This was an easy topic for her to discuss. “She’s been like a mother to me. Some think it strange, our relationship. And others begrudge her for acting more like parent than servant. I think it sorrowful that it should matter. But it does, very much.”
She told him of the times Alana helped her, guided her. Of the burgeoning feelings between Alana and her father. When she finished, they both turned to the fire. Watching. Listening to the crackle. The silence between them somehow just as comfortable as their discussion.
“You’re easy to talk to,” Ian said finally.
She’s been told the same before and had an answer for it. “This mark”—she gestured upward—“has taught me many things. One is that every person’s scar, whether seen or not, weighs on them. I try very hard to remember that.”
He stared so intently, Màiri finally looked away.
“You accept others so easily.” Ian had a strange look about him suddenly. “What do you think of the Fae?”
She was not prepared for the question. But answered anyway.
“My father, of course, forbids discussion of anything condemned by the church. But Alana”—she smiled—“perhaps their disagreement on so many subjects is part of their reluctance. And they disagree on that one, very much.”
“She believes in them?”
“Oh, very much. As I do. Years after I injured my ankle, I twisted it walking through the courtyard one day. On nothing, actually. Just twisted it again while walking. A woman appeared before me who I’d never seen before. Or since. Suddenly, I had the oddest sensation. Never before or since did my body fill with both cold and warmth at once. She smiled, looked toward my foot, and placed her hand on my shoulder. ‘You are most kind, my lady,’ were the only words she spoke. And then she walked away. It was as if my ankle had not been twisted. For many years it did not bother me again until . . .”
A look passed between them as they both remembered that day. The one they met.
“I’d never have told my father, but Alana agreed that she was likely Fae. Why she came to Kinross, or why she healed me, I cannot say. But never would I presume not to believe what I cannot explain.”
Ian opened his mouth, then promptly closed it.
He had been about to say something, but Màiri would not know what his next words might have been. His eyes hooded suddenly, and all thoughts of Alana and Fae fled her mind. Where moments ago their conversation had come easily, now a very different feeling settled over her.
’Twould be a long night indeed.
12
Despite a ragingcase of blue balls, Ian was in his element.
Sure, he and his dad had hunted in much warmer weather, and yeah, they’d typically used guns instead of crossbows, but he’d hunted more than all of his brothers combined. It felt good to be out here in the wilds, deer hounds barking.
“Over there.”
Màiri’s father pointed, and he saw it. A deer, in perfect position.
They’d been at it all day, keeping themselves low and the red deer upwind. Each of them dismounted, moving quietly into position. His uncle Colban waved him over, away from Grey, who was already preparing his crossbow, and Ross, who’d fallen in with him. Ian didn’t know Colban well, but according to Grey, he was basically a mini Ross. Two years younger, slightly smaller, and just as gruff.
“This is a better shot,” he said in a brogue as thick as his brother’s. “Ross knows less about killing deer than he does about bedding women.”
Good to know he and his brothers weren’t alone in their friendly, not-so-friendly competition.
“If Grey gets a good shot, we don’t stand a chance.”
Ian was becoming used to strange looks whenever he used a modern phrase. But he couldn’t help it. Even Grey, who had been here for months, slipped up every so often.
“Ross said his bow’s aim is true. But they’ll spook ’em before they get the chance to fell ’em.”
Ian was inclined to agree. They’d hardly covered their scent. Bow ready, he waited in silence, silently willing their prey to approach. A good waterproof jacket and boots would have been nice right about now. The snow was more than knee-deep in places. For that reason alone, he could never stay here. Ian vowed never to complain about Louisiana’s mugginess again.
Crouching in a sheepskin cloak on a bed of snow was hardly comfortable, but it was much more so than his sleeping arrangements the night before. After sitting up late with Màiri, exchanging childhood stories with her—his tales tweaked to hide as much of the modernity as possible—they’d gone to bed.
When she’d removed her robe, the thin nightgown—shift—beneath it left little to the imagination. He’d undressed quickly, leaving on more than he normally would, and said goodnight to his flustered-looking wife.
And proceeded to lay there, awake, hard as a rock. Grey had suggested that he pleasure her but leave her a virgin, but that plan had one key flaw.
