“Good!” Kylie breathed, relief breaking across her face. “Bring her back.”
Rae dragged a hand through his hair and muttered a curse. “Aye. Ye’d better … before Kylie has my balls.” His stare drilled into Ailean. “And then ye ride straight for Ardnacross.”
“Understood.” The word tasted like iron, and without saying anything more, he turned and left the solar.
22: DON’T CRUMBLE NOW
AILEAN REACHED CRAIGNURE in the early afternoon.
The day was breezy yet warm, with fluffy clouds scudding across a robin’s egg blue sky. It both surprised and concerned him that he hadn’t met Fiona on the road, for he’d ridden Sgòth hard, and he wondered if some passing traveler had picked her up and sped her on her way.
The sun warmed Ailean’s back as Sgòth clip-clopped along the road leading into the fishing village. A familiar scene greeted him. Fishermen were hauling in the morning’s catch. Bairns ran, chasing each other along the shore. The smell of smoking mackerel and herrings drifted across the waterfront.
Ailean paid none of that any mind.
He was here to find Fiona.
It didn’t take him long to find her family’s cottage. There were few Mackinnons in these parts, and one of the fishwives on the docks had told him that Bryce Mackinnon, the carpenter, lived on the southern edge of the village, down a path bordered by tangles of rosemary and thyme.
Knocking on the door, Ailean was greeted by a sour-faced woman of middling years.
However, despite the bitter set to her mouth and jaw, he immediately recognized Fiona in her. She had the same curly golden-blonde hair, although streaked through with grey. Buther face had a harsh edge, as if she’d suffered one too many disappointments in life.
Casting a gaze over him, she inclined her head, taking in no doubt the fine cloth he wore and the stallion standing behind him, marking him as someone of note. “Aye?” she asked.
“I’m Ailean Maclean, son to the Chieftain of Dounarwyse.” His belly hardened as he introduced himself. His father hadn’t disowned him, but he might as well have. The ache of rejection sat like a clenched fist under his ribs. He’d done his best not to think about it, to focus on locating Fiona, but hurt bloomed now, making his breathing grow shallow. “I’m here to see Fiona.”
The woman started before confusion clouded her grey-blue eyes. “Fiona isn’t here,” she said, frowning. “Is she not at Dounarwyse?”
His pulse kicked. “No,” he said roughly. “She left this morning. I thought she’d come back here.”
The woman snorted. “Well, she hasn’t.”
“Who is it, Ma?” Two young women appeared behind their mother. Fiona’s sisters. She’d mentioned them, and one glance told him her descriptions had been accurate. They were both pretty yet wore petulant expressions. They were dressed in richly-hued kirtles, much finer cloth than he’d have expected a carpenter’s daughters to wear.
“Did ye hear that?” the woman said to them. “Yer sister’s left Dounarwyse.”
One of the lasses gave a rude snort. “She didn’t last long.”
Their mother turned back to him, eyeing him shrewdly. “What did she do? Disgrace herself?”
Ailean clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to discuss what had transpired the night before with these women. He could already see that Fiona would find no allies here. He’d only give them fodder for gossip.
Dolt.
He should have heeded her vow never to return here. Fiona wasn’t a lass to speak idly. Indeed, after only a few moments in the company of these women, he could see why she’d made that decision.
“There was a misunderstanding,” he said after a pause. “I’ve come to put things right with her. The Lady of Dounarwyse wishes her to return.”
Fiona’s mother raised her brows. “Well, that’s a relief. Her coin has been welcome indeed … and we wish to receive more.” She gestured to her daughters. “Thanks to those silver pennies, my girls can dress properly for once.”
Ailean’s gaze narrowed. It dawned on him then that, not only had Fiona sent some of her first wages back here, but that instead of using the coin for practical things, they’d frittered it away.
Fiona’s sisters eyed him hungrily now, naked appraisal in their gazes. One pushed out her bosom and pouted. The other flicked her hair and smiled coyly beneath lowered lashes.
Ailean ignored them. Instead, he took a step backward. He was wasting time. Fiona wasn’t here. And she wouldn’t be returning.
“Ye’ve been travelling long,” Mistress Mackinnon said then, favoring him with a lengthy, scrutinizing look that made his skin prickle. “Do come in and have some ale to slake yer thirst.” Behind her, the lasses preened once more.
