She met his eyes and he saw the sadness in her green depths. “I’ve already promised mahself tae another.”
For a moment, Ian stood there, gripping her hand as his mind tried to comprehend what she was saying. “I, I donna understand.”
Yerlie slid her hand out of his, stepping back toward the cottage. “I’m verra sorry Ian but ye are heading off tae battle and I canna stay behind, wondering if ye will ever return.”
“I will be laird one day,” he cut in, his ire starting to build. “Ye would be mah lady.” That was a lofty position for any lass in the clan and more than enough for one to accept a marriage proposal.
“And a fine laird ye will be,” she answered, her voice soft. “I canna wait Ian. I wish for a husband that will be here with mah, not spilling blood on the battlefield. I want a family,bairns, a home that isna marred by the blood of our enemies.” She dropped the flowers on the ground. “I, ye need tae leave.”
Ian felt pain squeeze across his chest but he lifted his chin, hiding it deep down for now. “I see.”
Yerlie shook her head slowly. “Nay ye donna. I wish I could be wot ye need but I’m not.”
Ian swallowed as the memory tucked itself back into his mind, a small twinge of pain still in his chest after all these years. As much as he had hurt after her rejection, Ian knew that Yerlie had been right. He had been infatuated with her, wanting her to be his wife and while she had led him on a merry chase, Yerlie was far happier these days as a farmer’s wife, with five bairns already. He held no ill will against her choice, but his visions of love and happiness were now dust. He had no use for love, not any longer.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Ian turned away from the fire, staring at the wall instead. He would conduct his business and leave, going back to the clan that needed him.
Nothing else mattered.
5
Ida wiped down the table and then threw the rag into the bin she had for things that needed to be laundered, wishing she could sleep. She had tried everything, but all she could think about was the laird that had broken into her life earlier. “Ugh,” Ida stated, grabbing her coat. She had no thoughts about where her uncle was, but her guess was that he was still at the pub, drowning in a bottle of whiskey that they could not afford.
Throwing open the door, she moved to the stables, where every stall was full of horses enjoying their evening meal. “Cotton,” she cooed as she moved past her own horse, who only whinnied in response.
What Ida was really after was the horses at the end of the stable, the ones that had brought the Wallace clan to their village. They were well taken care of, prime examples of horseflesh that were meant to carry warriors into battle. She knew that the new laird had been a warrior up until his da’s untimely death and hadn’t been a laird but for a few years.
It must have been difficult to lose his da. Ida reached over and scratched the muzzle of one of the horses. Her own parents’ deaths had not been easy. One moment she was listening tothem whisper in the corner of their cottage at night, her ma’s easy laughter filling the room. Theirs had been a love match, her da seeing her ma walking home from the village one day. He had struck up a conversation with her and her ma had always said that it was his wit that had entrapped her on their first day together.
She had seen it. Iris had never seen two people more in love than her parents had been.
Now they were gone, their ashes joining each other in death when she had burned their bodies two days after their deaths. From that moment, she had nothing happy in her life again.
Except for the horses and the very brief conversation she had with Laird Wallace today.
Ian. He wished for her to call him Ian but she didn’t plan to see him again. In those few moments that had brought her some joy in her life, she had felt that he was seeing more than just the lass who picked up the brunt of her uncle’s drinking.
Shaking her head, Ida stepped away from the horse and picked up the pitchfork, feeling her muscles straining as she moved the hay from the pile into the stall. It mattered not what he saw her as.
There was nothing about her life that the laird would find interesting enough to come back for a second visit and she had nothing to offer him.
The next morning, Ida had to step over her uncle passed out on the floor of the cottage to get to the stables, glad at least that he hadn’t disturbed the few hours of sleep she had managed to get. Some nights, he found his way back home and others, she spent hours looking for him. In the beginning, there were clansmenthat would get him back to the cottage, averting their gazes from Ida but she could see the pity in their expressions.
Now no one helped, but Ida couldn’t blame them. Her uncle was her burden to bear and hers alone.
When she stepped out into the stable, Ida let out a little squeak when she saw that she was not alone. “Mah… mah laird,” she stammered, seeing Ian’s strong profile in the light of dawn. “Wot are ye doing here?” Why was Ian here? Why was he standing before her and not in the comfort of his bed at this hour of the morning?
“Ian,” he reminded her, dropping his hand from the horse’s neck he was stroking. “And I hoped I would run into ye this morn Ida.”
Her cheeks heated. He wished to see her? But what for? Had her uncle done something else that she wasn’t aware of? “Please,” she begged. “I dinna know.”
Ian blinked. “Wot are ye talking aboot?”
“Mah uncle,” she started, unsure of what to say. “Whatever he has done.” The words left her. She couldn’t continue to make excuses for him, but he was her responsibility.
Ian ran a hand through his hair. “I donna know of anything yer uncle has done since yesterday.”
Oh, thank God. She couldn’t bear to think of what he was in now. “Then why are ye here?” she countered.
