“He thinks I’m trying to escape more important duties.”
“And are ye?”
Ailean sighed. “I am, if I’m honest. I’m not the man my father wants me to be. And the harder he pushes, the more I want to prove him right.”
Fiona inclined her head. His admission surprised her. It made her feel an odd kinship toward him. “I know what that’s like,” she admitted softly. “I’ve always felt like I was a disappointment to my parents … my mother especially. It didn’t matter how hard I worked or what I achieved. I was always lacking in some way.” She paused, surprised at her own candor, but she wasn’t done yet. “And when I left, there was a part of me that enjoyed flinging it in her face. She told me I’d amount to nothing … that I’d come crawling back to Craignure when my dreams came crashing down.” Determination hardened in her belly. Her fingers tightened around the shuttle. “But I won’t. I made that decision a while ago. Even if my life here went up in flames, I’d never go back.”
“So, ye’re a proud one?” Ailean replied, “We have that in common, I think.”
She huffed a laugh, focusing on her weaving once more. Nonetheless, his words made warmth suffuse her chest. She liked the thought of them sharing things, of understanding each other.
“Don’t yewantto be laird?” she asked.
It was a bold question, but she couldn’t help herself. Whenever she had the opportunity to talk to this man, curiosity bubbled up. They’d spoken at length on the eve of Bealtunn before they’d stolen away together, and he’d revealed his frustrations. And now that he was sitting just a few feet from her, nursing that cup of ale, one booted ankle resting on his knee, she had the chance to dig a little deeper.
It was an opportunity she’d make the most of.
Remember yer place, lass,a voice not unlike her mother’s whispered.Don’t fool yerself into thinking he sees ye as his equal.
Irritation surged, and she shoved the voice aside. She would enjoy his company for what it was. For a short while, they could simply be two people—a man and a woman—sharing time together.
“Not really, if I’m honest,” he replied. “But I’ve always known the responsibility would fall to me one day. I accept it. It’s just that father and son working so closely together isn’t always wise. We were bound to clash.” He glanced to the open window, eyes unfocused. “Maybe I should leave. Go back to the mainland. Seek out Andrew Murray and see if he needs me to swing my sword again.”
She inclined her head. “But I thought things were peaceful now?”
He grimaced. “Peace never lasts. Ye must know that.”
She nodded reluctantly and returned her attention to the loom. Best not to look at him. Her hands moved rhythmically, passing the shuttle and pressing the weft carefully with the beater.
“The tapestry is taking shape,” he said after a stretch of silence.
She smiled, her gaze traveling over the bottom portion, to the rocks and sea, and where the castle’s massive curtain wall nowrose against the sky. “I have a long way to go yet.” She shrugged then. “With Arabella’s assistance—she passes me the threads and keeps the warp organized—I work faster than I am today.”
“Can I help?”
She startled before recovering swiftly. “Ye mocked Rowan for showing interest in weaving,” she reminded him archly. “And now, ye wish to assist me?”
“That was because I didn’t want him paying ye any visits,” he replied with a half-smile.
And then, before she could reply, he drained his ale, set the cup aside, and rose. A few strides brought him to her side. He lowered himself onto the stool beside her. “Go on … give me some instruction.”
Dizziness assailed Fiona. She motioned to the loom. “Ye can help me beat the weft.”
“Show me how.”
She hesitated. They had to touch for her to do that.
Silence spooled between them before she nodded. “Like this.” Warmth shot up her arm as her fingers slid over his, steadying his wrist on the wooden bar of the beater. His scent—leather, salt, warm male—wrapped around her. She swallowed hard and focused on showing him how to pull the frame toward him. “As soon as I’ve passed the shuttle through, ye draw it in like this.”
He nodded, repeating the action as she’d shown him.
“So.” She cleared her throat. “Do ye think ye’ve got the hang of it?”
“I think so.” His voice was a low rumble, sending a shiver down her spine.
This is ill-advised.
She shoved the warning aside.
