He offered an encouraging smile. “I believe ye can do it.”
What better way to introduce her as the lady of the clan than by giving her the first project?
She sighed. For now, the conversation had ended, but he would bring it up again.
“Have ye met Daisy yet?”
That seemed to pique her interest.
“That little brat? She keeps nuzzling me hair.” She raked her fingers through her tresses and examined them as if expecting to find proof.
“She likes the way ye smell.”
“Well, I daenae like being bald. I shall stay away from her forever,” she said resolutely.
“That’s too bad,” he muttered.
He would have to figure something out about their riding lessons.
Talia walked ahead of him now. The path had become more rocks than packed dirt, and she found it easier to navigate the outcrop than to cling to his arm and watch her feet.
Her skirt was bundled in her hands, revealing white velvet slippers. She looked over her shoulder, positively distraught. “Where are we going?”
Her white slippers were turning a murky brown. If they happened to be wool-lined, she was about to have a very uncomfortable time.
“Have ye ever considered an outdoor wedding?”
He caught her as her ankle twisted on a slope; she had been looking at him when her feet slid into the rocky dimple. He could feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest.
He thought she would be a little vexed, but the near fall seemed to amuse her. She broke free from his hold and jogged ahead. Her steps were no longer tentative or calculated. Now that theworst was over, she was worry-free. She looked like she was enjoying herself, lifting her skirt and beaming.
Was that a skip? Perhaps the near fall triggered childish whims that had been buried deep.
Well, it did trigger something, and that was an inclination to hurt herself because she was nearing a disaster.
She climbed up an incline and descended with rushed feet. “I have never dreamed of a wedding, nay less a ceremony. I am fine getting married anywhere, as long as it is to ye.”
But this wasn’t just anywhere. Darragh had discovered it many months ago; the memory came back only recently.
Beyond the hills was a cluster of stones structured like a hypaethral cathedral. A natural edifice that surpassed any manmade erections. He knew he just had to show it to her. He could picture her in her white dress and him in his plaid, heather fields around them, white organza tapestries and fox glove bouquets hanging from rustic stone arches. He had never visualized anything so vividly ethereal until that moment.
They were closer now. The stream tapered, shrinking in width and depth to a four-foot drop, with only three tracks gushing water past stone. The sound had gone from a serene murmur to a loud hissing that piqued Talia’s curiosity. She drew near and stumbled back instantly.
“We are here,” Darragh announced.
When she had stepped back, he noticed the stone bridge that traversed the current’s width.
“Ye cannae mean for me to crossthat.”
She did not even want to stand near it.
He could not fault her. The bridge was more of a slab supported by twin boulders on either side. He had crossed it enough times to know it held.
“I assure ye, it’s more safe that it looks.”
To prove his point, he stepped onto it. The slab could only accommodate one boot at a time—her small feet would have no issues—so he had to fully cross it if he wanted to look at her.
“I daenae wish to break me legs before the wedding.” She looked even more distraught now.
