‘How old were you when the feud was settled?’ she asked.
‘The feud has not been settled,’ he explained. ‘There is a truce in place. Brodie’s uncle and mine forged the agreement to stop the destruction of both of our families.’
‘I thought that ended it?’ She winced as Rob punched Brodie in the face and he stumbled before landing on his knees in the dirt. Another wince when those around them cheered loudly. ‘How long has it been going on?’
‘Two score years—nay, three, I think,’ he replied, trying to sort out the details of how and when. ‘A fight over land claimed by both clans generations ago was the start of it. Most of Lochaber is Cameron lands, but somehow the Mackintoshes ended up here in Glenlui. A marriage settlement, I think. Then my family decided to take it back. The Mackintoshes did not care for that.’
‘I would think not,’ she said. ‘Was there still fighting going on when you were young?’
‘Oh, aye,’ he replied. ‘Though Uncle Euan took the first steps towards a peace when I was young. The last raid that spilled blood between us happened before I was born.’ He shrugged when she glanced at him. ‘The last deaths were in the fight between the Mackintosh cousins. But, as kin to them, you might ken that already?’
All of her attention, her body even, turned back to the demonstration happening before them as though it was of the utmost importance just then. After a pause or hesitation of a few moments, she nodded.
‘I ken some of it,’ she said. ‘But my family is but a minor branch of the clan and none have claims that rise to the right to be on the council of elders or serve as tanist. So we have little contact with The MacPherson.’
It was the way of it amongst the larger clans. So much land was held across the width and length of the Highlands that many offshoots of families lived in ignorance of the rest. Until or unless hostilities broke out and they needed to call on kin to come to their defence.
For a short while, they talked and he lost awareness of anything but the sound of her voice and the way she smiled or frowned. He lost himself in the way she gestured while speaking, her slender hands moving with so much grace that they seemed to dance before him. When he next looked around, everyone was gone. He and Saraid stood before an empty practice yard.
Alan was about to ask a question until he noticed Dougal heading in their direction. He knew what the man wanted—to escort Saraid to Clara’s. But right now, Alan wanted no interruptions. So, he held out his arm to her.
‘If you have finished speaking to Arabella and are ready to return to the village, I can take you there, Mistress MacPherson.’
Those enticing eyes made of the palest of blue and shards of gold met his and widened ever so slightly before she nodded. Then she touched him, only a passing touch of her hand on his arm, but he could feel the heat of her through the layers of clothing there. Or he imagined he could. As he watched her hand slide down his sleeve towards the skin of his hand, Alan held his breath waiting for her skin on his. She lifted her hand away just before it could happen.
‘I pray you, do not call me Mistress MacPherson,’ she said. ‘Mistress MacPherson makes me feel older than I am.’
‘What would you have me call you?’ he asked.
‘As most here do, you could call me Saraid.’ She placed her hand once more on his arm and he began walking with her at his side. ‘In the midst of kith and kin, it somehow feels strange for you to call me something other than that.’
‘Very well then, Saraid,’ he said. ‘What did Arabella want of you?’
Bold, but he wanted to know how Bella had approached her conversation with their guest. When she stumbled at his words, he reached out and steadied her...and continued to keep his hand on hers now.
‘Have a care there,’ he warned. ‘The ground is uneven until we reached the bridge.’ An excuse, but it also gave him one to keep hold of her hand.
Her skin was as soft as it appeared and no roughness or cracked skin marred it. It was almost as though she’d never toiled at chores or other household tasks. Tempted to turn it over to study it more carefully, Alan decided to simply hold her hand.
‘The lady kindly offered me a place in her household,’ Saraid said as they walked. ‘I am, certainly, most honoured by such an invitation.’
‘And? Will you accept her offer?’ he asked.
One breath in and released and one pace taken. A second breath in and out and a second step. Then a third and a fourth until Alan realised he was counting her breaths and her paces at his side. Why should it matter? Why did it matter? He kenned only that it did. He wanted to stop and pull her into his arms and convince her that she should stay here.
‘Nay.’ With one softly spoken word, some strange hope within him paused. ‘I am committed to my path.’
Damn it!
Had he so misread her hesitation or had she truly been considering Bella’s offer seriously in those moments before she’d declared it otherwise? With each stride he took, he became more convinced that he could change her mind on this matter. If others like Dougal, and more if Jamie was to be believed, were attempting to dissuade her from the convent and taking of vows to that life, then why was he standing by the side and watching it happen?
Why was he letting it happen without him?
One thing stood in his way and it was not the woman there. It was Gilbert Cameron. His uncle be damned! Alan would choose his own path and his own wife, if it was time for that.
As the road turned on to the pathway that would lead to Jamie and Clara’s, he’d talked himself into and out of doing what he wanted to do several times. As they slowed in front of the smithy and she began to lift her hand away from his arm, Alan decided his own path.
In spite of the knowledge that his uncle thought he would decide the rest of Alan’s life, in spite of knowing that it would cause a battle that would drag his father and mother into taking his side or his uncle’s, Alan knew that he must take a chance and try to make her his. As he let her go, Alan grabbed hold of her hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing the soft skin that he had touched all the way here.
