Chapter 7 #2
It wasn’t long before the village came into sight.
Arran slowed his horse, patting Torrin’s side in silent thanks as he tried to catch his breath and gather his control over his emotions.
He didn’t have much time for it, though; Kenna was mere strides behind him.
She pulled up her mount expertly, pursing her lips at him.
“I did not mean to imply that festivals were more important than lives,” she said crisply. “And I am sorry if ye felt that way. But surely ye see that running away is not in the spirit of starting over—which, need I remind ye, was your idea.”
He flinched a little at the words running away. Aye, it had been a bit childish, but he didn’t know how else to manage the weight of this grief, which he’d borne alone for so many years.
The confession left his lips without his permission. “My family died that night,” he said.
Speaking the words was an odd relief; he had always been deliberately vague about the circumstances of his family’s death, though the Callahans knew him as orphaned. He didn’t want them to connect his story back to that of Arran Lennox.
But something about Kenna loosened his tongue. It was dangerous, but it also lifted an enormous weight from his shoulders.
Ye can trust her, a voice inside him urged. He didn’t know whence it came, and he didn’t know why he believed it, but he did. It just… felt true.
Indeed, Kenna’s irritation melted away, replaced by understanding.
“I’m verra sorry,” she said quietly. “It was an unspeakable cruelty.”
Her acceptance was like a balm.
“Thank ye,” he said. He felt like a rag that had been wrung out. He should not be so exhausted from so little, but he’d spent so long hiding everything of himself that he lacked practice in telling the truth. He needed a distraction. “Shall we go on to the dressmaker’s shop, then?”
Kenna didn’t comment on his abrupt shift in topic.
“Aye,” she agreed easily, turning Black Roy easily. “Show the way.”
They didn’t have far to go; the village wasn’t large. But even the short, quiet ride gave Arran a little more time to gather himself, to feel his hackles settle.
Inside the shop, Kenna adopted her air of Englishness like a cloak, and Arran found himself growing unsettled again.
He tried to play the role of the disinterested guard as she glanced over fabrics and spoke with the seamstress about things he didn’t quite understand—words like ruched and French seams and flounces.
He felt fidgety and distracted, however, like something was out of place that he needed to fix, if only he could figure out what it was.
He feigned interest in the fabrics that lined one wall, if only to disguise his disquiet.
There was one fabric, a rich burgundy, that caught his attention.
It reminded him of one of the colors in the Lennox tartan.
That was the first thing that drew his eye.
But the longer he stared at it, the more he could imagine how well it would flatter Kenna; how the warm color would bring out the burnished hues in her golden hair, and how her green eyes would look so striking against the deep shade.
He stopped himself before he thought too hard about how she would look in his clan’s colors, in blue and maroon. If he went too far, he’d have her in a Lennox airsaid, with his own clan sigil—the laurel branches for peace, the hand that held them tight—pinning it at her shoulder.
He was being foolish, he knew.
He didn’t even have his own brooch with the sigil on it any longer. He hadn’t worn it the night of the fires, and it had been lost in the explosion. But he’d always thought, as a lad, that one day he would give it to a woman.
Reminiscences would get him nowhere. But he couldn’t drop his hand from the fabric.
“Ye should get a gown in this,” he said when she approached him. “It would suit ye.”
It was another thing that he should not have said, but, as he watched her blush deeply, he found that he was beyond caring.
Her fingers reached out to caress the fabric as he held it out, a reverent touch that stopped just before their hands met.
He wondered if her hands would be warm, or if she would need him to cup her fingers between his palms to warm them for her.
Christ on the cross, what was wrong with him?
As if she could read his thoughts, Kenna stepped hastily away. “I cannae,” she said. “My husband wouldnae like it.”
For a horrifying moment, Arran worried that she actually had read his thoughts, but then she added, “Ashbourne only permits pastels. It’s what proper ladies wear back in London.”
Oh, thank the Lord, she was talking about the fabric. He let it drop.
“Your husband is a fool,” he said. The actual words that he wished to use for the man were much harsher. Alas, it seemed he still possessed some control over himself.
Kenna looked as though she were trying very, very hard to hide a smile.
“I’m quite certain that I should object,” she said, her words accented like a Londoner’s, her eyelashes fluttering dramatically. This time, though, Arran recognized the meaning behind this performance.
She’d said that she should object, not that she did.
Och, she was a clever lass. She should try playing chess. She’d be bloody good at it, what with this tactician’s mind that she seemed to possess.
The seamstress called out for her then, and Kenna went to settle the final details of her order, including arranging for delivery back at the Keep several days hence.
When she returned to Arran’s side, Kenna looked thoughtful.
“I’m nae ready to return yet,” she said, giving a longing look to the unassuming village street.
“Then we shall nae go back,” he said easily, shrugging a shoulder.
It was an easy thing to give her, but she lit up like he had offered her the moon.
“Truly?”
“Truly,” he said, nodding. “I am at your disposal, my lady.” He sketched a sweeping bow, pleased when it made her laugh. She needed more laughter in her life.
“In that case…” she said, biting her lip hesitantly.
He wanted to reach out and pull the lip from between her teeth, lest she hurt herself, but he clasped his hands into fists at his side instead.
“Could I buy ye a drink at the inn? To thank ye for your service, of course,” she added, as if he might object.
“I would be happy to,” he said.
The smile she gave him for this was her brightest one yet.