However, she’d nearly reached the end of the line of vendors, weaving her way in and out of the crowd of women with wicker baskets over their arms, when she spied a familiar figure.
A tall man with broad shoulders and wavy auburn hair was haggling with a man selling bunches of wattle.
Fiona’s step faltered, a little of her excitement fading.
She usually managed to avoid Ailean. He didn’t frequentThe Shepherd’s Crookas often as she’d feared, and when he did, she let Eithne serve him. But his presence at the market this morning meant she’d have to walk right by the man.
Which meant he’d see her.
And he did.
As she approached, his gaze jerked her way, and he stopped mid-sentence. The wattle vendor continued to talk, not noticing that his potential customer was distracted.
Across the crowd, their gazes locked for a heartbeat.
Then another.
And to her chagrin, Fiona stumbled.
Righting herself and clutching at her shawl, she was mortified to realize her cheeks had grown hot.
Curse it—and curse him too. Why did he still have such a disarming effect on her?
She couldn’t stand the man now, could she? And yet, of late, even a glimpse was enough to send her pulse racing like a bolting pony.
She was tired of it. Tired of her own weakness.
She’d been lucky. Her menses had come just a week after her arrival here. Their careless coupling hadn’t caused any furtherconsequences. The relief had been so great that she’d wept. Her womb quickening with his bairn would have been the last straw.
And so, she drew her shoulders back, stiffened her spine, and kept walking.
Nonetheless, she felt the weight of his stare and knew he was still watching her.
Her face hotter than a glowing coal, she hurried on, resisting the urge to break into a run. It was bad enough she’d blushed. She didn’t need to humiliate herself further.
She was surprised Ailean was still here in Ardnacross.
Since his arrival, he’d worked ceaselessly on that ruin. She heard snatches of gossip in the tavern on a nightly basis about how work was progressing. He had hired some of the locals to help him with certain tasks and bought materials to rebuild.
But it was a lengthy job. One that would take him a long while.
From a distance, it didn’t look as if the tower house was much different from how it had been upon her arrival here. But according to the local men who had come and gone from the tower, the ground floor was now repaired, the floor re-laid, and the walls sturdy once more.
Ailean was now beginning the long process of rebuilding the upper floors.
And in all this time, there had been no sign of the laird himself. Rae Maclean had not ventured north to visit his son.
The rift between them was deeper than she’d thought.
Maybe Maclean really wasn’t going to forgive his son. Maybe this really was Ailean’s new life.
She wondered how he was faring. Was he sorry? Was he lonely? Was he bitter?
She had no idea.
The locals gossiped, of course, speculating on why he was here.
And all the while, she’d waited for one of them to whisper that they’d heard news from Dounarwyse of the scandal of the weaver and the laird’s son.
