Leah watched Fox’s horse disappear down the lane, ignoring Aileen and Fiona’s curious eyes watching her from the hallway.
The emotions roiling her chest felt too precious, too new, too fragile.
She was to be married.
To Fox Carnegie.
Just an hour ago, she had been keen to bask in the light of his attention.
Now . . . she was to be his wife.
Mrs. Fox Carnegie.
To have his name permanently etched beside hers, tied together until death.
How could she even voice those words, particularly to Aileen and Fiona, who would shriek and exclaim and pepper her with at least a thousand follow-up questions?
Or, worse, stand in stunned silence, as if the thought of Leah marrying the exalted likes of Captain Fox Carnegie were so outlandish, it required a moment of solemnity to mentally accommodate it?
No. Leah wasn’t quite up to that.
Instead, she gave Aileen a muttered excuse, pulled a bonnet onto her head, and set off to find Malcolm.
After searching in the barns and the west field, she finally ran her brother to ground in the south pastures.
Malcolm was checking the foreleg of one of his prized Highland cows, ormuckle coosas the farmhands called them.
His brows drew down as Leah recounted the afternoon’s events.
“Pardon? Could ye repeat that?” Malcolm pulled off his hat and rose to his full height.
“Captain Carnegie proposed marriage tae me, and I accepted.”
Silence.
Loud, buzzing, thunderous.
“When?”
“Just now.” Leah nodded back toward the house.
More silence.
Malcolm slapped his hat against his thigh, staring at his favorite coo, Moona Lisa.
“Why?” he finally asked, turning his gaze back to her.
Leah nearly rolled her eyes.
Malcolm Penn-Leith, ladies and gentlemen. A man of few words.
“Whydid I accept him? Do ye see any other suitors begging for my hand, brother?” She swept a hand in a semi-circle. “As for why he proposed, well, ye will have tae ask him that yourself.”
Malcolm scoffed, setting his hat atop his head before turning to close the gate to the pasture, retying the rope that held it fast.
Leah knew her brother. He was using the task as an excuse to formulate his thoughts, to ensure that when he spoke next, he meant what he said.
Though only twenty-five, Malcolm had been born an old soul. Granted, his somber mien, dark eyes, and deep chest gave him the appearance of a man a decade older.
