He gave her a small smile and Ida felt it all the way to her toes in her worn boots. “I came tae see ye lass.”
Oh.
He had come for her? Suddenly, Ida wished she had donned her best dress and not the one she wore to muck out the stalls in the morning and at least plaited her hair better.
“I wish tae speak tae ye aboot something,” he continued, oblivious to her sudden embarrassment. “If ye have a moment or two that is.”
Ida opened her mouth but then promptly shut it. She wasn’t sure what he could want from her, but what was the harm anyway? Picking up her pitchfork where she had discarded it, she held it out to Ian. “Only if ye help mah with mah chores this morn. I donna listen for free.”
The delight on his face took her breath away as he accepted the barn tool, their fingers brushing ever so lightly. “Of course lass. I dinna expect tae just stand around and watch ye do all the work.”
Ida tried and failed to hide her pleasure as she picked up a shovel, pointing to the stack of hay that had been delivered earlier. “I’m certain ye know how tae muck stalls mah laird?”
“Been doing it since I was a wee lad,” he responded cheerfully.
That surprised Ida. She had imagined he had been raised in the great hall, ordering others about but then again, his sister wasn’t like what she had imagined either. “I donna think even I’m this cheerful aboot it,” she replied.
“Ye would be surprised wot makes mah cheerful these days,” he answered back, picking up a forkful of hay.
Ida’s breath whooshed out of her lungs as she saw his forearms strain from the weight he carried, yet he did it with such ease that he couldn’t have been lying to her about hard labor. “I would think warm fires and a dram of whiskey more so than this,” she said casually, shoveling the spot in the stall so he could lay fresh hay.
Ian barked out a laugh. “Aye lass I do enjoy those things as well, but honest labor has never done mah wrong either. Keeps mah humble, reminds of the things that mah clan does tae ensure mah comfort.”
“Then that’s noble of ye,” Ida found herself saying.
They worked in companionable silence for a little while before he leaned against the pitchfork. “How do ye feel that yer clan is going tae handle the ceasefire?”
She eyed him. “Is that a trick question?” If he was looking for some insight as to what was being plotted, he was asking the wrong person. Her life was centered around the stables and caring for her uncle.
He shook his head, some of his hair coming loose from the leather tie she had noticed earlier. “Nay. I am just curious as I am having the same sort of trouble in mah own clan.”
Ida wasn’t surprised. They had been enemies for so long that it was going to take more than a few kind words for people to realize that it wasn’t a trick. “I believe that war has destroyed us all,” she said slowly, thinking of her uncle. “Many lives have been lost and that isna something that either clan can move from quickly.”
“Have ye suffered loss?” he asked softly.
Ida busied herself with her chore, moving on to the next stall. “Mah uncle has. He lost his only son in one of the battles.” She was too young to remember her cousin, but the toll it took on her uncle was something she was familiar with. “His wife died of heartbreak shortly after.” Her aunt died when Ida was two. “Mah parents were able tae keep him distracted for a spell but after their deaths, he found no use in living as he had been.”
Now he was her problem to deal with. “War and hate should be left tae the past, but there are some that will never see it that way.”
Ian let out a heavy breath. “Aye, I understand. I was one of those Scots until recently.”
Ida looked up from her shovel. “Wot happened?”
She swore that his cheeks reddened slightly. “Mah sister married Lennox and gave us a niece. With mah da passing on,I realized how important family is and wot I would do tae give them the proper future.”
“That’s verra noble of ye,” Ida said. Family was important to her as well. I was one of the reasons she remained with her uncle. Her parents would want her to take care of him and see that he didn’t drink himself to death.
He shrugged, moving back to the hay to grab another fork full for the next stall. “I donna know aboot nobility but tis the right thing tae do if we are meant tae have a future at all.”
Ida was inclined to agree with that particular statement as well. She had watched as young lads had followed their das into war, thinking that they were going to walk out alive. More times than naught, they had been carried back in a wagon, their faces covered by a cloth.
If the ceasefire didn’t do anything else, she hoped that it would stop the young from dying at least.
With his help, Ida was able to finish her chores in half the time, even though she kept waiting for the laird to hand over his pitchfork and leave her.
He didn’t, however, and by the time they finished the last stall, the village was starting to wake around them. “Well,” Ian stated, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his tunic, a grin on his handsome face. “Nothing like getting mah morning started with some honest work.”
“I donna know wot tae say,” Ida replied, reaching for his pitchfork. “But ye have mah thanks.”
