They worked in silence for some time, but one thing yet bothered him. If it did not bother Jamie that his wife’s kin showed up, unknown and unannounced, at their door and planned to stay for some uncertain amount of time, then it was not for him to be bothered either. Yet, one thing did. It ate at him though he had no rights by kinship or claim to be concerned for a moment over it. Finally, it pushed its way out and he said it aloud.
‘Is she truly going to Skye to be a nun?’
‘So you heard? Did Clara tell you?’ Jamie laughed.
‘Nay. Arabella told me.’ Alan faced him and crossed his arms over his chest, now bare due to the heat of the fire pit. ‘She just does not seem to be the type of woman who would give up m...life and seek prayer and silence.’
Jamie looked as though he would argue or add to his assessment, but instead his friend just watched him through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before going back to work. It was just as well, since he had no standing about any of this. If anyone did, it would be the lass’s father or brothers or even her dead husband’s family.
* * *
By the time they finished for the day, Alan had come to some conclusions.
First, he knew he would not seek out problems that were not already his.
Then, he would make it a point to visit Achnacarry more often and keep watch for anything out of the ordinary for his uncle.
Finally and in spite of his body telling him otherwise, Alan accepted that he could not and would not interfere with Saraid MacPherson and her plans for her own life. He knew nothing about the young woman and had no right to think she could not choose her own path.
* * *
Returning to the keep that night, he was proud of his decisions and knew they would make the next months go much more smoothly for him. At least that was what he thought until he caught sight of Arabella and her women watching his every move. What forced him to worry was not words, but the lady’s expression as he bade her and her husband a good night later after the meal.
A smirk lay on her lips and a twinkle of mischief sparkled in her eyes—two things to be wary of and two things he’d learned, as had Brodie, to worry over. He’d always had sympathy for Brodie when he’d been the target of it, but now, now it seemed that Brodie had deserted him.
No matter that. He had his plan and had made his decisions.
Chapter Six
In the first few minutes each morning when she awoke, Sorcha wondered what new challenges she would face that day. So far, in the weeks since her disappearance into the night, she’d faced many of them.
She’d never had to prepare her own food.
She’d never had to ride for hours and days.
She’d never truly feared for her life. Oh, her father would make it miserable, but she served a purpose until she married.
But, and this was an alarming and enlightening revelation to her, she’d never been amongst people who cared.
These Mackintoshes cared about each other and that extended to their chieftain, too. For they did not seem to fear him as her kith and kin feared her father, rather they respected him and even liked him. Stranger still was that here in Glenlui village and in Drumlui Keep asking questions was not forbidden nor even discouraged. If anyone raised a voice or question to her father or his orders, their life and limbs were in peril.
Oh, she’d seen The Mackintosh stand his ground over a few things and, when he did that, everyone supported him. When she considered to whom he listened, she was confused even more.
The only other person of noble blood living here was Lady Eva. She was the daughter of a powerful nobleman in the north. Everyone else, all those who counselled this laird, were family and friends who had proven their loyalty and worth in the fight that nearly destroyed this clan.
And here she was, in the midst of people who took her as she was. Clara and James opened their home to her and, in doing that, the rest here welcomed her. The biggest challenge she faced was these people.
So many times each day, she was tempted to tell her story to one or another of them. Margaret, Clara’s sister by marriage, was the worst. The woman had a way of drawing Sorcha in and then asking her insightful questions. Sometimes, Sorcha wondered if she had a bit of the Sight and knew all her secrets already.
‘You are awake?’
Sorcha glanced over at the door to her cousin’s bedchamber and nodded. After stretching slowly, she pushed back the blankets and stood. The morning chill, even in late summer, made her wrap one of the woollen blankets around her shoulders.
‘I am.’ Glancing past her cousin, who carried the youngest on her hip, Sorcha saw no movement to indicate anyone else was awake. Yet.
‘I could almost hear you thinking,’ Clara said, walking to the bucket of water and dipping a cup for herself. She offered a few sips to the bairn before she held it out to Sorcha. ‘Are you still thinking about the porridge?’
Sorcha laughed and shook her head as she accepted the cup of water. Each day Clara had taught her, or tried to teach her, a new skill or task. Yesterday’s morn it had been to make porridge, something she’d eaten enough to know how to make it.
