Thane smiled and nodded. “I think Logan did say something like that. Of course, you may join us, Magni.”
“Lia, is it going to be someone you have to stay with all the time like Grant?” He stared at his sister, his face covered with worry.
“Nay, this is someone I will protect, but wee Grant was extra special. He was so tiny, Magni.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’ll still have time for you.”
“Good,” he said, wishing he hadn’t said it. It was true he liked to see Lia often, but he didn’t wish to appear selfish. He loved his sister. That was surely all it was.
Tamsin said, “I’m going to stay here with your parents, Thane. My belly is not up for a long journey.”
Thane moved over and wrapped his arms around his wife. “I know. They say the sickness will go away soon. I’ll leave Artan and the Grant guards here.”
“Nay, you must take some. Please, Thane,” Mora said.
“Aye, please take some, Thane,” Magni begged, staring up at the man who reminded him of his father. “We should have some to protect us in case …”
“Of course.” Thane bent down to look the boy in the eye and whispered, “I won’t let anything happen to you either, Magni. You have three protectors—Lia, Grandsire, and me.”
Magni threw his arms around the large chieftain and buried his face in Thane’s waist.
He wouldn’t let anyone see his tears.
Chapter Eight
Broc
The next afternoon, Broc grabbed a meat pie from the sideboard and strode over to the group near the hearth. Alasdair and Emmalin stood chatting with Gwyneth who was seated, enjoying a goblet of wine. Dyna came down the stairs carrying Sandor while Tori and Sylvi followed. “All rearranged, Emmalin. We have you set up in the larger chamber. The housemaid moved all your belongings.”
Sylvi said, “I helped.”
Tora said, “Me too.”
Connor and Logan came in from outside, arguing about who was the strongest swordsman in the lists.
A serving lass set a platter of fruit and cheese on the sideboard with a pitcher of wine, and the group grabbed what they wanted and settled around the hearth, some standing, some sitting. It would be a couple of hours yet before the evening meal.
Laughter and boisterous chatter echoed through the hall until Tora ran over to Connor, climbed up on his lap, cupped his cheeks, and said, “Pay ’tention, Gwandda.”
Then she hopped off her grandfather’s lap and raced over to Alasdair and repeated herself.
Connor paled, and the group quieted as Sandor got up from his spot on the floor with his toys and began to race in circles, Tora doing the same in a different direction.
Alasdair glanced over at Connor, then moved over to Emmalin and gripped her hand. “Come,” he whispered. “I’d like your opinion on this. Listen carefully.” Then he leaned over to the lad. “Sandor, what are you doing?”
It became so quiet that they could’ve heard the pitter-patter of a mouse scurrying across the chamber. All eyes were on the two wee ones giggling and running in odd paths around the hall.
Just like before.
Sandor giggled and waved his arms. “Stop, Unca Shakie. Stop ticka me.” Sandor would stop and wave his arms, then take off running again, giggling uncontrollably. Every once in a while, he would pause, his wee hands pushing against an invisible force. “Stop, Unca Shakie.”
Emmalin whispered to Alasdair, “Unca Shakie? As in Jakie?”
Alasdair nodded. “We think so.”
Uncle Connor said one word, “Tora.”
“’Tis Gwandda and Uncle Jakie again.”
“But I’m here, Tora.” Connor’s gaze locked on the two bairns in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees.
