The dogs milled, whined, more attuned to his hidden emotions than the boys wriggling in his lap. One dog, the eldest, Gwarr, came to sit between him and his mother, dark eyes fixed on her, tongue lolling from between long jaws lined with strong white teeth.

His mother edged back a step, thin-lipped and tense.

He forced himself to look at her, the smile he’d summoned for the boys draining from his face. Keeping the anger, the sheer ire and fury she and her scheme provoked, from his voice — so the boys wouldn’t sense it and be disturbed — he met her eyes and nonchalantly shrugged. “One of the Cynster sisters, brought here and thus effectively ruined — that was our bargain. I’ll keep my end of it.” He held her gaze. “And you’ll keep yours.”

Eyes narrowed, her face pinched, her expression, as always, sour, she held his gaze for a pregnant moment, then humphed, swung on her heel, and stalked off.

His fury drained from him.

Idly reaching out to stroke Gwarr’s head, he turned back to the imps in his lap. Utterly trusting, their bright blue eyes looked out on the world with unalloyed hope and untarnished expectations.

He would give a great deal to ensure they had all the best in life he could give them.

Glancing at the large circular clock on the wall, he confirmed there was still half an hour before the meal. Summoning his broadest brogue, he looked down at the boys. “Shall we nae gae oot an’ luk in on the horses, then?”

Later he could think about kidnapping Eliza Cynster.

First, he would remind himself of why he would.