Hearts of Highland Fire

Chapter 5

5

Ida wiped down the table and then threw the rag into the bin she had for things that needed to be laundered, wishing she could sleep. She had tried everything, but all she could think about was the laird that had broken into her life earlier. “Ugh,” Ida stated, grabbing her coat. She had no thoughts about where her uncle was, but her guess was that he was still at the pub, drowning in a bottle of whiskey that they could not afford.

Throwing open the door, she moved to the stables, where every stall was full of horses enjoying their evening meal. “Cotton,” she cooed as she moved past her own horse, who only whinnied in response.

What Ida was really after was the horses at the end of the stable, the ones that had brought the Wallace clan to their village. They were well taken care of, prime examples of horseflesh that were meant to carry warriors into battle. She knew that the new laird had been a warrior up until his da’s untimely death and hadn’t been a laird but for a few years.

It must have been difficult to lose his da. Ida reached over and scratched the muzzle of one of the horses. Her own parents’ deaths had not been easy. One moment she was listening to them whisper in the corner of their cottage at night, her ma’s easy laughter filling the room. Theirs had been a love match, her da seeing her ma walking home from the village one day. He had struck up a conversation with her and her ma had always said that it was his wit that had entrapped her on their first day together.

She had seen it. Iris had never seen two people more in love than her parents had been.

Now they were gone, their ashes joining each other in death when she had burned their bodies two days after their deaths. From that moment, she had nothing happy in her life again.

Except for the horses and the very brief conversation she had with Laird Wallace today.

Ian . He wished for her to call him Ian but she didn’t plan to see him again. In those few moments that had brought her some joy in her life, she had felt that he was seeing more than just the lass who picked up the brunt of her uncle’s drinking.

Shaking her head, Ida stepped away from the horse and picked up the pitchfork, feeling her muscles straining as she moved the hay from the pile into the stall. It mattered not what he saw her as.

There was nothing about her life that the laird would find interesting enough to come back for a second visit and she had nothing to offer him.

The next morning, Ida had to step over her uncle passed out on the floor of the cottage to get to the stables, glad at least that he hadn’t disturbed the few hours of sleep she had managed to get. Some nights, he found his way back home and others, she spent hours looking for him. In the beginning, there were clansmen that would get him back to the cottage, averting their gazes from Ida but she could see the pity in their expressions.

Now no one helped, but Ida couldn’t blame them. Her uncle was her burden to bear and hers alone.

When she stepped out into the stable, Ida let out a little squeak when she saw that she was not alone. “Mah… mah laird,” she stammered, seeing Ian’s strong profile in the light of dawn. “Wot are ye doing here?” Why was Ian here? Why was he standing before her and not in the comfort of his bed at this hour of the morning?

“Ian,” he reminded her, dropping his hand from the horse’s neck he was stroking. “And I hoped I would run into ye this morn Ida.”

Her cheeks heated. He wished to see her? But what for? Had her uncle done something else that she wasn’t aware of? “Please,” she begged. “I dinna know.”

Ian blinked. “Wot are ye talking aboot?”

“Mah uncle,” she started, unsure of what to say. “Whatever he has done.” The words left her. She couldn’t continue to make excuses for him, but he was her responsibility.

Ian ran a hand through his hair. “I donna know of anything yer uncle has done since yesterday.”

Oh, thank God. She couldn’t bear to think of what he was in now. “Then why are ye here?” she countered.

He gave her a small smile and Ida felt it all the way to her toes in her worn boots. “I came tae see ye lass.”

Oh.

He had come for her? Suddenly, Ida wished she had donned her best dress and not the one she wore to muck out the stalls in the morning and at least plaited her hair better.

“I wish tae speak tae ye aboot something,” he continued, oblivious to her sudden embarrassment. “If ye have a moment or two that is.”

Ida opened her mouth but then promptly shut it. She wasn’t sure what he could want from her, but what was the harm anyway? Picking up her pitchfork where she had discarded it, she held it out to Ian. “Only if ye help mah with mah chores this morn. I donna listen for free.”

The delight on his face took her breath away as he accepted the barn tool, their fingers brushing ever so lightly. “Of course lass. I dinna expect tae just stand around and watch ye do all the work.”

Ida tried and failed to hide her pleasure as she picked up a shovel, pointing to the stack of hay that had been delivered earlier. “I’m certain ye know how tae muck stalls mah laird?”

“Been doing it since I was a wee lad,” he responded cheerfully.

That surprised Ida. She had imagined he had been raised in the great hall, ordering others about but then again, his sister wasn’t like what she had imagined either. “I donna think even I’m this cheerful aboot it,” she replied.

“Ye would be surprised wot makes mah cheerful these days,” he answered back, picking up a forkful of hay.

Ida’s breath whooshed out of her lungs as she saw his forearms strain from the weight he carried, yet he did it with such ease that he couldn’t have been lying to her about hard labor. “I would think warm fires and a dram of whiskey more so than this,” she said casually, shoveling the spot in the stall so he could lay fresh hay.

Ian barked out a laugh. “Aye lass I do enjoy those things as well, but honest labor has never done mah wrong either. Keeps mah humble, reminds of the things that mah clan does tae ensure mah comfort.”

“Then that’s noble of ye,” Ida found herself saying.

They worked in companionable silence for a little while before he leaned against the pitchfork. “How do ye feel that yer clan is going tae handle the ceasefire?”

She eyed him. “Is that a trick question?” If he was looking for some insight as to what was being plotted, he was asking the wrong person. Her life was centered around the stables and caring for her uncle.

He shook his head, some of his hair coming loose from the leather tie she had noticed earlier. “Nay. I am just curious as I am having the same sort of trouble in mah own clan.”

Ida wasn’t surprised. They had been enemies for so long that it was going to take more than a few kind words for people to realize that it wasn’t a trick. “I believe that war has destroyed us all,” she said slowly, thinking of her uncle. “Many lives have been lost and that isna something that either clan can move from quickly.”

“Have ye suffered loss?” he asked softly.

Ida busied herself with her chore, moving on to the next stall. “Mah uncle has. He lost his only son in one of the battles.” She was too young to remember her cousin, but the toll it took on her uncle was something she was familiar with. “His wife died of heartbreak shortly after.” Her aunt died when Ida was two. “Mah parents were able tae keep him distracted for a spell but after their deaths, he found no use in living as he had been.”

Now he was her problem to deal with. “War and hate should be left tae the past, but there are some that will never see it that way.”

Ian let out a heavy breath. “Aye, I understand. I was one of those Scots until recently.”

Ida looked up from her shovel. “Wot happened?”

She swore that his cheeks reddened slightly. “Mah sister married Lennox and gave us a niece. With mah da passing on, I realized how important family is and wot I would do tae give them the proper future.”

“That’s verra noble of ye,” Ida said. Family was important to her as well. I was one of the reasons she remained with her uncle. Her parents would want her to take care of him and see that he didn’t drink himself to death.

He shrugged, moving back to the hay to grab another fork full for the next stall. “I donna know aboot nobility but tis the right thing tae do if we are meant tae have a future at all.”

Ida was inclined to agree with that particular statement as well. She had watched as young lads had followed their das into war, thinking that they were going to walk out alive. More times than naught, they had been carried back in a wagon, their faces covered by a cloth.

If the ceasefire didn’t do anything else, she hoped that it would stop the young from dying at least.

With his help, Ida was able to finish her chores in half the time, even though she kept waiting for the laird to hand over his pitchfork and leave her.

He didn’t, however, and by the time they finished the last stall, the village was starting to wake around them. “Well,” Ian stated, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his tunic, a grin on his handsome face. “Nothing like getting mah morning started with some honest work.”

“I donna know wot tae say,” Ida replied, reaching for his pitchfork. “But ye have mah thanks.”

Ian went for it at the same time that Ida did and their hands collided, a shooting spark igniting in her chest. She gasped at the feel of his hand on hers, finding him gazing back at her with the same sort of surprise. He swallowed hard and Ida felt a pull in her stomach unlike she had ever felt before. “Ida,” he breathed, sending a shiver down her spine. “I...”

A clamor outside the stable had them jumping apart, Ida clutching the pitchfork against her chest. Her heart was beating wildly within her chest, her hand remembering the way his calloused fingers felt and she wanted more.

Heaven help her, she wanted him to touch her again!

“I should go,” Ian said hastily, pulling his hair free so that he could rake his hand through it. “Thank ye Ida for a pleasant morn.”

“Yer welcome,” she said faintly as he brushed past her and exited the stable. Only then did she allow herself to exhale a breath, unbelieving what had just happened.

She had all but developed some sort of kinship with the visiting laird, a Scot who shouldn’t even be talking with her, much less doing her morning chores.

One of the horses snickered and Ida couldn’t help but let out a half-crazed laugh. Surely, there was some sort of reason he wanted to come this morning other than just to hear her talk! He had a passel of people in that keep that would be wanting his attention.

Shaking her head, Ida replaced the tools back in their places before picking up the feed bucket. She had to be in some sort of dream right now. It was the only explanation.

If that was the case, though, how could she still feel the warmth of his skin on her hand?