“Sure, and what are you, then? If you think we didna notice your red eyes the morning we returned, you’re mistaken. You must have cried all the night, knowing he wouldn’t stay. To see him go away from you to the old house.”
Finley pressed her lips together for a moment. “Isenthim to the old house, Mam.”
“Ah, duck,” Ina said with a sigh, rising and placing her hand along Finley’s cheek. “What else could you do? It was meant for a chief.” She patted her daughter’s face gently and turned away, and Finley rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
He’s not a chief, she mouthed to her mother’s back.
“Your da’s a proud man, too, Finley,” Ina said, unwrapping a hunk of hard, shriveled meat and slicing ribbons off the end over the pot, the sharp blade of the knife pressing into the fleshy part of her thumb as if it were made of supple but impenetrable leather. “He was happy to pass the farm along to whoever it was you married, but he will not let it be said that he didna give a man what deserves it his due.”
“Why is Lachlan Blair different from any of the other men who asked for my hand?” Finley demanded, and then added quickly with a pointed finger, “Doona say because he was to be chief, Mam.”
Ina closed her mouth in a grin. “He’s different because he’s ended the feud, Finley. Our animals are grazing on Blair land in this very moment! Just think of the lambing we’ll have next spring!” She rewrapped the dried meat and bent to rummage in a basket for a pair of shriveled roots, muffling her words. “And it’s said that he has Carson blood on his father’s side.”
“Is that true, though, or only something said to make us take him?”
Ina raised up with a whoosh of breath and pushed her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “I doona think there was ever any question of us taking him.”
“Ah, I see; it was me who had to be negotiated,” Finley said.
“All that matters is that you’re married now. Let it go, Fin,” Ina said, adding the roots to the stew with a smile. “Pray God we’ll welcome more than new lambs in the spring, eh?”
Finley’s sharp retort was stayed by the door flying open and the angelic-looking Kirsten bursting through. Both Ina and Finley looked at the girl with wide eyes, never having known the blond lass to have enough spirit to say good morning lest she was prompted.
“Finley, Mother Carson,” Kirsten said breathlessly. “Forgive me. But the men are back. The…the Blair, and Dand is with him.”
“Who?” Finley asked.
“Dand,” Kirsten said. “The Blair’sbrother.”
Finley felt her mouth quirk and cast a knowing look at her mother before strolling to the table and taking a seat, picking up her mother’s discarded knife and a bunch of the parsley from the pot of water on the table. “Oh, aye.Dand. What’s he want?” She began stripping the leaves against the blade.
“Sure, he wishes to check on his brother’s welfare,” Kirsten insisted.
Finley placed a sprig of the wet herb in her mouth to chew before selecting another stem for the stew. “Making certain the crazy Carsons haven’t killed him?”
“Finley,” Ina chastised. “We would never do such a thing, and Marcas Blair knows it.”
“Marcas Blair doesn’t give a fig what happens to Lachlan now that he’s not his problem,” Finley said. “And just yesterday I thought of dropping a boulder on his head myself.”
“Finley!” Ina exclaimed. “You did not.”
“Did too. But it was only because I thought he wanted to push me down the stairs at the old house. Well, mostly because of that.” Finley looked up at Kirsten, whose sweet face bore a wounded look at such violent talk. “Why did you run all the way here to tell us Lachlan Blair’s foster brother has come to call?”
At this, Kirsten’s face pinkened prettily. “He might stay for supper, might he nae, Mother Carson? I thought you’d want to know. In such a case.”
“Och, well sure he might, and ’twould be grand if he does,” Ina said with a smile, and reached once more for the hunk of meat. “You must eat with us, too, Kirsten, for your thoughtfulness.”
Finley jumped at Kirsten’s squeal, nearly cutting herself with the small blade. The girl rushed forward and embraced Ina.
“Thank you, Mother Carson,” she gushed. “I’ll get to the house straightaway and make the bread.”
“You’re a lamb,” Ina said.
“Goodbye, Kirsten,” Finley called out the door after the girl’s retreating form.
Kirsten rushed back in. “I’m sorry, Finley. How are you today? Well, are you? You look well. Goodbye, then.” Then she turned on her heel and dashed out the door once more.
Finley sighed. “She’ll break her foolish neck getting home.”
