In the dying light of the gloaming, with red clouds chasing the sun over the horizon and blue ones gathering to begin the next storm, Lochahearn was a pallet of shadowy colors reflected on the pale-colored keep and the curtain walls.
Tearloch offered no reason for holding Kenna’s hand, but it he held it just the same while he gave her a tour of the inner bailey. Reluctant to go back inside with the rain still holding off, they moved to the expansive outer bailey. The spring lambs, getting in one last frolic before dark, captured their attention, and he lifted her onto the back of a small wagon so they could watch at their leisure.
She seemed as comfortable with silence as he was, and for a long while, they simply watched and laughed at the wee animals’ antics whilst trying to avoid their mothers.
Around the end of a pen, something toddled their way in the dying light. It squealed and moved faster, as if someone were chasing it. Before he could see it clearly, Kenna jumped from the wagon and ran to it, crouched, then glanced back at him in awe.
“A baby,” she whispered quietly.
The bairn squealed at her.
She glanced at Tearloch as he neared. “What do I do?”
“Not to worry. The mother will be coming along any moment, I am sure of it.”
She laughed. “We cannot just leave it and hope for the best.”
“You might pick it up.”
“I have never…” She shrugged. “Tell me how.”
“Put your hands beneath its arms and lift.”
She did so and groaned. “My, bairns are heavier than I thought.”
He laughed when she held it away from her. “Hold it against ye. Speak to it. Comfort it.”
She tried to do all that and eventually, awkwardly, she managed to get an arm beneath its backside, then beamed back at him, pleased with herself.
“That looks right,” he admitted.
Another child came screaming from the same direction. A wee lad, frightened and angry, headed for Kenna. Tearloch resisted the urge to free his weapon and rushed to intercept the child, but the wiggly thing got past him, ran full on at the woman, and began beating his hands against her gown.
“Give her back! Give her back! Dinnae touch her! Ye cannae have her!”
Kenna was horrified, but crouched again, with the babe still in her arms. “I will not take her. I believed she was lost and waited for her mother to come. I would never harm her.”
The laddie was not satisfied until Kenna put the babe back on her feet. The child put himself between them to keep the woman from picking up the bairn again. “Ye lie,” he said, through real tears. “Ye want her dead!”
Kenna straightened, shaken. “Never. I swear it!”
“Aye, ye do. She is…she is a Macpherson.” He began to wail. “And so am I.”
The woman covered her face. Saints only knew what she was thinking. When her hands fell away, her face was wet with tears. Tearloch could only watch as she fell to her knees and took the laddie’s hands in hers.
“I promise you I wish you no harm. I wish your sister no harm. I wish your entire clan no harm.” She pointed to Tearloch. “Do you know this man?”
The laddie nodded. “You know he is a knight, and that knights never break their vows?”
He nodded again.
She waved her fingers at him. “Good, Sir Knight, would you vow to this valiant brother that you will protect them from anyone who means to harm them?”
Tearloch put his fist to his heart. “I vow it.”
The laddie rolled his eyes. “He has to say that. He is?—”
“James!” A woman came running. “James!” As she neared, she began to apologize for anything her son might have said.
