Page 4 of Falling for His Cousin’s Betrothed

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“How can this even be so?” Laila tearfully stood at her vanity, combing out her long, honey-colored hair. “I knew that Lyall wasn’t an upright woman, that she only wanted to be with my father because of his position. But now, she has simply gone too far. It’s been barely a moment since he drew his last breath, and she speaks of such actions as finding a new suitor?” Laila shook her head and her hair, soft and flowing, gently bounced on her shoulders. The moon cast a soft glow upon the valley, and for a moment, she wondered if she would simply run away, into the fields and over the crest toward the valley where the Highland Games had just recently been played. But what good would it do? she wondered as she stood alone, the moonlight creating shadows along the Scotch pines and hawthorn.

“Laila?”

She heard her name called from the foyer.

“Yes?” she returned the call, breathless and in tears. “I’m on my way!” She tightened up her bootlaces and fled from the bedroom, then hurried down the wooden steps. Thump. Thump. She spent no time being dainty, for she wanted to know exactly how to handle this current situation, dire as it was.

“Lyall has gone out to the pavilion for an early evening walk, so I have just enough time to speak with you,” she said as she greeted him in the foyer. “Come. Let’s walk to the study,” she said and took him by the hand, eager to get out of the hallway and into a private space. Lyall was known for long, meandering walks on the castle grounds after supper, but Laila could never be too sure when she would return. It was always better to assume that she could pop up at any moment.

“Lyall and her evening walks,” mused Alec as he straightened his coattails.

“Yes,” said Laila. “And as you know, while they are often accounted for, I’m always privy to the fact that in the off-chance she returns to the castle grounds, chatting will be frowned upon.” They reached the study, and she placed a hand on the large, brass knob.

“Yes. I understand.” Alec’s voice was soothing and calm. “We can do our best to patch your spirits up as quickly as possible,” he said, a glimmer in his eye. “You know, I feel like it’s been ages since we last spoke, lassie. Are you getting on okay?” he asked as Laila opened the door.

“I’m not. That’s why I sent you my letter.”

“What can I help you with?” he asked. “I can hear the sorrow in your voice.” He clasped his hands together and studied her with a furrowed brow.

“My father has passed. I’m sure you heard through the messenger,” she said. “But that’s not really why I called for your service.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and lowered her head, the moonlight bright through the large, stained-glass window.

“Please tell me what I can do. It pains me, as well, to hear you so sad.” Alec had been a longtime friend, a healer, and a tutor for Laila ever since she was a small child. The first time she had met Alec, he’d brought her a fresh basket of cherries from the local market, as well as a tall pint of cold milk from Morgan’s Dairy Farm. Laila could still recall the way the sunlight had caught his dark, wavy hair and how the wind had tousled it beneath the tall oak tree. He seemed like such a kind, inviting man, and he was.

“I need help because of Lyall. She’s just…” Before she could squeeze out another word, her voice broke. What could she say? The pain in her heart was too great. Visions of her childhood cascaded through her bleary mind, and she reached for a linen handkerchief to dry her eyes.

“What can I do to be of assistance?” asked Alec. “I know in the past, we often took upon the blessing act as part of our healing. Shall we take part in a session?” he asked. Laila nodded. Saining rites, in Scots culture, were part and parcel of what made their clans so powerful.

“I happen to have brought with me a healthy juniper sprig and can light it with the candle on the mantle,” said Alec.

Laila nodded and took a seat on one of the velvet chaise lounges.

“I feel as though everything has just happened so quickly.” Laila covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know what has gotten into me. I want to be strong like everyone else since my father’s death, but I just feel so helpless.”

“I’m sure it is quite a heavy load for you to carry right now, my dear.” Alec reached for Laila’s hand and placed it close to his chest. “I love you as a daughter and will do what I can to help you through this dark time,” he added, then released her hand. He sat down on the enormous cherrywood armchair that was adorned with a large Scots crest.

Laila relaxed on the chaise and watched as Alec then took the juniper from his shirt pocket and laid it on a small trivet.

“You know, I can still recall when you used to come here and tutor me as a young girl. My arithmetic at the time left quite a bit to be desired,” she added.

Alec nodded. “Ah, yes,” he said. “I can clearly recall when your father requested my services about ten years ago. I would have done whatever the man asked—loyal to him I was, of course.”

Alec got up from his seat and walked to a small beeswax candle that was lit on the mantle. He placed the juniper atop the flame and watched as the taut greenery caught aflame. He next blew on the bundle, and a small ring of smoke circled into the air. It was dark in the study now, and Laila drew in a deep breath. There was something calming to her senses about the aromatic scent being wafted about, and she imagined that it signified purity, good fortune, and pleasure. To her, the smell gave her the good sense that all would work out in her favor.

“Alec, remember when we used to paint outdoors? I still have my oil paintings in the castle cellar. My father used to say that one day he’d put them up for sale and make a good Scot’s merk.” Laila smiled to herself for a moment, then leaned back on the chaise. “I do miss those days when life seemed so much more carefree.”

“Yes. And I can imagine so, especially now.” Alec nodded and walked to her side. “For now, lass, try and imagine that all is going to work out fine, that you and Lyall will work out your differences, and life will once again be beautiful from your corner of the world.” Alec’s words comforted Laila and gave her a sense of peace that had been lacking ever since her father’s last day.

“I feel better already,” said Laila. “Thank you, Alec.” She closed her eyes and imagined she was in a field of tall swaying grass, looming poppies in the distance. The sun was bright on her shoulders, and the sky was blue for miles into the horizon. A herd of Belgian draft horses galloped through, their long manes flowing in the wind, their tails lifted in praise of their freedom. “I want to be like them,” she whispered, as the horses took off from her mind’s eye and evaporated into the recesses of her imagination.

“I have a poem for you,” said Alec as he took out a piece of parchment and unfurled it before her eyes. “Your father was always a reader of William Dunbar and tonight I share with you a few of his words with the hope that you can once again get back on your feet.” He cleared his throat and waved the juniper bundle in the air.

Laila followed the smoke as it created soft, cottony lines in the air. Then she leaned forward, her hands on her knees.

“You know, I loved when you used to read poetry during my art lessons as a child. I recall those days with fondness,” she added.

Alec nodded and straightened his arms, his parchment extended before him. He recited a few words.