Crap. That was kind of scary actually. Not in a She’s-a-witch!-Burn-her! kind of way. But in an All-your-deepest-darkest-secrets-will-be-revealed kind of way.
“Dillon and I have each learned to erect a shield of sorts in our mind,” Robert said, “so she can only see what we wish her to see. Most of the time. But since you cannot, I did not think ’twould be fair for you to meet her without first knowing this.”
“Oh.” What else could she say to that? “Thank you?”
Nodding, he took her arm and guided her down the remaining steps.
As they entered the great hall, Dillon exited the kitchen with a boy on his hip who looked to be about three or four years old.
As soon as the little boy saw Robert, he squealed in delight, wriggled to get down, then raced toward them, crying out for his uncle Robert.
Beth smiled as Robert picked him up, hugged him, and bussed him on the cheek. Except for the brown eyes, the resemblance was remarkable. Both had jet-black hair. Similar noses. Similar chins, though the boy’s was more rounded.
Anyone who didn’t know better would probably assume this was Robert’s son.
Sadness filtered through her as she thought of the child Robert had lost.
Did he see Gabriel every time he looked at his nephew?
“Beth,” Robert said with a grin, “this fierce little warrior is my nephew, Ian.” He set the boy down. “Ian, this is Lady Bethany.”
Ian performed the cutest little bow.
Utterly charmed, Beth curtsied in response. “Such a strong, handsome warrior. I suspect you shall slay many dragons when you are older.”
His eyes lit up. “Dragons?”
Joining them, Dillon smoothed a hand over the boy’s hair. “’Twill take a great deal of training ere you can accomplish such a feat. Why not hone your skills by sparring with Sir Stephen?”
His face wreathed in a smile, Ian took off running to the other side of the hall, where Stephen waited with a couple of small wooden swords.
Beth smiled as she watched the two begin a mock battle.
Robert shook his head. “Whatever are you going to do with a daughter, Dillon?” He turned to Beth. “Alyssa is with child again. She carries my niece.”
“Oh, my goodness! That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” She would’ve hugged Dillon, but wasn’t sure if that would be considered inappropriate and really wanted to make a better impression on him.
Dillon nodded, looking both proud and pensive. “In truth, I know not what I shall do with a little girl.”
Beth shrugged. “Put a sword in her hands and train her alongside Ian.”
Robert grinned.
Dillon eyed her speculatively.
“Hey, every woman needs to know how to defend herself,” Beth pointed out. “If she doesn’t, what’s going to happen to her if she’s attacked one day when you’re not around?”
Dillon looked ill at the prospect. Turning toward the hearth, he shouted. “Alyssa, I am putting a sword in our daughter’s hands as soon as she can hold one, and will hear no objections from you.”
“As you will, my lord.” The words were spoken not submissively, but with amused indulgence.
Beth followed the soft sounds to the exquisite figure seated before the hearth. “Ah, hell.”
Robert’s head snapped around. “What?”
“That’s Alyssa?”
Beside her, Dillon stiffened. “You object?”
“Nay,” she said quickly, realizing she had offended him. “It’s just…” She gazed upon Dillon’s wife, then motioned to her despondently. “Look at her. She’s perfect, like Robert said. Perfect hair. Perfect skin. A perfect, pretty face. Perfect posture. She’s probably even sewing a perfect seam. How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?”
Robert coughed to cover a laugh.
Beth glared at him, seeing nothing funny about it.
Touching her shoulder, he looked to his brother. “In my attempts to ensure Beth did not fear Alyssa, I might have been a bit too enthusiastic in my praise of her. I fear Beth mistook my affection for Alyssa as something more than brotherly and—despite my assurances—remains a bit jealous.”
Dillon’s eyebrows flew up. “Of Alyssa?”
“Aye.”
The older brother’s lips twitched.
“Oh, ha, ha, ha. Laugh it up,” Beth groused, and the two men shared a grin.
Over by the hearth, Alyssa began putting her sewing away and prepared to rise. She really was perfect. A little smaller than Beth, she bore slender arms and graceful hands. Her long raven locks gleamed in the firelight, providing a lovely contrast to pale, radiant, freckle-free skin. When she rose, her gown revealed a tummy barely rounded, indicating she was still in the early months of pregnancy.
About the only flaw Beth could find was that she looked a little weary.
Robert took Beth’s arm and escorted her over to the hearth.
Beth could feel Dillon studying her and fought the urge to squirm like an insect held under a microscope. Robert’s older brother possessed an air of intensity that she had to admit was a bit unsettling and doubtless contributed heavily to people’s fear of him.