The Guardian

“Ye mean it, Sil?” Neill said, blushing bright red.

“Ach, of course I do!” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve watched you grow into a man we can all rely on. To tell the truth, I’m sick with jealousy over the woman who is going to have ye, because you’re going to make the finest husband in all of Scotland.”

Ian felt the bite of criticism in her words. A man we can all rely on. The finest husband in all of Scotland. He felt his shortcomings on both counts.

“But don’t forget that it was your father who taught ye to be the man ye are,” she added in a softer voice. “I’m spitting mad at Payton just now, but I’m also praying he’ll get back to himself again. When he does, I know he’ll regret every word he said to ye.”

“So here ye are,” Ian said, pretending he had just come into the byre.

They both turned as he stepped into view.

“I’m sorry da was so harsh with ye,” Ian said.

“Do ye think I did the right thing, bringing da back?” Niall was looking up at him with earnest eyes, seeking his approval as he used to years ago.

Ian suspected he would feel the same way his father did. A man who couldn’t fight was not really a man anymore. Still, in Niall’s place, he would have done the same.

“I don’t know if it was the right thing,” Ian said. “But ye had no choice.”

When Sileas started to follow Niall out of the byre, Ian held her arm. He felt guilty when she turned to face him and he saw wariness replace the kindness that had been in her eyes when she spoke with his brother.

“Thank ye for speaking to Niall as ye did,” he said. “Ye restored his pride.”

Her expression softened at the praise, and he felt another wave of guilt. If paying her a well-deserved compliment was all it took to please her, he should have managed it before.

“The weather should clear soon,” he said. “Will ye take a stroll with me later?”

“I’ve too much work to—”

“Ye have time to go with Gordan and Alex, but not with me?” he said, failing to keep the sharpness from his tone.

“I have a pleasant time with them,” she said, her eyes snapping. “I see no cause to get behind with my chores to have an argument with you.”

She tried to pull away, but he held her arm fast. “Ach, I don’t mean to argue with ye,” he said. “Will ye go with me to Tearlag’s cottage? Ye could take her a basket.”

He knew from his mother that Sileas and Duncan’s sister took turns bringing the old seer food. Without it, Tearlag wouldn’t make it through the winter.

“I do need to visit her.” Sileas pressed her lips together, considering.

“So come along and keep me company,” Ian said.

“I will,” she said. “But what is taking ye to Tearlag’s cottage?”

“I’m meeting Connor and Duncan there,” Ian said. “Can ye be ready in an hour or two? I have something to do first.”

Sileas bit back her irritation as she showed Dina where things were kept in the kitchen. In truth, irritation was far too mild a word for what she felt.

It wasn’t that Dina was doing anything in particular to aggravate her—at the moment. Every time she looked at Dina, however, she saw her with her legs wrapped around Ian’s bare backside as the pair rocked against the shepherd’s hut.

Sileas banged a pot onto the worktable—and then was doubly annoyed when she could not recall what she meant to do with it.

The fornicating pair had been too absorbed in what they were doing to notice the nine-year-old girl who was watching from a few yards away. At first, Sileas had been too stunned to cover her eyes—which probably explained why her memory of it was crystal clear. Even when she finally covered them, she could hear Dina’s odd gasps and her shouts of Aye! Aye!

“Aye?”

The sound of Dina’s voice right next to her made Sileas jump a foot.

Dina gave her a puzzled look. “Is this where Beitris hides the salt?”

Sileas nodded without looking to see where Dina was pointing. She hated having this woman in the house. How dare Ian bring his former lover into their home? But then, this wasn’t truly her home, was it?

And perhaps Dina wasn’t Ian’s former lover, either.

Sileas started chopping turnips with a large knife. Whack, whack, whack.

She was angry with Ian for giving her that ugly memory of him and Dina. Ach, it was annoying that it upset her as much now as it had when she was a child. But everything changed between her and Ian after that. She paused in her chopping. No, the change had begun earlier.

As Ian left boyhood behind, he came to Knock Castle less and less often to take her for a ride on his horse or out in his boat. Then he was away at the university in the Lowlands for months at a time. And when he was home, he seemed to spend all his time practicing his battle skills with the men—or flirting with the lasses old enough to have breasts.

Or more than flirting.

“You’re not getting much chopping done,” Dina said, drawing her attention to the single chopped turnip on the table.