“Well then, none of that has anything to do with Maclean,” he pointed out quietly, “or me, or our arrangement. It has to do with the fact that ye have talent. Don’t throw it away.” He gave her a pained look then. “I know he was clumsy about it, but Maclean was only trying to help ye.”
Anger boiled up then, hot and dangerous. Her arms dropped to her sides, her fists clenching. “He interfered, and he had no right.”
The pitying look on Diarmaid’s face made her want to strike him.
“He told me what happened at Dounarwyse,” the carpenter admitted gruffly. “It was a right mess. And he knows he’s responsible. He was trying to ensure yer future was bright.”
Fiona exhaled sharply through her nose, attempting to leash her temper. She didn’t want to rage at Diarmaid. It wouldn’tchange anything. And yet she didn’t want him defending Ailean. She didn’t want to think about the man at all, especially the things he’d admitted to her before she fled.
He loves me.
God, no. She wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. It was all lies meant to draw her in, to make a fool of her, and she couldn’t let him.
And yet, there had been real pain on his face, real anguish in his eyes. For a moment, he’d looked close to tears.
But she’d shut it all out. She’d turned and run.
And she wanted to keep running. But she’d made herself a promise—that Ardnacross would be her home, and that, come what may, she’d make things work here.
And she would.
Straightening, she fixed Diarmaid with a steady gaze. “Do ye swear ye’ll take no more coin from Maclean?”
He nodded, his expression weary now. “I swear it, lass.”
“Very well … I shall stay on.” She took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his. “But from now on, Diarmaid, there will be complete honesty between us. I won’t forgive such deception twice.”
“Yer mind is made up then?”
Ailean looked up from the dish of bread and cheese he’d just about finished. His father watched him steadily from where he perched upon an upended barrel a few feet away. Kylie and Lyle sat nearby as well, all four of them sharing a simple noon meal.
If Ailean were honest, the bread and cheese tasted like sawdust.
He was still reeling from the mess he’d made with Fiona, and even his father’s arrival and their reconciliation couldn’t ease the ache in his chest.
“Aye,” he replied. “I’m making a life for myself here. One I can truly be proud of.”
He favored his father with a half-smile, then glanced around him at the walls he’d repaired, the tower he’d made home. There was still much to do, but he’d found his place.
“But ye can’t manage here completely on yer own,” his brother spoke up then.
Lyle was frowning, observing him over the rim of his cup. “Ye’ve no one to help ye guard the tower. Ye’ve no servants, no livestock … and no one to work yer garden.”
Ailean harrumphed. “All of that will be dealt with in time. The folk of Ardnacross have been welcoming, and when I’m ready, I’ll hire men from the village, and women, to form my household.” He shrugged. “It’ll be a lean one, but it’ll work.”
Silence followed his words.
A groove had etched itself between Kylie’s eyebrows as she observed him. “But winter is on its way. It’ll be unpleasant for ye here.”
Once again, he shrugged. “I’ll manage. The roof will be on by then … hopefully.”
And he would. He’d lived through winters on campaign on the mainland. He’d trudged through mud, shivered through blizzards. At least he had stout walls around him here, and with the hearth roaring and a sturdier door in place by the time winter arrived, he’d be warm enough.
Even so, his assurances didn’t placate his family. All three of them looked increasingly concerned, and irritation feathered up beneath his ribs.
His father had cut him off. Had sent him here.
Had they all expected him to fail within the first month?
