He dipped his head in recognition. “A warrior is nothing without a good horse under his legs.”
“And I will take care of yers as well, mah laird,” Ida responded, twisting her hands together.
“Ian, please,” he repeated, giving her an easy smile that warmed her insides. “And I have nary a doubt that ye will do just that Ida MacGregor.” He looked away. “Do ye feel as yer uncle does?”
“Aboot?” she prodded, surprised by the sudden turn of conversation.
“Aboot mah clan and the fighting.”
Ida drew in a breath, understanding what he was asking. “Are ye talking aboot the alliance?” It had been on everyone’s tongue lately, the whispers as she had passed about the no-good Wallaces and how their laird could be thinking of an alliance with the clan that had killed so many over the years.
“Aye,” he answered, a frown on his face. “Wot do ye think aboot it Ida?”
No one had ever asked her thoughts on it. “I think that tis time to be thinking aboot no more bloodshed,” she answered slowly. “All this fighting, tis unnecessary and is doing nothing but killing our fellow Scots.”
He gazed at her for a moment and Ida felt the heat creep up her neck. His gaze wasn’t uncomfortable at all, but she had never had someone look at her like that before. Most never saw her as it was. “That is very interesting,” he finally said. “But ye are right Ida. Some of the fighting has been unnecessary.”
The silence stretched between them. “I must go,” Ian finally said, stepping back. “Mah thanks for yer help, Ida.”
“Tis the least I could do,” she responded, hoping that she had done enough to appease the laird. She moved to curtsy once more but he reached out, touching her arm. “Nay,” he croaked, his expression pained. “Nay, donna think ye have tae do that lass.”
Ida felt the gentle grip on her arm, looking down to see his large hand resting on the dirtied sleeve of her dress. “But yer a laird.”
When their eyes met again, she didn’t feel like he was a laird at all. With the travel dust clinging to his fine tunic, it was easier to believe that he was just another Scot, even with the different colors of his tartan draping one shoulder. No one had ever paid much attention to Ida, thinking of her as nothing more than the lass who mucked the stables, but Ian was looking at her in a way that made her feel like something more.
Nay! She couldn’t be thinking of him like this! He was a laird and he didn’t even belong in her small cottage, much less having this conversation between them. Not only that, he was a Wallace and she should be afraid of him.
But Ida wasn’t. There was not an ounce of fear in her veins.
Finally, the spell was broken and Ian released her arm. “Thank ye lass,” he said before moving outside. Ida waited a full moment before she drew in a breath, his woodsy scent lingering in his wake. When she had awoken this morn, she could have never expected this would have happened to her, the events of the last hour or so causing her to sink into the chair that the lairdhad just occupied. It was still warm from his body. She would remain out of sight for the rest of the time that he was here, Ida decided and keep her uncle away from him too. She didn’t need for anything else to happen while the visiting laird was there.
Blowing out a breath, Ida forced herself to move out of the chair and to the window, looking out to see if the occupants were still in front of the cottage.
They weren’t and some of the tension eased from her shoulders, setting herself to rights. There were horses to tend to and no one else was going to do her chores.
Still, as Ida pulled on her coat and stepped into the stables, the conversation with Ian still lingered in her mind.
4
Ian walked up the steps to the heavy wooden door that had been thrown open, revealing glimpses of the great hall that was behind the doors. Remy was behind him and Dalziel next to him, where the captain of the guard should be next to his laird.
Still, Ian felt the heavy threat of where he was all around him.
James Lennox was the first Scot he saw as he entered the large room, the smell of burning logs heavy in the air. “Wallace,” Lennox replied, his hands clasped behind his back. “Ye finally made it.” He looked closer. “Is something wrong with yer nose?”
“A minor disagreement,” Ian replied evenly, holding out his arm. “I trust ye are well?”
James clasped Ian’s forearm, a true smile crossing his face. “Aye we are well. Yer sister has been looking forward tae this day for some time.”
Ian released the hold on James’s forearm, looking around at the nearly empty hall. “Where is she?”
“Tending tae yer niece,” James winced. “She’s a mite difficult today.”
If she was anything like Iris, Ian figured every day was difficult. Still, he had a sense of pride at what his sister had been able to accomplish in her short time with the MacGregors.
James stepped closer to Ian. “I hope this means ye have finally accepted our union?”
And by union, Ian knew that James didn’t mean the union of the clans but rather the fact that he had married Iris. There had been a time when Ian had told James to stay away from Iris, worried that he was going to hurt her in the end and leave Ian to pick up the pieces of her life.
