Mastering herself, she inclined her head and offered him a tight smile. “It’s an honor indeed to be living here. I intend to weave a tapestry worthy of the Macleans of Dounarwyse.”
He flashed a grin that sparked heat low in her belly. “I’m sure ye will.”
“And what do ye think of yer workroom, Mistress Fiona?” Rowan asked, his tone hopeful.
Fiona turned her attention to the guard. “It’s fine indeed.”
Rowan’s smile widened. “I helped carry that loom up there. Nearly broke my back, it did.”
Carrie snorted. “A braw man like ye, Rowan … should’ve found it easy.”
He shot the lady’s maid a startled look.
Glancing between them, Fiona caught something then—a glint in Carrie’s eye she’d noticed earlier while watching the two men spar.
No, she wasn’t mistaken.
Carrie was soft on Rowan.
“Best we let ye continue with yer practice,” Fiona said, clearing her throat. Best not to linger here. “Good eve.”
Both men nodded and stepped back.
Just before Fiona turned away, however, Ailean flashed her another disarming grin.
“This castle isn’t a big place,” he said, those beguiling green eyes drawing her in once more. “We’re sure to bump into each other again.”
“That man could outcharm a selkie,” Fiona murmured to Carrie as they re-entered the tower house, their soft-soled boots whispering against the stone.
Carrie cut her a look. “Ailean?”
“None other.”
The lass giggled. “I’m sure he could. He’s only been back just over a moon, and already half the women within these walls are pining for him.”
They began climbing the circular stairs leading to the upper levels.
Fiona eyed her new friend. “But not ye?”
Carrie shook her head. “Too arrogant for me. Besides … my mother always said never to trust a man that handsome.”
“A wise woman,” she replied with a laugh. She cast Carrie a curious look. They were new acquaintances, yet already there was an easy familiarity between them. And Fiona had always been open with those she liked. “Ye have yer eye on Rowan, don’t ye?”
Carrie stumbled, nearly pitching forward, but Fiona caught her arm and hauled her upright.
Carrie was slight, and though Fiona herself barely topped five-foot-two, she was sturdily built.
“Sorry,” Fiona said quickly. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Don’t fash yerself.” Carrie’s face had gone the color of a ripe plum. “I just didn’t realize I was quite that obvious.”
“Not to him, I’d wager,” Fiona reassured her. “But we women notice such things.”
Carrie’s lips curved. “Ye’re a sharp one, Fiona Mackinnon. Ye shall do well here.”
“I’m meeting some tenants this morning,” Rae Maclean said, his voice rumbling through the chieftain’s solar. “I want ye with me, son.”
Ailean glanced up from where he was drizzling honey onto his porridge. Fighting a grimace, he reached for the small jug of cream opposite and poured a generous amount into the bowl. “Didn’t we just meet with them?”
