Ailsa’s eyes flicked to his at the motion, then away. He thought about the last time he’d seen her, the way she’d looked through him more than at him.
“Of course,” Laird Buchanan said, nodding regally. “Of course, we will honor our agreement. And may I say, Miss Donaghey, that I am sorry about your parents. They—theirs is a serious loss.” He paused briefly, the most serious emotion he was likely to show, at least in front of their men. But Laird Donaghey had been friends with Ewan’s father, not just his ally. They’d known each other since boyhood. It was hard to imagine the Laird dead.
“We will welcome you to Buchanan Keep. We will honor the old deal against us.”
This hit Ewan like a blow, but Ailsa didn’t so much as flinch. She must have been expecting this, must have known what she would be asked to do if she came here.
“Thank you, My Laird,” she said somberly. “We shall, of course, do as you request.”
They were dispassionate words, unaffected and calm. Ewan hoped that his own expression looked as untroubled.
Inside, though, he was all turmoil. Ailsa was his past, and now she was here.
Time would only tell if she was his future, too.
CHAPTER TWO
Ailsa could feelEwan’s gaze boring into her like a knife at her back.
It was absurd. Really, in the greater scheme of things, she should not be worrying about Ewan. Her parents weredead. If the blood dripping from their mouths hadn’t made it clear enough that this was due to some kind of treachery, their pursuers had reinforced that message very pointedly. For hours—hours—the four of them had raced for their lives, barely keeping far enough ahead that their pursuers only risked the occasional arrow.
Ailsa had ensured that she was at the back, for all the paltry protection her body provided. It was all she could do, though—that and pray. Pray that their horses would make it, that none of them would stumble or fall, that the Buchanans wouldn’t send them away.
And it had worked. It hadworked. They were here. They were safe.
Yes, she was so exhausted that it took a concentrated effort to stay upright. Eilidh was barely moving under her own power; the guard’s support was doing nearly all the work of keeping her upright in her saddle. Laird Buchanan had insisted Eilidh andDavina ride double with two of his guards, their horses on leads at their side. It was a testament to the girls’ exhaustion that they hadn’t put up so much as a token protest.
Vaila hadkilled a man.
All that, and Ailsa was still worrying over Ewan Buchanan.
It was indefensible, really, that she was thinking about himat all, but it had been years. And the last time she’d seen him, she’d been fifteen, Ewan nineteen. She’d thought him grown, at the time.
But now…
No. She could not think of that.
As the group crossed through the enormous gate that marked the boundary of Buchanan Keep, the Donaghey sisters found themselves the subject of many curious faces. It had been like that, she recalled in a flash, when she’d arrived nine years prior with her parents. She’d tried to be so stoic then, determined to show the people that she would be a good lady of the estate, that they could rely on her.
That had not come to pass, but some things apparently didn’t change because here she was, again aiming for stoicism.
Actually, she observed, gazing around, a lot of things hadn’t changed. She had been certain that she’d never see this place again, but now, looking at the women gossipping over by a garden, watching the adolescent boys shove one another playfully, it felt familiar.
It felt almost like home.
That was absurd, though, of course it was. It could only be the effects of her long day, or the way her true home had been made so alien to her by the knowledge that murderers lurked in its halls.
It hadnothingto do with that glare of Ewan’s.
Which she could still feel.
When they reached the Buchanan stables, Vaila dismounted as nimbly as if she’d been riding for mere minutes, not hours.
Ailsa was forced to accept the hand of one of the guards to help her down, which was a touch humiliating, especially after her sister’s elegance. But it was less humiliating than falling flat on her rear, and she feared that might be the only alternative.
She reached out a hand and began to murmur her thanks—then froze because it was Ewan’s hand in hers. She hadn’t grabbed gloves in her haste to flee Castle Dubh-Gheal, and her hands were lined with dirt from the hours spent clutching the reins.
She wasn’t completely churlish, though, so she let him guide her down.
