Kirsty followed Ciaran’s gaze. Her face lit up with a smile as soon as she saw Eilidh.
“Ach, ye must be the wee Viking!” she exclaimed.
With those same confident strides, she crossed to Eilidh and pressed a smacking kiss on her forehead. It was a maternal kind of gesture—or it would have been if Eilidh’s mother moved with the bullying determination of a nanny goat, as did Kirsty Gunn.
“I… beg your pardon?” Eilidh stammered, surprised by this unexpected characterization.
But irrepressible Kirsty laughed. “Och, that’s what yer Da called ye,” she said, her smile growing fond. “I would see dear Alasdair whenever the Gunns and the Donagheys traded, or whenever the clans gathered. He was a good man, but once ye got any amount of the drink in him, ye couldnae get him to shut his gob about his braw, strong son and all those bonny daughters.” She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Eilidh’s ear, which Eilidh found rather comforting. “He always did say that his youngest looked more like a Viking goddess than a Highland lass, God rest his soul. That must be ye.”
Eilidh felt her eyes prickle faintly at the fond way that this woman could offer up a piece of her father when Eilidh would have assumed there was nothing new to learn about him. She would rather not humiliate herself by crying in front of a stranger, though, so she cocked a saucy brow.
“Aye, he is missed, but we will be sure to kill that mockit scanner Gordon once and for all—in my father’s honor. And then, all will be well again.”
The older woman laughed. “Ach, a lass who can swear in the old language! If ye are nay a girl after my own heart.”
Eilidh gave a teasing curtsy, which made Kirsty laugh again. Beneath her antics, though, she felt a real sense of camaraderie with this woman.
Maybe people would call Kirsty dramatic—ostentatious—unladylike. But people called Eilidh those things, too, when her fancies grabbed at her. So clearly they ought to flock together.
James and Arran had hung back during the introductions, giving Ciaran a chance to reunite with his kinswoman and allowing Eilidh, as the most proximate woman of noble descent, to welcome her to the keep. Now, however, they approached.
James bowed, though not so much so that he couldn’t keep a wary eye on the driver who had accompanied Kirsty.
“My lady,” he said politely. “I am James McGregor, Captain of the Guard here at Buchanan Keep. With me is Arran McPherson, lately wed to Davina Donaghey. On behalf of Laird Buchanan, permit me to welcome ye.”
Eilidh wanted to cross her eyes and stick out her tongue. Well, that was one way to greet a person, though she really thought hers was more interesting.
Evidently, Kirsty agreed. She gave James an up-and-down look that was laced with skepticism.
“Lighten up, lad,” she advised.
James wasn’t without a sense of humor—he couldn’t have survived being married to Vaila without one—but Eilidh wouldn’t have known it, not from the way this comment failed to make him so much as bat an eye.
“May we escort ye inside?” he asked.
“Och, when a braw young thing like ye is making the offer, how can I resist?”
James’ expression was impassive as he led Kirsty away, but Arran, following close behind after hoisting one of Kirsty’strunks onto his shoulder, looked profoundly glad thathehad not been asked to walk arm-in-arm with the brash older lady.
Eilidh turned to offer the same aid to Ciaran, who had to be past exhausted by this point, but when she offered him her arm as she had before, he lurched back a step as though she’d offered him a live snake rather than a shoulder to lean upon.
“What,” he snapped, glaring at her, “in the world is wrong with ye?”
Ciaran supposed that this was possibly somewhat harsh.
Still, the anger boiling inside him loosened his tongue, made him reckless with his words, and he found that not even the flash of hastily hidden hurt that moved across Eilidh’s elfin features could stop him from speaking further.
“Ye had no right to bring her here,” he snapped. “What in the hell possessed ye? What made ye think that ye had the right to get involved with my family’s affairs?”
Eilidh smiled at him then, which confused him for the brief moment it took him to understand that this wasn’t a real smile. This was like the way a wolf grinned at you before it went for your legs.
“Flattered as I am that ye think that I am the one in charge of such things,” she said in a viciously sweet tone, “but that was my brother.LairdGraham Donaghey. And as Laird, he made the decision to inform your kin that ye had turned up on our door. So, as I see it, ye ought to be thanking us.”
He scoffed.
Her smile widened as though she was preparing to swallow him alive. She might be sweet, this youngest Donaghey sister,and she might look like he could knock her over with a feather, but she was tougher than she seemed.
“Besides,” she went on. “The Gunns have always been allies to my family. Unless…” She blinked innocent eyes, the green mesmerizing. “Unless ye are trying to tell me that ye no longer wish it to be so.”
