Chapter 35 Grant This Knave a Favor #2
“So, ye will happily live here with me?” he replied, his hand tightening slightly around her waist. “Not disappointed ye won’t be Lady Maclean of Dounarwyse one day?”
Tearing her gaze from the sunrise, she glanced up to find him watching her.
“I’d never covet such a role.” Even through the layers of sheepskin, she could feel the heat of his body, a furnace enveloping her.
“In truth, I’m not sure I know how to become a steward’s wife either … but I will do my best.”
He gave a soft snort. “Don’t be so modest, lass. Ye’re worthy of more than this. But together, we can turn this ruin into something special.”
“Ye already have,” she reminded him.
Indeed, he was close to finishing the northern wall of the top floor, which meant that, as he’d planned, there would be a roof on the tower come Yule.
“Ye really love it here in Ardnacross, don’t ye?” she said, marking the way his fern-green eyes shone. “As much as I do.”
He was an emotional man. She knew that. After he’d taken her the first time the night before, and they’d lain together in the soft glow of the firelight, she’d seen his cheeks wet with tears.
The sight had moved her. He had moved her.
He had taken her with such tenderness and fierce passion that afterward she’d felt boneless as a jellyfish.
Her chest ached with love as their gazes held.
“I do,” he said huskily. “I didn’t know what I truly needed. It took my father’s actions to teach me that.”
“So, there isn’t any bad blood between ye now then?” she asked.
He smiled before shaking his head. “I can’t hold a grudge … not when he did me such a favor.”
The affection in his eyes made her breathing grow shallow. “I wish I felt so kindly toward my kin,” she admitted huskily. “Unlike yer family, they’ve never—” She broke off then, embarrassed by her outburst.
He tightened his hold on her. “Please, go on, love.”
She sighed. “There isn’t much to say. Only that I never belonged with them.”
“No … and after meeting yer mother and sisters, I understand why.” He paused then. “Yer father … he wasn’t cruel, was he?”
She shook her head, her throat constricting. “Not unless ye count coldness and apathy as abuse.”
“I would.” A hard edge crept into his voice then. A pause followed, as the glorious sunrise continued to bleed across the sky, before Ailean cleared his throat. “Do ye wish to speak of it?”
“No,” she answered honestly. “It’s all in the past now. I’d rather not cast a shadow over this bonnie morning.”
“Ye know ye always can confide in me?”
She smiled up at him, the tightness in her throat easing.
“Thank ye.” She appreciated his concern, but she didn’t want to upset him with the truth of just how callous her family had been over the years.
Maybe one day she would tell him of her childhood, of the things that had shaped her, but not this morning.
They lapsed into silence once more. After a few moments, she snuggled closer.
“Are ye cold?” he asked.
“Not really.”
In truth, the frosty air was making her nose numb and the tips of her ears ache.
“It’s a fine morning,” he said, squeezing her firmly against him. “Usually, I’d begin work shortly, but a day as important as this one needs to be celebrated.”
She glanced at him. “How?”
His mouth quirked. “Today, I will leave my stones and mortar, and ye will be absent from yer loom. Instead, I shall take ye on a ride.” He paused, his eyes twinkling. “There’s something special I want to show ye.”
She inclined her head. “Now that sounds intriguing. What is it?”
His smile widened. “Nosy woman. Ye’ll find out soon enough.”
His hand sneaked down, palming the swell of her backside through the sheepskin.
“Come on. Let’s get dressed and be on our way.”
Sgòth’s hooves beat a steady tattoo on the frozen ground as the stallion cantered west, carrying them inland from the village.
The sun had fully risen by now, gilding the hills, melting the frost, and bathing the land in pale autumn light.
Samhuinn was only days away. They passed the bonfire the locals were building for the occasion.
It would burn for most of the night on that eve, and Fiona looked forward to joining the villagers of Ardnacross—drinking wassail, eating fuarag, dancing around the fire, and doing it all with Ailean at her side.
Warmth suffused her chest. It all felt dreamlike.
She’d gone to him without expectation. The weight of her feelings had sat like an anvil on her chest. She’d only wanted relief, hadn’t thought about the future, hadn’t imagined he might propose. She’d only wanted to be near him. The longing had been unbearable.
But he’d surprised her.
This man often did.
There was depth to him she hadn’t seen months ago. The real Ailean wasn’t a man of poor character. He was strong and kind, protective and courageous to a fault.
And he was hers.
Tears of joy filled her eyes. The cold wind stole them away as she leaned back against his chest, enjoying the press of his thighs against hers. Riding with him like this—wind in her hair, frost under hoof—was exhilarating.
Soon they reached a hill where two lines of standing stones rose against the sky.
The earth there felt older somehow. The grass thinned to wiry silver tufts, and the wind carried a strange stillness, as if the hill kept its own counsel.
Fiona stared as Ailean drew Sgòth to a halt. “I didn’t realize there were stones near here.”
“The locals call them the Ardnacross Stone Rows,” he replied, swinging down and helping her after him. “Diarmaid told me about them shortly after my arrival. I rode up to take a look.”
She smiled and climbed the incline, weaving between the monoliths.
Tall and thin, their pitted surfaces were worn by centuries of wind and rain, freckled with pale lichen and creeping moss.
The stones did not stand as a straight path but in two quiet lines, skewed from one another, as if set by hands that followed a logic long forgotten.
Between them lay low mounds edged in smaller rocks—old cairns, half-sunk into the soil. The grass grew darker there.
Fiona touched one of the stones. It was colder than the air: dense and immovable.
Silence unraveled across the hilltop.
Even the wind seemed to hush within the rows.
From here, she could see smoke rising from Ardnacross village to the east and the outline of higher hills to the west. Beyond them, the Sound flashed dull silver. Yet inside the stones, the world felt distant.
Happiness filtered like sunlight through her chest.
She turned to find Ailean watching her, his expression serious. “It is special,” he murmured. “I’m glad ye feel it too.” He placed a palm next to hers against the stone. “The people who raised these were like us, lass. Hundreds of years ago … that’s all. Time is the only thing that separates us.”
Her skin prickled. Aye, it was true. Men and women had always loved. Always lost, hoped, and strived—and they always would. Places like this reminded them they were merely custodians.
“When I stood here alone,” he continued, “I knew this place belonged to my heart. Or my heart belonged to it. I felt it in my bones.”
“Ye are indeed a proud Muileach,” she teased.
“I am,” he replied with a grin. “Even on campaign on the mainland, I itched to return.” His expression clouded slightly. “That’s why returning to Dounarwyse was hard. I wanted to belong there as Lyle did. But I’m too proud and stubborn to rule beside my father. I needed land of my own.”
Proud and stubborn. They had that in common.
“And now, ye have it,” she said, curling an arm around his waist. Her gaze flicked to his hand still resting beside hers on the monolith. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? A blank slate.”
“It’s exactly what I needed … my old ways brought me little joy in the end.
It’s a relief to leave it all behind.” He slid his hand across the stone, covering hers.
Heat flared low in her belly. He’d taken her twice more during the night.
She ached in places she hadn’t known existed—and didn’t care.
“I wanted to bring ye here this morning … it felt right,” he said, holding her gaze. “But there’s an important matter we must attend to.”
She tilted her head. “Have I forgotten something?”
“I promised to make ye my wife. I will not delay.”
A grin split her face. “And how do ye propose to do that? There isn’t a priest for miles.” Her eyes widened then. “God’s teeth. Ye don’t mean to ask yer father to wed us?”
He laughed. “No. We’ll travel to the Dounarwyse kirk. The priest there is a friend. He’ll wed us at once. I’ll ask Diarmaid and Eithne to join us, as witnesses.”
Excitement fluttered beneath her ribs. “Today?” she breathed.
“Today,” he said firmly.
Stepping back from the stone, he took her hand in his and squeezed. “Come, lass. Let’s tell our friends the happy news.”