Chapter 5
Several days later, Stony Bay, north of Aberdeen
“Iwish you’d brought Wiggle.”
Greyson blinked, turning his attention back to the woman who’d spoken. He’d been staring at the flames in her kitchen fire, a large stone hearth at the far end of the room. In truth, he’d been even more distant in his mind, his thoughts on his recent visit from Devorgilla of Doon. He’d almost convinced himself the mysterious old woman hadn’t called at GannetHouse.
That he’d napped after removing Priddy’s wood panels and had simply dreamt theencounter.
He wished that wereso.
Sadly, he knew she’d beenreal.
Leastways as real as a half-mythic Highland cailleach can be. And now he knew his Samhain Eve beauty was also real.Miss Raines, by name. He’d discovered where she lived, something he’d been trying so hard to do. If only to convince himself she hadn’t been spun of Samhain magic. Far from enchanted, her life, it seemed, was as out of sorts and contorted as his own. For that reason, he’d spent the last few days trying to forget her. He might not qualify as the man to grab a shining sword, swing up onto a white charger, and ride off to rescue a ‘princess in a tower,’ but he did carry the honor and pride of his ancient warriorancestors.
Good Highland men didn’t ruin their ladies’lives.
They didn’t toss fat onto already burningflames.
The lass …Miss Raines… would be better served without him. Her aunt was sympathetic. The woman would surely not allow her to be made entirelymiserable.
“Greyson…” A soft tap on his elbow made him blink up at Kirsty Muir, widow of his lifelong friend, Patrick, who’d gone down with theSilver Thistle. “Why do I think you are just as absent as your darlingsquirrel?”
“My apologies.” Greyson blinked, embarrassed that he hadn’t even noticed that she’d stood and come around the table. Was he so distracted? “I’ve been working hard,” he said, realizing he hadn’t even touched the oven-warm scones and oatcakes she’d placed before him. “I suppose I’mtired.”
“I am not surprised.” Kirsty frowned, a crease appearing between her brows. The only line to mar her face, though Greyson knew she was now well into herthirties.
“Neither am I,” Greyson admitted. “It cannae behelped.”
“You should marry,” she said, pouring him a cup of steaming tea. “It isn’t natural for a man to bealone.”
“I would rather see you happy again.” Greyson ignored her quip – and the way her words made his pulsejump.
As if she’d peered into his heart, knew the dragons he’d been battling oflate.
“I am content.” Kirsty returned to her side of the table, took her seat. “It was a blessing to know such a great love as Patrick and I shared. I do not needanother.”
This time Greyson frowned, guilt as always lancing him. “I miss him, too,” he said, his old friend’s face flashing before him. Kirsty should not have to live withouthim.
Praise the gods, she seemed tomanage.
Despite widowhood and the hardship of life in a tiny coastal fishing hamlet, she’d retained the freshness and beauty of her youth. She did carry a bit more weight these days, but the curves became her. The kitchen’s fire glow and oil lamps shone on her chestnut hair, showing the color hadn’t faded, and her eyes were still clear and bright, the lovely green of summergrass.
“So where is Wiggle?” she asked again, reminding him that he was indeed not himself. “You always bring him. He is well, Itrust?”
“Och, he is fine.” Greyson took a sip of tea, smiling when he returned the cup to the table. His little friend always lifted his heart – something he was grateful for. “You ken some of the local bairns drop in to see him now and again? They missed their last visit because several of them were abed with the ague. They’re at the house now, Smithers and Wiggle hostingthem.”
“It is good of you to let them come.” Kirsty smiled. “Wiggle surely loves theattention.”
“Hedoes.”
“You enjoy their visits, too.” Kirsty looked at him from over her teacup. “Do you not want children of yourown?”
“Someday, aye, but no’ for a goodwhile.”
“Don’t wait too long.” She set down her cup, began spreading jam on a scone. “Life should be seized as it unfolds. There isn’t a road backward. We can’t reclaim what’s lost, or what we might not embrace fast enough.” She paused to take a bite of her scone. “Can it be such a matter is troublingyou?”
“Nae.” Greyson almost choked. “My only problem at the moment is the ache in my shoulders from tearing so many of Priddy’s panels off my walls.” Not the entire truth, but also not a lie. “I am too busy to worry about anythingelse.”
