Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Al? Are ye unwell?”
Alasdair sat up straighter in his saddle, then sent a sidelong glance at his companion, Hamish.
They had gone out for a short ride through the grounds during the early morning hours so that they could discuss important affairs privately.
“Aye,” he grunted.
“Well then, what do ye say?”
Alasdair patted his horse, Rionnag’s, side, then cast another long look at his friend, trying to read his expression.
“What was yer question?”
Hamish groaned. “Ye havenae heard a word I’ve said, have ye?”
Alasdair tipped his head to the side and considered. “I heard ye when ye said the men failed to track Evan McDonough.”
“That’s well and good, but what of our other problem?” Hamish prompted.
“Have we more than one villain to hunt?” Alasdair slowed Rionnag’s pace by tugging lightly on the reins. He scooted in the saddle so he could look at Hamish squarely.
“That remains to be seen.” Hamish heaved a deep sigh. “We need to decide why the Elders have drawn you into this marriage with…”
“Ah…” Alasdair interrupted, now fully comprehending the matter Hamish wished to discuss. “The more I’ve thought it through, I cannae say with certainty that the Elders have done me or the clan a disservice.”
“Oh, aye?” Hamish’s wide eyes showed his surprise. “Ye think the Elders meant to do ye a favor then by demandin’ ye marry a stranger and bind our clan to hers?”
Alasdair cleared his throat, then affected the refined English accent he’d used last night while reading aloud with Miss Graham in the library. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Hamish jerked the reins, pulling his own horse, Mune, to a halt. He gaped openly at Alasdair. “What was that?”
“Hamlet,” Alasdair replied, returning his voice to its normal pitch and range. A small smile graced his lips. He was quite pleased with himself for satisfactorily reciting the passage from memory.
“Shakespeare?” Hamish scoffed. “Since when do ye have time to waste?”
Alasdair eyed him coolly. “I make time to read, Hamish. Ye ken this well.”
Hamish shook his head slowly as if he were trying to rattle an image of Alasdair reading a book for pleasure around in his brain and force the vision to sit just right.
“I ken that ye read ledgers and maps…documents and letters…but what were ye doin’ fillin’ your head with stuff and nonsense?
” He narrowed his bright eyes and threw Alasdair a scrutinizing stare.
“Ye’ve got that rogue McDonough to track, a clan to rule, a scheme by the council to uncover, and a fiancée to…
” Alasdair had done no more than blink once, but something about his appearance made Hamish’s words vanish on the wind.
“What?” Alasdair said when Hamish refused to continue without prompting.
“It’s the lass,” he said, his voice tinged with awe as well as a hint of concern. “Ye were readin’ with the lady and…”
“We must spend time together,” Alasdair inserted. “We cannae sidestep each other forever.”
“But ye daenae ken if ye can trust the woman,” Hamish argued. “What if she was sent here as a spy? What if the Elders wish to ken yer every move? What happens when…”
Alasdair held up one hand to silence his friend. Immediately, Hamish swallowed what was left of his rant, but he looked displeased at being given the order.
“Miss Graham isnae a spy, Hamish. She is…” His voice trailed off as he contemplated the right way to describe the lady who would soon be his wife and the Lady of Dunalasdair. “She is…”
Clearly unable to keep his lips sealed, Hamish released an anguished groan. “Daenae let Lady Intrigue turn yer head, Al.”
A stiff breeze ripped through the nearby pines then and Alasdair lifted his chin to inhale the clean scent. When he looked to the left of the woodlands, toward a spot where the sun shone on a patch of earth, he spied a hardy shrub with flowering bursts of orange and red clinging to the branches.
Witch hazel.
He recalled the way Miss Graham’s eyes looked while they’d read the play the night before.
In the low candlelight, sitting with their elbows pressed together and their fingertips touching, he had been able to discern every fiery spark of brilliance in those light brown eyes of hers.
Daring yellow, rich gold, and vibrant red hues had gleamed with mirth at times only to wink out sadly when the drama took its inevitable turns toward the tragic end.
I must pick some for her.
After dismounting from Rionnag, Alasdair patted the beast’s side, then strode toward the bush.
“What are ye doin’ now?” Hamish asked as he dropped out of his saddle. His boots thudded loudly as his feet hit the ground.
Alasdair unsheathed his dirk, wrapped his free hand around one of the branches on the shrub, then cut it clear away from the rest.
“Did the healer ask ye to do her gatherin’?”
There was no mistaking the sarcasm which dripped from Hamish’s words. For a moment, while he hacked clean another branch of witch hazel, Alasdair ignored not just Hamish’s question but also his pointed stare.
When he reached for the shrub a third time, Hamish sighed heavily then said, “Why? Why are ye botherin’ with all this?”
Slowly, Alasdair twisted his head to survey his friend’s befuddled countenance. “These flowers are for me Lady,” he replied in a quiet tone. “They remind me of her.”
A muscle in Hamish’s jaw ticked. “I figured that might be yer answer. But why, Al? Why are ye pickin’ posies for yer bride?”
Warmth flooded through Alasdair’s chest when he thought of how Miss Graham would smile at him when he presented her with this bouquet later. She might even tease or taunt him…two characteristics of hers he already admired greatly.
“She’s an English lady,” Alasdair explained slowly, piecing together his answer pensively. “She will expect to be courted by a gentleman.” He nodded at the witch hazel clutched between his fingers.
“Yer no English gentleman,” Hamish grumbled. “Yer the Laird of Dunalasdair. Yer a warrior. Yer…”
“I ken who I am, Hamish,” Alasdair interrupted. “But this…me actions…I’m nae thinkin’ of what matters to me. I’m tryin’ to please me Lady.”
“Why?”
The question this time carried less resistance and debate but held more pure and genuine curiosity.
Alasdair chanced a glance over his shoulder, toward the direction of the castle in the distance.
“If I had just met Miss Graham at a dance, I’d have asked her to join me in a reel.
If we’d been introduced by our parents or someone else that we trusted, I’d have called upon her and brought her bundles of wildflowers.
” He paused, then turned back to face his friend.
“Miss Graham and I may be forced into this union, but I willnae cheat the lass of the courtin’ experience. ”
Hamish’s blue eyes studied Alasdair face for a long moment, then he let loose another long, aggravated sigh.
Alasdair felt as if, even though he’d explained himself well enough, his clansmen still did not fully understand why spending time with Miss Graham and doing things that might bring her joy were vitally important.
So, he shrugged off Hamish’s discontent and lifted his dirk to cut another bunch of witch hazel.
“Stop,” Hamish said before he could slash away more of the plant.
“Hamish, I…”
“I heard what ye said, me Laird,” Hamish interjected. “And while I can tell ye to proceed with caution until I’m blue in the face, I cannae make this decision for ye. If ye trust Miss Graham and want to proceed with yer marriage to her, I willnae stand in your way.”
One of Alasdair’s eyebrows hooked high on his forehead. He stared at Hamish expectantly. “If you dinnae mean to hinder me, why did ye tell me to stop?”
“Daenae cut anymore witch hazel, me Laird.” Hamish tipped his head to the side, toward other shrubs that grew just a few steps away. “The lassies daenae care so much for those flowers. They prefer these with the bonnie petals.”
Alasdair eyed the crimson and white wildflowers, then he smirked at his friend. “What would ye ken about a lassie’s preferences?”
“I ken enough.” Hamish’s smile appeared. “I’ve never seen a lassie wear witch hazel in her hair and yer sister leaves vases of fresh posies all over the castle. But I’ve yet to see any witch hazel in the mix.”
Alasdair laughed loudly. He turned the bundles of witch hazel over in his hands. “Then I guess me Lady will just have to set the new fashion with this bunch.”
He could not pinpoint precisely why the idea tickled him so thoroughly, but it did.
Miss Graham was a unique woman, so it seemed fitting that this gift to her…
his first…would be slightly odd and a tad unconventional.
As Alasdair hacked another branch of witch hazel from the shrub, he laughed lightly to himself, and envisioned the happy moment when he would give these flowers to Miss Graham.