“It’s Finlay, Kyla. Always has been.”
In truth, he didn’t mind when she called him Fin. It was her speaking so familiarly to him that he could not bear. Hearing his name so sweetly on her lips sent his mind to places it had no right to be.
“Fine then, Finlay,” she said, as he caught the eyeroll she sent his way.
Finlay had loved Kyla since, he supposed, the day he had met her, though it took him a few years before he realized it. She was sweetness and light and goodness—everything he was not — and, to him, perfection. And had always been promised to marry his brother, Callum. Finlay had always known this—everyone did. And yet he loved her anyway.
He had not told anyone of his feelings for Kyla. Not when he was a young boy with a crush, and certainly not now when he was a man who desired her for all that she was and all that he could never have.
His siblings had guessed at the truth, although they didn’t know the extent of his feelings—except, apparently, for one of them. Callum, despite having the expectation placed upon him to marry Kyla, had never shown any interest in her beyond friendship. He had never expressed to any of them an actual desire to marry Kyla nor, Finlay realized now, any plans to do so at all. His brother must have sensed his feelings and stayed away for his sake, despite what their fathers had planned.
It was somewhat like the land and the clan in general, Finlay realized. Callum knew what his brother wanted better than Finlay knew himself.
“Where are you off to this fine morning?” she asked Finlay, cutting through his thoughts.
“Fine? There’s quite a chill in the air,” he responded, despite his thoughts to the contrary and he grimaced. Why could he not be friendly and carefree, as Callum or Roderick would be? Why could he not simply say, “Yes, Kyla, it is a lovely day”? But no. Not him. He sighed and answered her original question.
“I’m going down to the mews to see some of our crofters.” He frowned, worried about leaving her once more to continue her mad dash through the trees. What had she been thinking? “Kyla, you and that horse are out of control, running wildly through the forest. Who knows who you could have come upon or what dangers you could have encountered?”
“Finlay!” she exclaimed with an exasperated laugh. “Whatever has gotten into you? Cadarn and I run this same route, at the same speed, every single day. Ye know as well as I do that I’m more than capable of managing a horse. We should come to no danger.” She sobered. “But if it bothers you so greatly, I will stay on the MacTavish land and refrain from crossing over to McDougall land in the future.”
“’Tis not what I meant, Kyla,” Finlay grunted as the narrowing of the path nudged their horses closer together.
The truth was, he had always been concerned for her. Kyla had a tendency to take life at a breakneck speed, not considering the dangers that might come her way. So instead, he worried for her. As children he would watch as she would be the first to dive off a cliff into the loch below, swing from a tree branch, or gallop her horse through trails unknown, something she still did today. He did know she was as capable on a horse as any of them were, and Cadarn was a fine animal that would hold steady and true. “I’m just looking out for your safety, is all.”
“Well, I appreciate that, Finlay, but there is no cause for concern,” she said breezily. “Besides, I know these lands as well as anyone—even you. I’ll accompany you down, if you’d like.”
“Of course,” he mumbled, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted her beside him or not. It felt too good to have her riding next to him.
“I heard your crofters are restless,” he said, trying to think of something to speak with her about.
“The ones we have left, you mean?” she asked, raising her eyebrows as she turned to look at him.
“Aye. The more your father moves them, the more they leave. The poor souls, Kyla, can your family not think beyond making a profit?”
“Do you mean surviving?’ she asked, her ire clearly raised at his. “We are all doing what we need to do, Finlay. Aye, my father has moved his crofters to make room for sheep, and for the hunting. I do feel for them, I truly do, but they have not made it easy on my father, either.”
“Because he has not been fair to them!” exploded Finlay, passionate now as he championed the MacTavish people. “Giving them no notice, moving them to non-arable pastures where they can barely raise animals or plant any crops? What are they to do?”
She sighed. “Whatever you think, Finlay, you have no right to disparage my family—a family who has been close allies and neighbors of yours for generations.” She softened. “I understand you care about the land, but you have to understand the position of the chieftains. Everything has changed. My father is doing the best he can, and my brother—”
“Your brother!” he scoffed. “Rory is nothing but a lazy oaf who would rather spend his time in Glasgow cavorting with—”
“Finlay!” she stopped him, as she circled Cadarn around, her anger visible. “Yes, my brother spends too much time away from the Highlands, but that gives you no right to question my family’s ways of doing business.”
Finlay pulled up his horse when he realized she’d left his side. He took in her flushed, angry face and the rigid way she held herself on top of the horse and realized he’d gone too far. Yes, the way Niall and Rory MacTavish ran their clan angered him. Their crofters had become irate, and the discontent was spreading
