Page 98 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
She looked away, wishing he didn’t seem so large standing there. Or wasn’t as forbidding. His face was immobile, like he’d been hewn from rock.
She’d never been afraid of Macrath and she wasn’t now. Perhaps she was most afraid of saying the words aloud, of admitting to him what she’d done.
Patting Elliot on his back, she listened to the sweet sound of his babbling at her.
“Yes,” she said, the single word condemning her. “Yes, he’s your son.”
He didn’t speak, didn’t say a word. Instead, he stood there watching her like she was some loathsome creature that had crept across Drumvagen’s threshold.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“The grotto,” Virginia said, surprising him.
He frowned. “There’s no way to the grotto, unless you approach it by boat.”
She shook her head. “I took the path down to the beach.”
There was no path to the beach, only a channel of loose shale and stone carved out by the water when it rained. His chest tightened at the thought of her navigating that part of the cliff.
He pushed the thought away to investigate later. For now, there was a more important question.
“Have you come to say good-bye?”
She shook her head, attending to Alistair. She walked to the secretary, padded to act as his changing table, and lay him down on his back.
“Where are his nappies?” she asked.
Mary hastened to bring her one, but surprisingly, Virginia didn’t turn Alistair over to the girl. Instead, she changed his son, crooning to him all the while. Alistair looked blissfully happy and crooned right back to her.
Macrath glanced at Mary and nodded toward the door. She bobbed a curtsy and left the room as quickly as humanly possible.
Smart child.
“You’re adept at that,” he said.
“And why shouldn’t I be?” she asked. “He’s my son.”
“I didn’t think countesses bothered with their children,” he said.
“This one does.” She finished with the nappy, lifted Alistair into her arms and returned to one of the chairs beside the window.
“I nursed him until I became ill,” she said, smiling down into their son’s face.
Another surprise, that she would do such a thing.
“Say good-bye to him, Virginia.”
“How can you be so cruel? You were never cruel before, Macrath.” Her eyes were filled with sadness.
“You never gave me reason, Virginia.”
His son patted her face with his hands, much in the way Alistair did to him. Did he recognize his parents? Did he know his mother?
Her eyes swam with tears. He felt a curious tightening in his chest looking at her.
“I was just the rooster to your hen,” he said, a comment that had her blinking at him.
“What an interesting way to put it. I suppose you were.”
