She watched the handsome, sandy-haired man, as the shooting paused and new targets were placed closer to the grove. What did Ewanreallyknow of him? She’d have to find out for herself about the man before the sun went down tomorrow. Otherwise, Father would make the choice for her. Her stomach curdled.
Her gaze skipped along other men dotting the field like a rock skipping along water before clunking into the abyss. A man she’d never seen before sat alone far off from the crowd atop one of the last of the timbers the soldiers had set out for those who wished to watch the men compete. The man’s dark features and flat brow read boredom and his scowl irritation, which was exactly how she felt. For a moment, at least one person shared her disdain for the day, which warmed her spirit.
‘What of him?’ Moira squinted and quirked her lips. ‘The one sitting alone in the back. He wears a noble crest on his overcoat. Who is he?’
Ewan shook his head. ‘Laird Rory McKenna? Nay, Moira. He is not an option. Have you not heard about Black Rory?’
‘Black Rory? What are you talking about?’ She watched the man, and he stiffened as if he’d felt the intensity of her gaze. She stepped back to shield herself in the shadowy leaves of the rowan tree.
‘They say he’s ill, gravely ill.’ Ewan dropped his voice low. ‘Some sort of family curse. He grows weaker by the day. His uncle is eager for him to marry as Rory is a laird and has no male siblings or cousins, but no one wishes to bind their daughter to a dying man.’
Moira perked up, raising her head higher, boldly staring at the man as he stood. Rory McKenna was tall and wore grey trews that showed his rather muscular legs. A black collarless frock coat with large cuffs detailed in silver buttons covered an equally pleasing upper torso. Not exactly the look of a dying man. His dark hair was wavy, perhaps even a bit long for fashion, but it flattered his sharp features. He had a commanding air about him, and his scrutinising eyes didn’t seem to miss anything. ‘Are you making this up to trick me? He doesn’t seem ill. He’s quite fit. And you and I both know curses are nonsense.’
Ewan leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘Every single direct male descendant of the McKenna family has died before the age of four and twenty for generations. Ask anyone. And if that isn’t a curse, what is?’
‘You just stated his uncle lives. Doesn’t that in itself prove the curse to be untrue?’ She frowned at him and crossed her arms against her chest. She knew it seemed too perfect an option to have merit.
‘It is long rumoured that his uncle was sired by a man other than a McKenna. He has never made a claim for laird either, so it is largely accepted as truth.’
Her curiosity peaked. She studied McKenna’s easy fluid movements as he approached the edge of the field where men were practising shooting at various targets. ‘His age now?’ she enquired, a bit breathless and eager for her brother’s answer. Maybe he could be an answer to her prayers after all.
‘Three and twenty. They say he only has months to live.’
Her stomach fluttered and flipped. Those were exactly the words she longed to hear.
She much preferred the idea of being a widow than a wife.
She sucked in a steadying breath, squared her shoulders and pressed a kiss to Ewan’s cheek. ‘Thank you, brother. I believe I have just found my future husband.’
‘You can’t be serious?’ Ewan cocked his head.
‘And why wouldn’t I be? He is a laird, pleasing to look upon and days away from death.’
He clutched her arm. ‘You cannot throw away your future because of the past.’
‘I won’t be,’ she whispered. ‘This,he, is how I shall seize my future without having to comply to the demands of a husband for the rest of my days.’ For what man would have her after burying two husbands before the age of five and twenty? They’d believeshewas cursed, and she would fan such gossip until it burst into flame.
‘Moira, you aren’t thinking clearly. There is no future with a dying man.’
She shushed him and walked through the rowan trees towards Black Rory, ignoring her brother’s protests. Oblivious to anything other than the dark, mysterious man who would solve all her problems, she lifted her skirts and moved with purpose out of the grove and into the open field. Rory McKenna, Black Rory she would call him now in her heart, met her gaze, and she smiled.
‘Hold fast!’ he called, thrusting out an arm to halt her advance a few paces away.
Confused by his call she carried on, unburdened by his words. Alarm lit his features and he ploughed into her as an arrow hissed by her ear. They hit the ground hard. She gasped, unable to take in air, as he lay atop her. The weight of his muscular body a reminder that he was strong and formidable, despite what Ewan said.
‘What were you thinking? You could have been killed,’ he stated.
When she struggled for air, he moved off her but kept hold of her hand. A soft prickle of awareness as his warm, calloused fingers wrapped around her own travelled along her arm and she shivered. She pulled her hand away. His touch sparked an odd, unfamiliar sensation she hadn’t felt in ages: safety. She shifted away from him. She knew far better than to believe such.
‘Give it a moment. You had the breath knocked out of you, is all.’ His grey eyes were hard and unflinching. His voice commanding and certain. She believed his words despite not knowing him at all, which was ridiculous. ‘Take one slow breath in,’ he ordered.
Air rushed into her lungs, and she coughed and sputtered. A crowd formed around them. Their faces peered down at her. ‘Are you well enough to stand?’ he asked.
Indeed, she was well enough to rise...and die from embarrassment. Her face flushed with heat and she nodded. He stood and offered his hand. She hesitated, but accepted it, as she couldn’t gain her footing on her own. Pulling her up easily alongside him, he muttered, ‘Here, sit a spell.’ He gestured to a nearby timber. He attempted to guide her by the elbow, but she shifted away from his touch, and his arm fell back to his side.
‘Give her some air,’ he commanded, his clear tone cutting through the throng of people with authority.
The crowd dispersed. Ewan stood back, watching. He began to approach, but she shook her head to stave him off before glancing away.
