Page 40 of Deception of a Highlander

Kieran’s eyes sifted through the crowd and settled on Mariel. A jolt shot through her. The world paused, held in a span of unrelenting time as she waited for his answer, daring not to breathe for fear she might shatter.

She wanted to cry out that she was not worthy. She wanted to collapse on her knees before him and beg for something she did not deserve.

But she did neither. She stood perfectly still. Her palms were moist with cold sweat, and her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for his answer.

CHAPTER 16

The wind slapped Mariel’s heavy skirts against her legs and pulled her hair free from its braid. Her fingernails bit into her palms to keep her face impassive as she held Kieran’s dark gaze.

“Aye,” he said finally. “Aye, I do trust her. As should every one of ye.”

Heady elation at his acceptance warred with the self-hatred that balled like ice in the pit of her stomach.

Satisfied with their laird’s declaration, the MacDonald clan began to disperse. The few who did notice her quickly shifted their gaze away and widened the path between them.

Though sentiment warred within her, Mariel plastered a look of confusion on her face and stood off to the side. As no one had asked, she had not confessed her knowledge of Gaelic to anyone outside of her thanks upon their arrival. People spoke without restraint when under the assumption they could not be understood. It was an advantage she could ill afford to lose.

Kieran brushed some dried grass from Hamish’s ’back, and his voice traveled with the wind toward Mariel. “It’s no’ that I dinna miss Brennan. I dinna let the grief rule my life. Grief willna feed our people or clothe them or protect them.”

The young man glanced sheepishly up at Kieran. “I suppose I dinna think of that.”

“Aye, ye dinna. I am laird here, Hamish. If ye have concerns, ye should speak with me.” Kieran looked him over appraisingly. “Ye’ve got a strong arm there, lad. With proper training, I can make ye a warrior yet.”

“Aye?” Hamish grinned. “When can I start?”

“When ye make the decision to be a man and leave off boyhood games.” Kieran turned him in the direction of the castle and thumped his back a final time. “If ye find yerself a man by morning, ye know where we’ll be training.”

Hamish strode past Mariel and nodded in acknowledgment, his chest puffed with obvious pride.

Witnessing Kieran’s intimate discussion with the rebellious adolescent made her wonder how he would handle Jack. A smile threatened to break her composure as she imagined little Jack standing in Kieran’s massive shadow, listening with similar wide-eyed adoration. Her brother had been too long without a strong man to look up to, and Mariel had a sneaking suspicion Kieran would not turn down the chance to help him.

She clenched her fist against the weight of shame lest it overwhelm her. Kieran strode toward her, and it was all she could do to rein in her emotions. Not only was Kieran MacDonald a good, honorable man, but he was also a leader admired by his clan.

“Mariel, ye werena supposed to be here.” The corners of his lips pulled down into a frown. He regarded the castle. “Did no one try to stop ye?”

“If you mean Colin, he did try. My curiosity, however, outweighed his good intentions.” She stared pointedly at the hilt in Kieran’s hands. “What happened?”

“Ach, nothing to worry yerself over, lass.” He swung the sword over his shoulder. “No’ when there are more important things for ye to be doing.”

“Dyeing wool?” she guessed. Idle hands were wasted hands. Apparently, Scotland was no different. Truth be told, she looked forward to honest work.

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Let me introduce ye to Innes.”

After a few inquiries, Mariel found herself in front of a dour-looking woman with snarls of gray hair stuffed under a cotton bonnet. She peered down a crooked nose at Mariel with a sneer that evidenced the woman’s clear distaste for being stuck with the English stranger.

Innes waved a hand at Mariel to follow her and stalked through the heavy castle doors. Her shoulders hunched forward, and her grumbling Gaelic was impossible to ignore. “No’ that the likes of ye will be of any help. Ye look as if a slight breeze might carry ye off. No’ that I’d mind.”

Just over the swell of a hill lay a dense copse of trees streaked with gold and scarlet amid the splashes of emerald green.

“Here,” Innes said and motioned to the narrow stream several feet away.

The stream was carved into the landscape like a silvered ribbon. The crystal-clear water moved swiftly through the naturally cut path, gurgling with an excited babble. Were it not for the foul-smelling pots lining the grassy bank, the area would have been a very peaceful setting.

Innes grasped a handful of fluffy wool from a large wooden basket. “Take,” she barked in English, followed by an additional mutter in Gaelic. “If ye even understand me, ye silly chit. It’s been years since I’ve had to speak this damned language, and I dinna like it.”

Innes thrust the wool into a vat that reeked of rotting fish. “Put,” she instructed as she lifted a thick log and poked the buoyant clump until it sank. “Leave.” The old woman then lifted the top off the pot closest to Mariel and pointed. “Done.”

Mariel held her breath and peered over the rim to where the snow-white wool showed through the murky liquid. It certainly did not look dyed. Perhaps the Highlanders purchased their vibrant fabric from England.