Cursing most of the way—he apparently took issue with the news that his brother Alastair was behind their lack of a meal—Ross had navigated them up a winding set of stairs and through more corridors than Ian could hope to remember. He tended to agree with his uncle’s colorful mutterings. He had been looking forward to a hot meal, a hot bath, and seeing his wife.
That last bit was hard to admit.
But if he were being honest with himself, and Ian was nothing if not honest, Màiri had been on his mind all day. In between asking his uncles covert questions about his mother and stalking the unsuspecting red deer, he’d thought about her. Wondered if she was okay. Part of him had even wanted to tell her about all of the new things he was learning about his mother. Growing up, he and his brother had always assumed she was just a woman borderline obsessed with her Scottish heritage. Now he understood her obsession with King Arthur—whom her brothers loved too—her preference for boar and venison over more common fare, and her insistence that all of her children learn horseback riding.
They’d finally reached the room, after what seemed like hours of weaving through the halls, and Ross was the one to open the door.
Ian wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Màiri and Marian glaring at him as if he’d just stolen a puppy wasn’t it.
Everyone began talking at once, until Ross’s voice could be heard over all others. “Welcome home, Alastair.”
His uncle was looking at him. “Ian, I presume?”
“The very same.”
“I am your uncle Alastair.”
Which wasn’t their cover story but the truth. Ian’s eyes flew to his wife’s.
She knew.
Fuck.
“You told her?” Grey asked before he could.
“And you must be Greyson?”
“I am.”
“Aye, I told her. She had a right to know.”
Grey jumped in to defend him, but Ian cut him off. He did not need defending. Although he was annoyed Alastair had jumped the gun, as it were, he agreed with the sentiment.
“She did,” he agreed, watching Màiri from the corner of his eye. Did she believe it? “But we thought it was too soon. With a shotgun wedding . . .”
“A quick wedding,” Grey muttered.
“A quick wedding,” he agreed, “which was actually just yesterday, I figured a few days to get to know me first might be in order.”
Alastair made the same grunting sound as his other uncles. Who would’ve thought a grunt could be so expressive?
“They just met a sennight ago,” Colban said, sounding good and pissed. “No one but you thought she was ready.”
His youngest uncle apparently disagreed. “No one is ever ready to learn such a thing. But she’d know of it soon enough. Rhys and Reikart make their way here now.”
Ian looked at Greyson then. His brother’s expression gutted him. For a moment, every other person in the room faded away but Alastair and Grey. What the hell was happening?
He glanced briefly at Màiri. She was looking more confused than hostile. Understandably so.
“Maybe we should all sit.”
“Tell us what’s happening.” Grey wasn’t dicking around. This was the tone he’d inherited from the very woman they discussed. People thought their father had been the tough one in the family, but only if they didn’t know Shona McCaim.
Alastair shifted his attention back to him. His uncle didn’t appear to be offended by his harsh tone. “They’ve been looking for you.”
“Me? But how do they know—” He apologized to Màiri with his eyes. The poor woman probably thought they were all batshit crazy. Shifting his attention back to Alastair, he finished. “How do they know I came through?”
“Word has been spreading of the strange-speaking McCaim brothers. After we took back Castle Lochlavine—you’ll learn the truth eventually, so I’ll apologize now for trying to kill Reikart before I knew who he was—I spent some time with your brothers. There’s much to tell, but most importantly, they will be on their way here.”
