftain Read Online Free PDF Page A

terrified her.
    Bethoc had the sick feeling her father was slowly ceasing to think of her as a daughter, one he had openly said was not his, and think of her only as a woman. She feared the night he would take that final step in his thoughts. Tonight, however, his steps indicated he was well into his cups as he came into the house and stumbled his way to his bed. She doubted he had even bothered to take off his clothes. For a long time, there was no sound of movement and then she heard him start to snore.
    Little by little she allowed her muscles to relax, surprised at how tense she had grown. He had left the light on. That, too, was becoming common even though it was both wasteful and dangerous. She sighed and, after a moment, slipped out of bed to put out the light.
    The man had not even turned his covers down or removed his shoes. He looked as if he had just collapsed on the bed, falling asleep even as he fell. The smell of ale and sweat coming from him was powerful. Even if he had not turned down the covers she was going to have to wash all the linen just to be rid of that smell.
    Drink had aged him, she realized. Drink and anger. The lines on his face were many and deep. Bethoc had to wonder what had happened to make him see the world through such a dark veil of disappointment. He always felt cheated somehow, that he was deserving of something greater and had been denied it by fate. She shook her head, snuffed the light, and crawled back into bed. There was nothing to be done to change the man now.
    Margaret cuddled up against her, taking her braid and pressing it against her face. Bethoc smiled and patted her back. The children were why she was still at home. Without them, she was sure she would have run after the first beating or when her mother had died for that was when Kerr Matheson’s temper had grown out of control. It had become the kind of anger that ignited without warning or even reason.
    And why was she still calling him her father? she asked herself crossly. He was not. She knew it for a fact now. Her mother had told her the name of the man who had sired her. It was, perhaps, past time she went looking for the man. Fate could not be so unkind to give her a real father as bad as the one she had now. He might not want anything to do with her, but he could bestir himself enough to find her a safe place—her, Margaret, and the lads.
    With that decided, she fought to clear her mind when the drape hiding her bed was thrust aside. She felt panic swell then ebb as she saw, faintly, the shapes of two boys. A moment later, her eyes adjusted to the faint light in the house and she saw Colin holding the hand of a silently weeping Cathan.
    â€œWhat is wrong?” she asked, and reached for the child who threw himself against her and clung tightly.
    â€œHe wouldnae cease weeping.” Colin sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It was keeping us all awake.”
    â€œWhat ails ye, Cathan? Do ye hurt?” she asked softly when she realized Colin had spoken in a whisper.
    â€œI am afraid.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œEverything.”
    â€œAh, poor lad. Do ye want to stay with me and Margaret?”
    He nodded and Colin sighed with relief. “Then I will leave him with ye. Good sleep, Bethoc.”
    The moment he left, Bethoc settled down again. Since she could not hug both children, she curled around Margaret and let Cathan curl up against her back. She was touched when he slipped his arm around her waist and grabbed hold of her hand. If he had told the truth, he had lost too much and been tossed around too often in the last few months.
    â€œIt will be fine, Cathan,” she whispered.
    â€œWill ye take me to Callum?”
    â€œWhat I will do is speak with him about ye. Nothing can be done until he heals, ye ken, so ye must be patient. Patient and silent.”
    â€œI willnae say anything. I swear.”
    She prayed that the vow of a small child was one she could put her trust