Page 65 of An Outlaw’s Desire

“Your birds look very nice,” Blythe said. “We will put this special wreath on the lord’s table.”

Pitt glanced up. Her back to him, Blythe slid her arm around Clarine’s shoulders as they studied a group of beeswax tapers in the middle of a pine wreath decorated with ribbon and several cloth birds. As Blythe hugged Clarine, regret tugged at Pitt. If he hadn’t made such a mess of his life, Blythe might have been the mother of his children. They’d be celebrating this holiday season together, not facing a future that could separate them once again.

He finished securing the pinecones and lifted the garland. It rustled as he carried it over to the hearth.

“Can I hang birds there?” Clarine pointed to the garland.

“You may, once we have it in place.” Blythe crossed to him, and together, they attached the linked pine boughs to small iron pegs in the stonework.

A bird in her grasp, Clarine rose on tiptoes, but could barely reach the bough she’d chosen.

Pitt put his hands around the girl’s waist and lifted her to the right height. Grinning, she looped the twine stitched to the bird over the end of the branch. She let go, and the ornament swayed, the silver and gold embroidery threads twinkling in the firelight.

“Well done.” Pitt set her down at the edge of the hearth tiles.

Clarine glanced back at him, her expression hopeful. “I have more birds.”

“I would be happy to help you, milady.”

She hurried to the basket nearby to fetch more ornaments, and he fought the ache in his chest, the memory of raising Fenton to a branch laden with ripe plums so he could pick some.

Blythe touched his arm. “You miss your son.”

“Very much.” Pitt’s gaze shifted to the fire. His eyes burned. As soon as possible, he must speak with Lord Montgomery about Fenton—

Hurried footfalls sounded in the forebuilding’s stairwell. A man-at-arms emerged. “His lordship has arrived.”

Pitt’s gut clenched.

“So early?” Blythe sounded flustered.

“We have not finished decorating. What about our surprise?” Clarine, approaching with another bird, looked about to burst into tears.

“Do not fret.” Blythe smiled. “With what we have decorated so far, the hall already looks more festive. How about if we ask Rosetta, Lady Montgomery, and a few of the others to help us finish the task?”

Clarine nodded.

At the sound of men’s and women’s voices in the forebuilding, Pitt glanced across the hall. Sweat broke on his forehead. Very soon, he’d be judged for his misdeeds.

Blythe entwined her fingers with his. “All will be well.”

“I hope so.” He cleared the roughness from his voice, for he couldn’t bear to never see her again, or touch her soft skin, or be able to draw her into his arms and breathe in the glorious scent of her.

Pulling off his leather gloves, Lord Montgomery strode into the hall. Other folk accompanied him, but Pitt gaze had locked on the boy at his lordship’s side.

Fenton.

Could it be? Or did the lad just very much resemble his son?

“Father!” Fenton rushed toward him.

Tears blurred Pitt’s vision. Dropping to a crouch on the rush-strewn floor, he embraced his boy. The lad’s hair and garments smelled of crisp, wintry air.

“I do not understand,” Pitt said hoarsely, his face against Fenton’s shoulder. He did not want to let his son go, ever again.

“We have much to discuss, Pitt,” Lord Montgomery said. “First, though, some food and drink. Fenton, so I have been told, is starving.”

Later that afternoon, Blythe approached the section of wall in the hidden passageway. Excitement hummed in her blood, for at last, she and Pitt would learn what they’d found while trying to flee the castle.