"You’ve changed."
Kirsty smiled back, and he found himself surveying her with pleasure, before he recalled that he’d pledged himself heart and soul elsewhere.
"It’s merely good manners. I have nae right to impose my opinion on a chance-met stranger."
That was another problem. He felt less and less like that chance-met stranger. If he ignored his unwelcome physical awareness of this lass – and how he wished he could! – he felt at home in her company, as if they’d been friends for years, not a mere few hours.
If friendship could describe this strange affinity that vibrated between them.
"Although you’d like to," he said, teasing her.
A soft laugh escaped her. "Although I’d like to. Since Mamma’s death, Papa has been lonely, and while he loves Askaval, it doesnae offer a great variety in company. He was excited at the idea of a new face joining us for Christmas."
Dougal grimaced. "Now ye just make me sound like a selfish lout, which means I’ve given poor return for your hospitality."
"Ye shouldnae feel like that. We ken you’ve set your mind on finding Fair Ellen."
"On Innish or Pabbay or Scalpay or Canna," he said, and wondered why he was so quick to undermine his purpose.
"Aye, well, you’ll find her eventually." She paused. "If she exists to be found."
Before he left home, he’d never questioned the truth of the tales about Fair Ellen. Vexing that a short visit to Askaval and an encounter with Kirsty Macbain eroded his certainty. Especially as he’d brushed his family’s doubts aside with few qualms.
It really was time he left, before he convinced himself to abandon his quest altogether. But first, he owed his hosts his duty. "It’s my turn to serve ye. Point me toward the Christmas decorations, Miss Macbain."
She regarded him with a doubtful expression. "Would ye no’ rather rest? You were battling the storm all night."
With a groan, he stretched and set down his hammer. Aye, he was tired. Not to mention that scrunching himself up into a small space to work on his boat was never easy for a giant like him. But he already felt like he was enough of a parasite on the Macbains. He intended to repay their kindness with labor, even if it killed him.
"I promised to help." He stepped off the boat onto the quay steps. "I’ll sleep tonight."
"Then I’ll be happy to accept your assistance, Mr. Drummond."
Before he considered the wisdom of increasing the intimacy between them, he said, "I hear people on Askaval dinnae stand on ceremony. Ye should call me Dougal."
Her smile turned even sweeter, as she stared up at him from where she stood in his boat. "In that case, ye should call me Kirsty."
"Kirsty it is, then." He was smiling at her a lot, which seemed to put his quest in peril, too. And even more unwise than sharing names, he held out his hand to help her onto the dock.
She accepted his assistance. Of course she did. She wasn’t desperately trying to stick to a life plan that unraveled by the second.
Given how her smile made his heart surge, he wasn’t even surprised when her touch sparked another searing jolt of heat. It was as if the energy that crackled around her leaped from her body to his.
Without thinking – connected thought proved beyond his current capability – he stepped back to allow her onto the quay. He was even muddleheaded enough to feel a pang of regret when she released his hand the moment she was safely on land. It made no sense, but the idea of holding Kirsty’s hand for the rest of the day was deuced appealing.
And it was so much more muddleheaded to resent her lack of reaction to his touch. Instead she climbed the steps with a swift, confident stride, as if the whole world wasn’t rocking on its axis, and approached the men sitting outside the tavern he’d noticed earlier.
The islanders had sat there all day, watching the Kestrel return to order. Again, Dougal had the impression that Askaval was an island where not very much happened. The sight of a stranger repairing a boat counted as grand entertainment.
Troubled at his unruly reaction to this unusual girl, he followed Kirsty up the steps and toward the inn. Out of the gusting wind, the day was pleasant for December. Dougal wore an old fisherman’s jacket that miraculously fit him. Goodness knew where Kirsty had found it, but he’d appreciated its warmth as he’d worked on his boat. In the moments when he wasn’t feeling warm anyway, because of the nearness of a certain laird’s daughter.
"Johnny, Bill, Jock, you’ve been there all day. It’s about time ye moved," Kirsty said. "Come and help us gather some greenery for the Christmas party. I’ll stand ye all a round of drinks when we finish."
Dougal wasn’t surprised when all three men settled bright eyes on the girl. Who could blame them? She was a pleasure to behold. Even a man devoted to the fairest lady in Scotland had to admit that.
"Och, Kirsty lass," one of the old codgers called out. "It’s too bonny sitting here in the sun. You’ve already found yourself a braw young helper. Ye dinnae need us."
She laughed as she sauntered up