“He doesn’t even know Rose is alive, the laggard-head. Here he has a perfectly sweet, smart lass hanging on his every word, but because everyone hangs on his word, he doesn’t realize that she’s in love with him. I was going to fix that, you know, until you showed up.”
Hope shifted slightly to face Jeanne.
“What do I have anything to do with it?”
“Well, Jared’s not stopped talking about you since the ball. I think he’s set his sights on you.”
Hope shifted her weight slightly from one foot to the other. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“Oh, no, surely not. We’ve barely spoken.”
“He says you’re as fine a lass as any. There’s a rumor he may ask your aunt for her blessing so that he can court you.”
Hope’s mouth dropped open as the rest of her body became still.
“Court me? But we hardly know one another,” Hope said, unsure. Though she had enjoyed Jared McTavish’s company, she wasn’t sure there was the potential for much more than friendship between them, even if he was rather flirtatious at times.
“Well, such is the point of courting. For now, what Jared knows is that he thinks you’re fine, and so does Father, and so do I.”
Hope smiled at Jeanne. She glanced over the field to the line where the men lined up to start the race. Jared McTavish was a good-looking man, who seemed to have a sweet temperament and a mischievous glint in his eye, but Hope couldn’t help but admire the man standing next to him.
Graham wasn’t nearly as quick to smile, nor was he mischievous. Something about him made Hope sad, and it unnerved her as she watched him bend to pull up his kilt hose and strap it to his leg. He was severe and unfathomable, unlike his easygoing cousin. Despite everything though, there was just something about Graham that fit her.
As if he could sense her gaze upon him, Graham stilled, his eyes catching hers. Hope immediately whipped around, not wanting to be caught ogling him.
“Of course, I told him it dinna matter,” Jeanne said as she watched Hope. “Not when you were already spoken for.”
“Spoken for?” She swallowed, ignoring the warmth crawling up her back. Was Graham still looking at her? She cleared her throat. “Spoken for by whom?”
“Graham MacKinnon, of course.”
“Oh goodness, no,” Hope said, shaking her head, though her heart began to beat faster at the mere suggestion. Were people really gossiping about her and Graham? She didn’t want to be connected with him like that, but she couldn’t ignore the thrill that went through her at the idea of being spoken for by him. “Mr. MacKinnon and I are barely friends. Acquaintances, really. Nothing more.”
“Believe what you like, Miss Sharpe, but I was a lady in love once,” Jeanne said as a far-off happiness shone in her green eyes. A passing breeze caused a few strands of auburn hair to dance across Jeanne’s face. “I know what it’s like to be caught by a man’s gaze—and it’s what I’ve seen when Graham looks atyou. I’d sooner lose me right arm than not believe that he’s about you.”
Hope opened her mouth to argue, but then she caught sight of Graham again with his cousins at the starting line, smiling and patting Jared on the back as they prepared to begin. He appeared so happy in that moment, and she wondered what he must have been like in his youth. Had he been bitter from the beginning about what happened to him? Obviously, the love he shared with his cousins had buoyed him in life. Yet another stab of guilt sliced through her that she was related to Belle, who had robbed him of so much, even as a small voice in her mind seemed to whisper that perhaps she could give it back one day.
She wasn’t sure how, or even if it was possible, but as the men lined up for the race, she promised herself that one day she’d be instrumental in helping Graham achieve his goal of reclaiming his ancestral home.
Jeanne sighed, grabbing Hope’s attention.
“It’s a foolish race, this is. But my Duncan did love it.”
Hope wasn’t sure what to say. She had learned that Jeanne’s husband, Duncan, had perished in the Burmese war, but this was the first time Jeanne had actually mentioned him.
“My aunt told me she only met your husband a handful of times before he left for war,” Hope said quietly. “She said he was a fine man.”
“Aye. Duncan was very fine,” Jeanne said, her tone light yet heavy simultaneously. “He and Logan Harris went off together. We were young, babes really when we married, but he was determined to fight, and I was quite taken with the idea of being married to a soldier.” Though her words were gently spoken, Hope noted a deep sadness. “It’s been three years, but sometimes I swear he still… Well…” She laced her hands together, unable to finish the thought.
Instinctively, Hope squeezed Jeanne’s fingers.
“I’m sorry.”
Jeanne smiled sadly, shaking her head as if she could shake off the sudden melancholy that had come over them.
Just then, an elderly man with a long white hair and beard to match came hobbling with a cane towards the center of the starting line. One of the twins, possibly Michael McTavish, attempted to help the old man, but was hit in the shin with the old man’s cane and shooed away. A ripple of laughter tore through the competitors, and a smirking Michael hurried back to the starting line. The aged man held up his hands and everyone quieted.
“Greetings!” he shouted as everyone in the crowd yelled a greeting back. “Ach, settle down, settle down!” He waved a hand over to the competitors. “The Casan Laidir race has been held in these past hundred years to demonstrate the strength and speed of the McTavish clan. It is a Scottish tradition that goes as far back as King Malcolm’s race and one we proudly still uphold today.” Cheers erupted around Hope as she and her sisters clapped along. “All right, all right! Now, gentlemen. Are ye ready?”
