“What, you’re going to chuck it through her window?”
She wiggled her fingers and thrust her palm forward. “I’m going to go inside and find out what’s wrong while you go speak to Murdoch, who’s just coming up from the beach there.”
Lachlan turned to look behind him and felt the shell snatched from his hand. When he looked again, Finley was already marching to the closed door. She raised her fist and rapped.
“Kirsten? Open the door.”
“Go away,” came the wailed response.
Finley rolled her eyes and then reached up to pull the rope hanging along the doorframe, disengaging the latch on the other side.
“I’ll meet you back at the house,” she instructed over her shoulder and then disappeared inside.
Lachlan stood nonplussed in the sunshine for a moment. He’d wanted Finley Carson along this morning for what he thought were his own reasons, and yet she had succeeded in a way that far surpassed any usefulness Lachlan had hoped for, and it caused him to frown.
Why had he been so stupid as to have kissed her last night in the old house? Sure, it had addled his wits. She wasn’t sweet, like Ina; she wasn’t gentle, like Kirsten; she didn’t love him, and she certainly didn’t want to be married to him, like Searrach had.
So why did that make Lachlan want her with him more and more?
He shook his head and picked up Rory Carson’s crate and turned toward the path, walking to meet Murdoch Carson, who had spotted his approach and didn’t look the happier for it.
It was time to talk of daggers and battles, of people long dead, of smuggling and of feasts.
* * * *
“I said, go away,” Kirsten sobbed as Finley entered the house and closed the door. Her friend was seated at a table, her face buried in the nest made by her arms.
“Kirsten?” She slid into the chair next to Kirsten and hesitantly reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. She had played the comforter twice in as many days now, and it was an odd role for her.
Kirsten didn’t flinch away, but it was obvious her anger was still present, along with her sadness. “You doona understand, Finley. You’ve got your husband—and it’s the Blair.”
“He’s nae the—”
She raised her tear-streaked face. “I’m already ten and eight! Who am I to marry in Carson Town? Hairy oldEachann Todde?”
Finley drew her head back. “Weren’t it you who encouraged me to consider Eachann Todde not so long ago?”
“Well, aye,” Kirsten said with a sniff and a roll of her eyes. “He’s got all those nice sheep, Fin, and you’re forever going on about the farm. And youareolder than me.”
“By a year!”
Kirsten winced. “Almost two.”
Finley pressed her lips together and looked down at the tabletop with a slow intake of breath. “Kirsten, what makes you so sure of Dand Blair being matched?”
“They’re going to make him marry thatwoman…that…that…” Kirsten, who’d never had a bad thing to say about anyone, seemed to be struggling to find the right word.
“Coo?” Finley offered, thinking it should be strong enough of an insult.
“Aye,” Kirsten said with a scowl. “Aye, thatcoo, Searrach. Slutty pile o’ tits.”
Finley pressed her palm over her mouth and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting with laughter. She blew out a short breath through pursed lips. “How do you know Dand is going to marry Searrach?”
“How do you think, Finley Carson?” she demanded. “I saw them. Searrach and her father.”
Finley gave her a sideways look and waited.
“Sure, I went to Town Blair,” she admitted in exasperation. “Harrell had just come back from away. I heard them talking about it. Are you happy now?”
