Page 41
They were out in the back gardens sparring lightly, though Duncan seemed far more determined to test Alisdair’s patience than his parry.
“I am simply wondering if ye are cautious or simply scared.”
“Scared?” Alisdair attacked.
Duncan jumped away and smiled. “Aye, scared. Of yer own wife.”
“I am nae scared!” Alisdair swung at him again.
Their blades clashed, and Duncan’s went flying through the air. Alisdair shot him a glare.
“Ah, the infamous glare. It would have more impact if ye werenae distracted.”
“It’s yer sword on the ground,” Alisdair snarled.
“All I am sayin’ is that ye should at least try to get to ken yer wife. Ye might actually like what ye will find.”
Alisdair sheathed his sword and turned his back on Duncan. He wasn’t going to admit to him that he was afraid of exactly that.
He crossed the gardens, furious at himself. It was true. His aunt loved her, and Ewan came down and talked with her at breakfast now, every single day. The staff followed her instructions without complaint, and he had overheard them more than once saying how grateful they were to have such an efficient, kind mistress.
He was ready to hole up in his study or go help rebuild the walls when he heard rustling. Somehow he knew it was her. He seemed always aware when she was close by.
Isla moved past, smiling at everyone she passed, and made her way to the stables. He had a plan for the rest of the day, a well-laid one. But suddenly, his study felt stifling, dull, pointless even. Even hauling stone all afternoon lost its appeal.
His feet decided for him, following her before his mind had agreed to it. He knew she came here often. He slipped inside after her and heard her voice, low and murmuring.
“There ye go, lassie,” she cooed to her mare.
He stayed back, watching as she stroked her mare’s neck. She fed her an apple and looked out toward the mountains with longing he recognized instantly. It was the same restlessness he felt himself on some days. She wanted to ride. Wanted to feel the wind in her hair and the freedom that came with it.
“Soon, lassie, I promise,” she said. “Next visit to the villages, I will ask if I can ride ye. I hope they trust me enough. This is home now.”
Alisdair could have blamed the arrangement they had made, their agreement to get to know each other. He could have called it practical, wanting to see how his own wife rode. He could have found a million excuses. But the truth was simpler than any of them: he couldn’t bear the sadness on her face or the sorrow beneath her voice.
“She’s a fine horse,” he said.
“Alisdair!” she gasped, startled. “I didnae see ye.”
He drew closer and patted the mare’s flank, and she turned to him.
“I think it’s about time ye got to ken the land,” he said.
Isla gasped again and looked at him with eyes full of hope. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his lips quirked up at her excitement.
“How about we ride together? I will show ye around.”
She smiled wider and kissed the mare’s nose. “Now?”
“If ye have nothin’ to do,” he said, trying to feign indifference.
“Let’s ride, please.”
He looked at her, seeing her happy for the first time in perhaps ever. It did something to his heart.
He couldn’t hold back a smile. “Fine, wife. Let’s ride.”
They saddled their horses, and a maid brought them some supplies, before they went out through the gate. Alisdair led his horse out first, out of habit, picking the narrow track that led away from the castle.
