Arabella snorted—a thoroughly unladylike sound—and rolled her eyes. “He’s like a guard dog at times. Ye’re right. He never lets Grace and me out of his sight.”
“That’ll be because he understands the nature of men,” Fiona replied. “And knows better than to trust them.”
Arabella studied her. “Ye seem awfully cynical.”
Fiona shrugged, rolling her shoulders slightly before returning to her work. The warmth of the sun eased the ache in her back, muscles tight from long hours of weaving. “Not cynical … realistic. There’s a difference.”
They fell back into their labor. The rhythmic clack of the shuttle and treadles, the dull thud of the beater, the whisper of wool sliding past wool—it formed a steady, reassuring song. One that had filled Fiona’s world for years. One she never wanted to be without.
“I hope one day I find a love like my parents’,” Arabella said softly, breaking the companionable silence.
Fiona smiled. She wasn’t surprised. In the fortnight since her arrival, she’d noticed Lady Tara and Captain Jack together—the lingering glances, the easy touches. She suspected Maclean and Lady Kylie’s bond was just as strong, though more subdued in public. Jack and Tara, however, made no effort to hide their affection. Just the day before, she’d spied them kissing passionately in a doorway.
“They’re lucky indeed,” Fiona said. “What they have is precious.”
A crease formed between Arabella’s brows. “So, ye think it’s unusual?”
Fiona nodded, even as her chest tightened. She was only two-and-twenty, yet sometimes, she did sound like a bitter old spinster. “I’ve not seen many examples of it.”
“So, yer parents … aren’t happy together?”
The question gave her pause. She thought of Bryce and Nora. They rubbed along, nothing more. Sometimes they argued; more often, they ignored each other. Like two burdens forced to coexist. That sort of marriage depressed her far more than the fiery, tempestuous ones she’d seen among other couples. Most unions among common folk were arrangements born of necessity. A man needed a woman to keep his house and bear his bairns. A woman needed protection. Love rarely entered into it.
And yet—like Arabella—there was a longing within Fiona. One she admitted to no one. It would have been embarrassing. She was too proud.
Still, she’d felt a pang when she saw Captain Jack pull Lady Tara into that passionate embrace. They’d kissed as if utterly alone.
Two decades together, and still like newlyweds.
It was hard not to envy Lady Tara’s good fortune. Captain Jack was a fine man indeed.
Yet the man’s resemblance to his nephew unsettled her.
Ailean.
She’d been so busy she’d seen only glimpses of him over the past weeks, but the incident with the groom and the horse lingered in her thoughts.
He hadn’t known she was watching. He hadn’t been performing.
And yet … shehadbeen impressed.
That groom had needed to be dealt with. She broke bread with the man every day in the kitchen but found it difficult to becivil with him after what she’d witnessed; the cruelty had been unacceptable.
And though she knew better, her thoughts returned to the scene often—the gentle timbre of Ailean’s voice as he soothed the mare and settled the collie.
Each time, an unwelcome shiver of desire followed.
“Are ye cold?”
Arabella’s question snapped her back.
Curse it. She’d done it again.
“No,” Fiona said quickly. “It’s a fine morning.”
She gestured to the open window. With Bealtunn just a few days away, spring was easing toward summer. The wind had died for once, and the sky beyond was a rare, cloudless blue.
Too beautiful to be cooped up indoors.
