“Thank you,” she murmured.
She snatched away her hand as soon as she could. She could still feel the grip of his leather gloves against her skin even after she’d let go.
“You are a remarkable horsewoman, Miss Donaghey,” Laird Buchanan said to Vaila. “I take it ye are Vaila, then? Yer father told me ye were quite the warrioress, and now I can see it well. He would be well proud of ye. ‘Twas a masterful throw, that bit with the dirk.”
Vaila lit up with pleasure at this praise, her dark hair rippling as it cascaded over her shoulders. She did, indeed, Ailsa thought, look like a warrior maiden from a legend.
“Da wrote to you of me?” she asked.
“Indeed so.” The fond, paternal smile faded, his expression growing somber. “I must say, the news of his passing—and your mother’s, too—is terrible to hear. But I am glad that yer father directed ye to come to us. We shall, of course, honor the bargain that has long stood between our families.”
The Laird was looking at Ailsa now, and she returned his gaze evenly. She was prepared for this. And even if she wasn’t prepared, she would pretend she was until it became truth.
“I am prepared to do whatever needs to be done,” she said.
That was honest enough. She had been raised to this responsibility, and she would bear it now that the time had come. Whatever price she had to pay to protect her sisters—she would pay it.
Ewan watched his father watch Ailsa. The Laird wore that look that not even his son had learned to parse.
“Let’s continue inside,” he said after a long, assessing moment. “There is much to discuss, but now is not the time.”
If Ailsa considered this an inadequate response to her declaration, she didn’t show it.
“Of course, your lairdship,” she said politely. “My sisters and I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to bathe and rest after the journey, if it isn’t too great a trouble.”
Ewan watched her carefully. She might have brushed away his hand, but he hadn’t gone far.
He didn’t plan to, either. Not until he had a better sense of this situation.
And maybe not then, either.
“No trouble at all, my dear,” his father assured her.
The group continued toward the hall at the center of the Keep, the soldiers antsy in the aftermath of the brief skirmish, the gathered clansfolk openly gawking.
“Get everyone movin’,” he said quietly to James. “They dinnae need the staring.”
“Aye,” James said. “I’ll see to it.”
Ewan spared a brief moment of sympathy for the younger lads, who no doubt would find their next hours spent training with James—a notorious taskmaster when it came to drilling potential warriors. His attention quickly snapped back to Ailsa, though, and just in time; as they walked down the path to the door, they came to the loose cobblestone, the one that everyone in the clan instinctively stepped over.
Ailsa didn’t. She stepped directly on it, wobbled, and would have pitched forward if Ewan hadn’t quickly snagged her about the waist, tugging her toward him to stop her from falling.
It was ungentlemanly of him, but, well, he was not a gentleman and therefore could not help but notice that in the intervening years since he’d seen Ailsa, she’d filled out nicely, developed a woman’s form instead of a girl’s. That form felt mighty good pressed against him.
Her cheeks flamed briefly before she got herself under control, and he had to suppress his grin. She wouldn’t thank him for it.
“I am steady now,” she said, trying to tug free. “I’ll thank you to release me.”
“Nay, lass,” he said smoothly. He’d changed somewhat, too, in the years they’d been parted. He was no longer a bumbling lad. He knew how to tease and flirt.
And who better to hone his skills than bonny Ailsa Donaghey?
“‘Tis my duty as a host to see ye escorted inside safely,” he told her, tightening his grip on her. “Ye’ll nae deny me the honor.”
To his utter shock, she didnottry to deny him the honor. Instead, she sighed as though making a great concession, but leaned her weight upon him a little more heavily.
Astonishing. Who would have thought there would come a time when headstrong Ailsa Donaghey would accept his help?
