“I am called Ismay.”
He took a moment to gather the sound of it in, then waited for the rest.
She didn’t tell him. She couldn’t. She knew Camerons and MacDonalds were distant kin. He would hate her and throw her to the wolves for killing the MacDonald chief when she was eight. The MacDonalds still hated the MacPhersons for harboring her.
“Drummond. Ismay Drummond.”
He nodded, looking unconvinced.
“Fergive me,” she repented again. “Knowing certain things could be dangerous fer ye.”
His expression warmed on her, but barely. “Let me worry aboot myself.”
“I would like to agree, Chief. But I dinna want anyone dying fer me.”
“Miss Drummond,” he said with a tender scowl, “ye insult me. I willna die. No’ fer ye. No’ fer anyone.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
He was silent. Letting seconds fade away. Then, “Why are ye glad to hear it? Because ye think I am a good person? Or is it somethin’ else?”
She laughed, though it was a shrill sound that burned even her ears. “Aye, it is because ye are a good person. Ye have been kind to me. I dinna want to see ye die.”
She held her breath until she decided he was done examining her words. She hoped he was. After all, she was not being truthful. She did not want him to die because then she would be alone again. She knew it was a selfish reason. That’s why she could not tell him.
“Is that castle yer home?” She pointed in the opposite direction of Mount Nevis.
“Tor Castle. ’Tis where I live.”
Where he lived, but it was not home. Home was the other way. Ismay turned to look toward the window and…Ben Nevis—the destination she had chosen when she had first seen its peak piercing the clouds. What was there for him that he ached to return to? His home, the place where his heart dwelled?
“I would not like to live in a castle or a keep ever again,” she told him as their chicken was served.
“Where do ye plan to go from here then?”
Her eyes widened on him and for the space of a breath, she thought she would start weeping all over again. It was not like her. But she had never lost her father before. “I dinna have a plan, lord.”
His lips parted like a flower rolling back its petals to greet the sun. “Are ye goin’ wherever yer legs take ye then?”
“Aye, I suppose.” And to the colossal Ben Nevis, she thought to herself.
“Well, they took ye here, and to Tor Castle.”
“Fer what purpose?” She had to know.
“Ye will discover that when ye arrive,I suppose.”
“I am no’ going,” she insisted.
He stopped and proceeded to eat his chicken. Ismay watched him covertly. Why would he believe that her legs took her purposely to him? Why didn’t he insist that she go to his castle and serve him? That’s what she expected. He was different. He didn’t push her around or order her about. He didn’t care if she stayed or left. In fact, he barely showed any interest in her at all. Was he married? Was she waiting at their home beyond the mountain?
The door to the tavern opened and two of the chief’s friends from two nights ago came in from the morning cold.
“Chief!” The one with raven hair and bright-blue eyes greeted hurrying toward them. He offered Ismay a friendly smile and she returned it, though shyly. “Did ye sleep here again, then?” he asked.
The chief nodded and then turned to spread his gaze over them. “Why is Lachlan not with ye?”
“He stayed behind to have a word with the bonny Brigid Eloise Baker,” said the other man with sandy hair and topaz eyes. Ismay remembered them and she knew which one was missing.
