Màiri thought back to the day he’d first asked the question. It had taken her aback, but she’d quickly become accustomed to the idea. It had sounded comfortable, and she was fond enough of him to like the thought of seeing him every day.
“Aye, ’twas Ambrose who proposed that we marry. And both of our fathers agreed we should not.”
“But you feel differently about Ian, do you not?”
Màiri would not deny it.
“I suppose so. I did kiss him on our first meeting.” Cursing the heat that climbed up her neck, she avoided Marian’s gaze.
“’Tis nothing to be ashamed of, desire. Those who believe ’tis evil claim ’tis from the devil. Or they say a woman’s desire must be kept locked away until her husband agrees to free it. Some say women should be contained the same way, protected from themselves. But Grey would never believe such a foolish thing. Nor, I suspect, would Ian. They acknowledge that we should be free to make our own choices. If we feel desire, that is our choice. If we sing or dance, it is as worthy a choice as a man wearing a padded codpiece.”
Màiri did laugh at her sister-in-law’s mention of the odd new fashion for men, seen more often in the south.
“Come, supper is nearly served. We will speak more on this. There is more to Ian than you suspect.”
Somewhat reassured by their conversation, and extremely curious about that last statement, Màiri followed Marian to the hall. As soon as they walked in, she found herself sweeping the space with her eyes, but the men had not yet returned.
Partway through the meal, a movement at the hall’s entrance announced the return of the hunting party. Or so she thought at first. But only two men walked into the hall, neither of whom appeared to be a part of the hunting party. One of them took an open seat at a trestle table below them, but the other approached the dais.
She had not seen him in more than two years, but the youngest male MacKinnish had not changed at all. He’d always looked so similar to Ross they could be twins. Although his thick beard and overly large bearing might look frightening to an outsider, Màiri knew him to be kind, perhaps the most so of all the MacKinnish brothers.
Once, in fact, there had been talk of a union between her and Alastair. But of all the MacKinnish men, he spent the most time training with Bruce and did not seem inclined to marry.
“Greetings, Lady Màiri.”
The poor man appeared quite confused by her presence.
“Greetings, Alastair,” she said. “You are undoubtedly confused.”
“Aye, lass. I’ll admit to being so.”
“Come. Join us, and allow me to explain.”
As he navigated his way to the empty chair next to her, Màiri introduced him to Marian.
“You’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting Lady Marian of Fenwall?”
He bowed to her before sitting down next to Màiri.
“Nay, we missed each other when Alistair was last at Hightower,” Marian said.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said to Marian, turning back to Màiri. “How is your father?”
“Father is well. He’s hunting presently with Ross. And my husband. Ian, Grey’s brother.”
Alastair blinked, looked from her to Marian, and then drank deeply. Having finished with the entire mug, he called the servant back. He looked more than a bit surprised: he was shocked.
“Ian McCaim?”
She nodded, eyeing the stew that had been placed in front of her. She’d not eaten much since arriving, and it smelled delicious.
“You are Ian McCaim’s wife?”
“Aye.”
“And he is here?”
Marian cut in. “He and the others should be back soon, now that the sun is set. They left on a celebratory hunt this morn.”
