"No’ really," he said with a shrug. "A lot of pointless skirmishes that gained little."
"Except the neighbors’ cattle."
Her quickness made him smile. "Except the neighbors’ cattle."
When he pressed against the side of the stall to let her pass him, he caught a drift of her scent. Horses, certainly, but beneath the equine aroma, something fresh and alluring like mown grass or new fallen snow.
He had to swallow to moisten a dry throat before he went on. "But all that has ended now, and the clans have been at peace since before I was born."
She shot him a sharp look.
"Ye sound sorry."
Her perception startled him. "Do I?"
"Aye."
Before he’d learned to mistrust the tales that painted his doughty ancestors as endlessly gallant and righteous, he’d hung entranced on his father’s knee. He’d drunk in every story of daring exploits and reckless danger. "Peace is better for everyone, Drummond and Mackinnon alike."
The smile that curved her lips expressed a surprising level of understanding. "But it doesnae offer much opportunity for adventure."
"I had an adventure last night," he said feelingly, as he followed her out of the stable.
By God, he should have gone ahead. Or he should, if only he knew where he was going. That gorgeous sway of the girl’s hips was impossible to ignore.
She turned back in his direction. "And ye loved every moment of it."
He frowned at her. "I was wet and cold and lost and afraid."
"And happy?"
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "Aye, happy. Which given how close my boat came to foundering makes me a madman in most people’s eyes."
She was still smiling. "Och, a madman here and there makes life interesting."
He couldn’t look away from her. Mistress Kirsty Macbain mightn’t be strawberries-and-cream pretty, but when she smiled into a man’s eyes, she was something better. Flashing silver eyes drew the gaze and held it. Angular, interesting features turned as vivid and lovely as a sunrise.
Dougal gulped and reminded himself he was here only until he’d repaired his boat, then he was away across the sea. And all set to rescue the woman to whom he’d dedicated himself.
Fair Ellen of the Isles.
Although some sinful, earthier part of him couldn’t help thinking that when she smiled, Kirsty Macbain would rival any woman’s attractions. Even the legendary lady trapped in her tower.
This girl from Askaval disturbed him, muddied the bright blade of his purpose. And he’d only spent half an hour in her company. He needed to fix his boat and get on his way. Be damned to rough seas or blustery winds.
"Come and meet Papa," she said. "He’ll be delighted to have company."
Troubled, bemused, unwillingly intrigued, Dougal followed her into a bustling kitchen. The serving women raised their heads from preparing breakfast to give him curious looks.
If Askaval was anything like every other place in Scotland, gossip about his arrival would already be spreading far and wide. He doubted a mouse farted at Bruard without word of the event reaching the most isolated crofter on the estate.
The smell of baking bread and frying bacon made his empty belly rumble with hunger. It had been a long, busy night, and he was a healthy young man. He’d eaten at Achnasheen before he set out on his well-provisioned boat, but a freak wave had swamped his basket of food and turned it into saltwater-soaked ruin.
"There’s an extra mouth for breakfast, Ruth," Miss Macbain called out as they passed.
An older woman, plump and gray-haired, stopped kneading her dough and fixed her eyes on Dougal. He guessed she must be the cook or the housekeeper. "By the size of yon laddie, it’s more like two extra mouths, lassie."
Miss Macbain laughed and cast Dougal an amused glance as if they were in a conspiracy of two. He gave himself a sharp reminder of his purpose, even as that mocking smile drew him like a moth to a flame.