Drawing another breath to steady herself, Hannah kept walking, bulling through the courtyard and glancing around in the hope of finding someone, anyone, to reassure her that she was in the right place. Or even a lived-in place. The only reason she kept going was the fact that everything was in such a state of fine repair.
At the front door, she knocked. Once, twice, thrice. She called out.
Finally, unable to resist the urge to explore and a guilty touch of impatience, she tried the handle.
The door opened without hesitation, and she couldn’t hold back another scoff. “Oh.”
She stepped through the door, deciding that perhaps the lack of staff was the problem and the Laird simply couldn’t hear her. Though she had never imagined a laird simply not knowing what was happening in his own castle. Then again, he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the villages nearby either.
Her somewhat unkind thinking stumbled when she made her way inside and found a clean home. Warm. Tidily appointed and obviously strongly considered. A large targe was displayed on the wall across from the entrance, the clan’s crest boldly painted across the leather that covered what she knew would be wood.
Above the shield rested a pair of broadswords that looked like they could be snatched from the wall at any moment, crossed over one another. Beneath the shield hung a horn that looked like it had seen use.
Hannah’s steps slowed as she moved through an entryway that spoke to power and practicality.
“Is anyone there?” she called, pausing for a response, and then trying again.
Part of her felt guilty, as though she had invaded a space she had no business entering, and part of her was frustrated that it was so hard to find anyone to answer her.
She kept moving, finding a room just beyond the entrance with a respectable amount of books. Her steps stuttered on flagstone, and she couldn’t help the soft gasp of appreciation that slipped past her lips as she glanced up at shelves that would require even her reasonable height significant help to reach. She could see that help was available in the form of a sturdy wooden ladder affixed to a pole that ran along the top of the shelves.
After a warring with herself during a moment’s pause, she couldn’t help the impulse and stepped into the room, carefully picking up a nearby book.
Her father had taught her to read. It made no sense to leave his distillery to an illiterate girl, and he knew that after Violet, their mother could not tolerate another pregnancy, so she was his choice. That meant she learned words, she learned numbers, and she was grateful for his foresight.
After skimming the title, she returned it to its location and picked up another book with an ornate leather binding. She was distracted from the title when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the large table near a window that offered a much more generous view of the garden she’d seen hints of from the front of the castle.
She stepped around the small table she’d been perusing and made her way across the room to the larger one.
There was a massive parchment map pinned to the table. It looked like it had been rolled and unrolled dozens or hundreds of times, the ink faded and the page worn. Her gaze was drawn quickly to the most faded part of the map, where MacBain Castle announced itself with a sketch of a building that indeed looked like a rough sketch of a castle.
Her gaze slid from the most faded notation on the map to the newest in a different hand:Calder Castle. A more careful sketch of a castle that denoted where she stood now.
Switching the book to her other hand, she leaned closer, scanning the map and seeing a familiar word. When her father had taught her to read, he’d done so with a multitude of texts, including those from the church. Her Latin was rudimentary, but she recognizedSeptentrioimmediately. North.
Using that as a reference point, she reached out and slid her finger across the map, recognizing the name of a river that ran near her village and spotting nearby clusters of buildings marked with village names until she found her own. She was strangely gratified to see that they were remembered on the Laird’s large map of the land.
Suddenly, an amused chuckle sounded from behind her. Close enough that it raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and she barely had time to chide herself for not noticing the presence sooner.
“Daenae let me interrupt yer visit.”
The book in her hands fell to the table with a thud, and she whipped around, finding the table holding the map suddenly an immovable force as she realized she was nearly chest-to-chest with a man who had to have a full head plus a little extra on her, and who was built broadly enough that her breath caught. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had to look up, then up again.
He was also possibly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, ink-black hair bound at the nape of his neck, and intense blue eyes that glared directly into her bones.
If he hadn’t frightened her halfway out of her wits, she might have blushed. Instead, she found herself gawking as her heart thudded in her throat.
“Were ye lookin’ for something specific to steal?” he asked, not as unkindly as she might have expected, even as she felt her stomach drop and her legs go numb.
It took her a moment to find her command of language again.
“I’m nay thief.” She pressed her palm to the leather binding of the book behind her, as if reasserting its position as still located safely inside the room.
“Aye?” He smirked down at her. “Then why are ye here? Quite sure I didnae invite ye.”
“I came for ye. Ye are Laird MacBain, aye?” She had nothing more than gut instinct upon which to base her query, supposing as much from his easy confidence and overt amusement at finding a strange woman in what was presumably his home.
His eyebrows shot up, hair much darker than hers and stark against those blue eyes that reminded her of her sister’s. “And who’s askin’?”
