Ever since he’d made love to Lara. Nay, since she’d come to him in his solar and showed him how freeing it could be to give up control.
When he didn’t answer, his father shook his head. “I ken ye’re worried what’ll happen next year when yer brothers’ wives start popping out my grandbairns, aye?”
That hadn’t been what Alistair had been thinking about, but if that’s what Da wanted to discuss… “Aye?”
The laird clapped a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “Being laird isnae all ‘tis talked up to be, lad. It’s hard work and exhausting sometimes. ‘Tis why I was happy to turn the responsibility over to ye.” He sighed. “But I shouldnae have.”
Alistair jerked under his father’s hand. “What?”
Did Da regret giving him the opportunity?
“I should’ve split the responsibility between yer brothers, Alistair.” Da shook his head wearily. “It shouldnae have fallen on yer shoulders exclusively. Finn is good with the trade agreements, but ye have enough to handle—”
“I’m delegating.” When his father swung a surprised glance his way, Alistair suddenly felt a little awkward. “ ’Twas recently pointed out to me that Kiergan could do with some more responsibility around here. He’ll be handling the clan’s correspondence for the foreseeable future.”
Da grunted in approval and patted Alistair’s shoulder. “Good lad. Good.” His gaze drifted toward the gathered family and clan members who were settling down in their usual seats to be served the evening meal. Moira and the other servants bustled between them. “Carrying that much on yer shoulders ‘tisnae wise,” he murmured. “A man needs the chance to find his own happiness, aye?”
Alistair followed his father’s gaze to where Moira was laughing at something Finn had just said. “Da,” he began hesitantly, not sure how to ask the question. “Have ye…found happiness?”
The laird sighed again, then tugged at his beard. “In a way, aye.”
“I ken yer marriage wasnae ideal—”
“ ’Twas made in hell, if that’s what ye’re being too polite to mention.” He shook his head again. “Calling Glynnis a harpy is rude to harpies, but she gave me yer sister, and I’ll be forever grateful for that.”
Grateful enough, he kept trying to marry the poor lass off to distant Henrys. But that’s not what he wanted to ask Da about. Aunt Agatha’s accusation was still on his mind.
“I ken ye were in love once, Da. But yer marriage to Glynnis…”
“Thinking about yer own future, eh?” The laird folded his arms across his chest. “Aye, I was in love once. Flora. A bonny MacVanish lass. Her father was against us marrying; he wanted to use her to make an alliance with a stronger clan. But Flora and I…” Behind his beard, his lips twitched sadly. “Ye cannae stand in the way of true love. If she hadnae died, I would’ve married her and lived a happy life.” He cut his eyes toward his son. “Of course, then ye and yer brothers wouldn’t be here.”
‘Twas common knowledge among the clan—and even farther afield—that when Laird Oliphant had lost his love, he’d consoled himself in the arms of more than a few wenches. Alistair and Kiergan had been born first, right here in the castle, and the other two sets of twins had followed.
But that wasn’t what Alistair was asking. “Since ye lost Flora, could ye imagine finding love again? Mayhap with Glynnis?”
Da snorted. “No’ with her. But then, I didnae expect to. Her da offered her as a political alliance, and I accepted, kenning I needed an heir. When she died without giving me a living son, I swore never again. I had ye and yer brothers, and Nessa, and I wouldnae risk tying myself to another bitch like Glynnis.”
“But”—Alistair’s gaze slid back toward Moira—“have ye found happiness again? Especially since ye’ve given up so many of the headaches of being laird?”
Da glanced at him, saw where he was looking, and smiled. A genuine smile, one bright enough to be seen through that bush of a beard he wore.
“Och. Well, lad…” He dropped his arms, then slammed a hand down on Alistair’s shoulder. “I’ve found a certain kind of happiness. Mayhap no’ the same as when I was young and in love, but there’s something to be said about a woman who makes ye laugh and smile and feel good inside, aye? One who wants to take care of ye and make ye the best man ye can be.”
Alistair considered his father’s words. “I think I ken what ye mean. ‘Tis a different kind of love.”
“Aye. But—and this is me aulder and wiser here, saying this—‘tis better. What I had with Flora, aye, that kind of love burned bright and hot.” His gaze crept back to Moira. “But the other kind—the caring, the learning to rely on each other and valuing one another’s thoughts—that kind of love can come with heat too, but ‘tis more. That’s the sort of love that will last for a verra, verra long time.”
Watching his father watch Moira, Alistair felt emotion clogging his throat. He’d never assumed his father had loved his mother—all his brothers knew Da had only been using their mothers in his grief. Finn and Dunc’s mam still lived in the village, married to the blacksmith, and her relationship with the laird was cordial, but naught more.
The only time he’d seen his father in a real relationship had been with that bitch, Glynnis, and the poor man had been pitied more than aught else.
But now…?
Da’s eyes followed Moira’s movements as the woman moved to teasing wee Liam, who was trying to grab at a tart. When she smiled, Da did too.
“Ye deserve to be happy, Da,” he murmured.
“Aye! I do. ‘Tis almost my birthday, ye ken.” The laird cleared his throat. “Now, enough of this imparting of my great wisdom! Let’s go eat.” He slapped a big hand on his son’s shoulder, then took off toward the laird’s chair.
While considering the bits of fatherly wisdom he’d just received, Alistair trailed after him.
The week following the disastrous encounter
