His kindness, so unexpected, left her speechless. She couldn’t tell him thathewas the source of her distress. She floundered for a response. ‘I am in desperate need of some fresh air, but I am battling with the closure of my cloak and, in my haste, have tangled myself within it at the door.’
Drat.
It was a ridiculous excuse, but his smile only faltered a moment before he took the clasp in his hands and fastened it for her. ‘There. Set to rights, I hope. Let us take some air.’ He gestured for her to walk alongside him, and she sighed when the first breeze cooled her cheeks.
‘Thank you. You are very kind, my laird.’ She swallowed back the emotion thickening her throat. This morn, these past few days, had worn upon her. Tears threatened and she forced them back.
He studied her face. ‘I know what it feels like to be thrust into a situation one does not want. I can only imagine you might know something of that as well.’ He nested his hands in his coat pockets and his sandy hair shaded one of his eyes as they walked side by side in the meadow.
Her stomach dropped and she stopped walking. His sympathy was her undoing, and one tear raced unbidden down her face.
‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to...’ He paused, reached for a handkerchief and offered it to her. Something off in the distance behind her arrested his attention as she took it from him. When she heard her sister’s captivating laugh, she had a solid guess as to what may have caught his gaze. Perhaps what he’d said just moments before about being thrust into a situation one did not want applied to his attachment to her as well.
The irony of them both being trapped in a situation neither of them wanted almost made her laugh aloud.
She accepted his linen handkerchief and dabbed her cheek. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she stared out at the meadows behind him, where only a hint of the morning fog remained. When she turned her attentions to the castle and the door leading back inside, she saw a flicker of the man she had hoped to wed. Laird McKenna stood watching them from afar at the threshold. The intensity of his gaze sent a flutter through her and she clutched the handkerchief tighter. Heat flushed her cheeks. How would she explain what had happened with her being promised to Laird MacLean? After all her words of certainty at being able to make her own choice of husband? She was making a muck out of not only her plans buthisplans as well.
‘Ah, I see.’ Laird MacLean’s words were low.
Moira turned and met his gaze.
‘Forgive me. What is it you see?’
‘I did not know, Mrs Fraser, that you had already formed an attachment when I offered for you.’
She started and flustered an attempt at a reply. ‘I...’ She chewed her lip. What did one say? They didn’t have an attachment, but an understanding, a business agreement, a verbal arrangement, nothing more. How did one explain that to the other man Father had promised her to? Her mouth closed.
She couldn’t.
‘You need not explain, as I understand one’s heart often attaches itself to an unattainable situation, but I assure you that we will be happy. I will care for you, honour you as a good husband and laird should. From what I know...’ He glanced away and a muscle flexed in his jaw. ‘From what your brother has shared with me about your first husband, you deserve a good man, and I will be that man, I promise you. You will never have such worries again.’
She sucked in a breath as emotion battled with embarrassment. Who knew what Ewan had told him when he was deep in his cups? Had the poor man offered for her out of pity or a sense of protection?
Brenna approached them, and Moira pressed her lips into a tight smile. Her sister looked as ethereal as a wood nymph, with her flowing lilac and white gown, and her dark curls loose and bouncing in the breeze. Despite the gown being totally unsuitable for the weather and season, she was stunning, as always. Laird MacLean’s eyes softened as he greeted her, and Moira couldn’t help but note the catch in his voice as he gave a slight bow. ‘Miss Stewart. You look lovely this morn. Are you here to watch the final day of events?’
‘Sister.’ Brenna smiled at her briefly before turning her full attentions upon him. ‘Aye, Laird MacLean, I will be enjoying these final events this morn.’ She shivered. ‘Although it has become a touch colder than I expected.’
Without missing a beat, Laird MacLean offered her his overcoat. ‘Please,’ he requested, shrugging out of his coat sleeves. ‘I am overwarm.’
Brenna’s cheeks flushed as he wrapped it around her shoulders. His lingering glances and touches made Moira sigh in relief. Her escape had just been gifted to her from the heavens. There was a way out for all of them, but as a gentleman, the laird would not seize it unless Moira freed him from his duty.
‘Brenna, may I speak with Laird MacLean for just a moment, and then I will send him on to you to watch the events.’
Confused, her sister hesitated but then agreed. ‘Of course. Thank you, my laird, for the coat.’
‘Aye,’ he answered before bowing slightly and facing Moira.
‘May I speak frankly?’ Moira asked as the plan, her escape, etched its way into her mind even more vividly.
Laird MacLean nodded.
‘Why would you offer for me when you are in love with my sister?’
The poor man’s features stilled, the colour rising high in his cheeks. He looked away and sighed. Shifting on his feet, he shrugged.
The agony of answering seemed beyond even his own kindness and upbringing. Unwilling to watch him suffer further, Moira stepped closer and dropped her tone to just above a whisper. ‘My laird, if you will set me free from your intentions to me, then we will both have what we want, will we not?’
His gaze slipped away and followed the slow movements of Brenna across the field. When he met Moira’s gaze once more, he seemed tortured. ‘But to allow you to pursue an attachment with a dying man, after all you have suffered. What kind of man would I be?’
