She glanced up at him, just the once, but he saw a hint of desperation in her eyes. It unnerved him, seeing that. In his memories of her, Ailsa had never looked at him with anything but courage and determination.
Times had indeed changed.
He released her reluctantly. This wasn’t the time to tease.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and he didn’t know whether it was for the help or for letting her free.
Somehow, he had forgotten this part of knowing Ailsa—or, more likely, he’d shoved it down until he didn’t have to think of it anymore. The lass was as blasted confusing as any he’d ever known.
They’d reached the main house by then, and half a dozen women fluttered forward, ready to fuss over the weary sisters. Ewan’s father waved them on with an offhanded gesture.
“Go,” he told the sisters. “We’ve much to discuss, but it will keep until you’ve rested.”
Only Ailsa and Vaila had the presence of mind to curtsey. The third sister, Davina, he learned was her name, followed suit belatedly. Ewan was glad that the youngest didn’t even try. She looked as though she would topple from the effort.
The four traipsed upstairs in the direction of the guest chambers. Ewan watched them go, noting how they seemed to reach instinctively for one another, as if seeking succor and comfort.
He approached to stand beside his father, who was also watching the girls go.
“I fear this is reckless, Father,” Ewan said. “They were chased for a reason. Are we bringing trouble onto our own doorstep by harboring them here?”
Phileas gave his son an assessing look. “I would think so, but what would ye suggest, me boy? Neglectin’ my promise to a lostfriend? Consignin’ those girls to the wilds, to whatever ill fate may befall them at the hands of their pursuers?”
“Nae, of course not,” Ewan said.
He and his father both knew that neither of them would ever consider it as an option. Even without the promise to Laird Donaghey—the now late Laird Donaghey—Ewan would never turn away a helpless woman in need. That was the way of blackguards and wastrels. He might not be a gentleman, precisely, but he was nae a villain, either.
“No,” his father agreed. “We’ve an old debt that must be paid. We made a promise, and we shall abide it.”
“Come what may?”
The press of his father’s mouth was somber. “Aye. Come what may.”
CHAPTER THREE
Ailsa knewshe should be combing out her long, wet hair before it became hopelessly snarled. One of the Buchanan women had offered her help, but Ailsa had needed a moment to justbe, to stop trying to present herself as the new head of the Donaghey family and just think through everything that had happened.
Her parents, murdered. By whom?
Herself and her sisters, pursued. But why?
There were questions, so very many questions. But one thing she knew for certain.
She would do what was necessary to reclaim her home.
Except perhaps not quite at this moment. Because right now, her arms felt too leaden to even handle her hair.
“Ailsa?” Vaila peeked into the door and then let herself in when she saw that her sister was alone. Vaila too had bathed and changed and was looking far too energetic, given the day they’d had. She took one look at Ailsa and grabbed a comb, then began picking through her sister’s waves.
Ailsa closed her eyes against the swell of emotion that surged up inside her. Her beloved sister. The swordswoman at her back.
She didn’t know how she could have done this without Vaila.
“Davina and Eilidh are resting,” Vaila told her as she got through enough of the wind-swept snarls to start combing in longer strokes. “I was half afraid that Eilidh was going to drown in the bath, but she made it through. I think Davina might be pretending to sleep so she can have a moment to mourn.”
“Aye, let her have her moment,” Ailsa said. “It’s been a long day, and I cannot quite believe…” she trailed off, lost in the horror of memory.
“What happened?” Vaila asked quietly. “To Mama and Da, I mean.”
