“One year, twelve fortnights, and a sennight,” Munro bit out without slowing his step or glancing back.
My step faltered now as I stared at the withdrawn Scot striding before me. He’d kept count of how long his children had been away from him. He was not lost. He carried love inside of him for his lasses, and he needed someone to help him find his way again. Something in me softened a bit as I studied him for a few steps.
He was powerfully built with broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and long legs. I imagined the man had never been brought low by an enemy, but love, well, love had dealt him a near-lethal blow. How well I knew how much loving someone could hurt. Lisette’s image flashed in my mind, and I had to inhale a steadying breath to control the sadness that dwelled under the surface for the loss of her.
“What’s yer favorite food, Murieall?” Guinn asked.
I blinked, glad for the intrusion on my rising melancholy. “Beef stew,” I said as we passed through a corridor lined with shields bearing the Ross crest. “What’s yers?”
“Venison pie with blackberries,” she replied promptly. “Especially when Cook makes it with the sweet crust.”
I glanced at Munro, who had slowed his pace just enough to overhear. I smiled at that and then at Guinn. “A fine choice,” Isaid, patting her head. “Tell me something of ye, Bess? Do ye prefer to play indoors or out?”
“Out!” she declared emphatically. “I like to watch the men training near the loch. Sometimes they let me hold their shields, but Da does nae ken that.” Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what she’d said, her eyes darting nervously to her da’s back.
Munro had stiffened at her words, but he didn’t turn or comment. Instead, he pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing a spacious room with large windows overlooking the sea.
“This is the nursery,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “Ye and the children will undoubtedly spend a good deal of time here.”
“Doubtful,” I replied, having to press my lips together on his scowl as he faced me. “Bess just said she prefers to play outside, and I prefer the outdoors as well, as long as it’s nae too cold.”
“Me, too,” Guinn added. “I love the sunshine on my face.”
“I love to dip my toes in the loch,” I added, hoping it would encourage Munro to join in with one of his own comments.
Bess’s face brightened. “I love to stand at the top of the cliff and let the wind blow my skirts as I watch the water hit the rocks below.”
Munro’s head turned sharply at this, surprise evident in his face. “Who has taken ye to the top of the cliffs?”
“Aunt Magdalene,” Bess said. “She says the sea air is good for growing lasses, and that there is nae a better place to breathe it in than at the top of the cliff. She says we must grow to be healthy so we can be wed for the good of the clan.”
Munro’s expression darkened momentarily, and I wondered at the tension I sensed over this. Finally, he spoke. “I do nae want the lasses climbing the cliffs,” he said. “’Tis dangerous.”
“Aye,” I quickly replied, hearing the odd catch in his tone.
He exited the nursery, and we continued through the castle, moving from one chamber to the next. Munro walked stiffly ahead, occasionally pointing out a room or staircase with the detached tone of a man describing a property he barely knew, rather than his home. Each time the girls shared something about themselves, I watched him carefully, noting how his eyes would widen slightly or his brow would furrow, clear signs that he was learning basic facts about his own children for the first time.
“I can climb higher in the oak tree than any of the boys in the clan,” Guinn announced proudly as we passed a window overlooking the training yard.
Munro halted abruptly, turning to look at his eldest daughter with an expression caught between alarm and disbelief. “Ye climb trees? That’s nae safe for a lass.”
“I’m careful, Da,” Guinn said, her voice growing smaller under his stern gaze. “And I only climb when Uncle James is watching. He says I have a good head for heights, like…” She trailed off, eyes dropping to the floor.
“Like yer mama,” Munro finished, his voice suddenly rough. A shadow passed over his face before he turned away. “The north tower is this way,” he added brusquely, increasing his pace once more.
I watched as the momentary connection between Munro and Guinn frayed and broke. The girls walked closer to me now, their earlier excitement dimmed. Throughout the tour, Munro maintained a physical distance from his daughters that spoke louder than words. He never stood close enough to touch them, never reached out a hand to guide them away from a steep step or a narrow passage, though I knew from his comments about the cliffs and tree-climbing that he feared for their safety and he cared.
As we climbed a winding staircase, Guinn asked, “How come ye to be here, Murieall?”
“I’m in need of protection,” I replied, not wanting to lie to the lass.
“From what?” Bess inquired.
“Well,” I said, slowly, “A witch.” Mayhap my foolishness could serve as a cautionary tale to the lasses. From the corner of my eye, Munro frowned at me.
“I told ye, I do nae believe in witches,” he said, looking at the lasses.
“Well, ye should,” I replied hotly. “They’re real.”
