"Nay," Alpin admitted quietly. "It's nae."
Callum nodded slowly. "I thought as much. And as someone who's fought beside ye fer years, who's seen ye carry the weight of this clan... I'm glad, me laird. Ye deserve somethin' good. Someone who sees ye as more than just the laird."
"It's complicated," Alpin said, rubbing his face. "Her situation. Ashcombe. Her clan."
"Most things worth havin' are." Callum's voice was gentle now. "But if anyone can navigate complicated, it's ye. Just... be carefulwith yer heart. That's all I'm sayin'. The lass has been through hell, and ye care deeply. That combination can be dangerous."
"I ken."
Callum paused at the door. "Fer what it's worth? I like her. She's got fire. Spirit. She'll be good fer ye, if ye let her."
“Thank ye, me friend. One thing.”
“Yes, me laird.”
“I need ye tae look intae somethin' fer me. Discreetly. Mhairi's sister, Isobel Munro. Age sixteen. According tae Graham, she was sold to him along with Mhairi, though she's nae old enough yet tae bring in proper coin at auction.”
“I’ll start from nearby villages.”
“Good. Find out if it's true. Find out where she is. And if she's in danger, find out how we can get her out. This stays between us fer now. I dinnae want to give Mhairi false hope.”
“Yes, me laird.”
After he left, Alpin sat alone with his thoughts.
He should have been focusing on Graham. On the auction network. On finding those missing lasses and bringing them home.
Instead, all he could think about was the way Mhairi's face had lit up when he'd told her she could learn healing. The way she'd looked in that blue dress. The way she'd trusted him enough to close her eyes while he braided her hair.
He was in trouble.
Deep, complicated, potentially heart-breaking trouble.
But as he returned to his reports, Alpin found he did not care.
Because if there was even a chance, even the smallest possibility, that Mhairi might someday look at him the way he was starting to look at her...
Well.
That would be worth any amount of trouble.
He returned to his other work, trying not to think about her grey eyes her dark hair, and that smile that made his chest feel too tight.
Trying.
And failing spectacularly.
CHAPTER TEN
The next day Mhairi was with the healer, learning.
"Slower," Donnach said from beside her, his gnarled fingers guidin' hers. "Ye want tae release the oils, nae pulverize the flower intae dust. Gentle, circular motions. There—like that."
Mhairi's hands were shaking as she ground the dried chamomile in the mortar. Not from nerves, but from pure, undiluted excitement.
The scent of chamomile filled the air, sweet and slightly apple-like. Mhairi breathed it in, memorizing the smell, the texture, the way the petals broke apart under the pestle.
"How dae ye ken when it's ready?" she asked.
