She trailed the reins through her fingers as she walked up the lane of the closest home. There was a circle of women out front, some with babies on their knees, others busy with needlework. They stared as she approached but nodded at her in recognition, although it had been some time since she had been around here.
One of the women, who had been hanging clothing on a nearby line, left her work to greet Kyla.
“You’re the MacTavish girl, are you not?” the woman asked her, her tight red corkscrews drooping into her eyes under the baggy hat.
“Aye,” she replied. “Molly McGee, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. You have quite the memory, as it’s been some time. What are ye doing about here?”
“Taking a ride, but then I decided on a walk,” Kyla said, smiling at the woman to ease the tension. “Your land here is beautiful.”
“Aye, it is,” the woman agreed. “We love it ourselves. We’ve been lucky, you know. Most other clans, they’ve moved their people, taken their lands. The McDougalls have let us be, allowed us to stay where we are, and we love ’em for it. We know it takes away from their profits, but they live a modest life, not like some of the other clan chieftains we hear of, who are playing fancy down in Glasgow or even London.” She stopped suddenly, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. Clearly, she had heard the rumors about Rory. She cleared her throat before continuing. “We miss Callum, mind you, but the other lads have done a fine job for their father.”
“All of them?” Kyla asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Adam, Roderick, and Finlay of course,” the woman told her with a smile. “That Finlay, he’s a good lad. Always coming around, making sure we’re all doing fine. We do notice it, as much as we may not thank him for it much.”
“I heard he helped ol’ Mack get his new calf suckling just the other morning,” chimed in a second young woman, as she ran past after a small boy who was wily enough to escape her grasp. “The poor thing would likely have died without him.”
“And he was fixing the fence with the Morgan boys just yesterday,” said a third. The woman was older, the lines on her face pronounced as she stitched the hole of a shirt. “There ain’t no reason he would have to do something like that, but there he was, poundin’ in those fence posts. Wasn’t too hard to watch, neither. All of those boys are easy on the eyes, mind you.”
“People do love ’em,” the woman said beside Kyla. “Finlay’s not the friendly sort, not like Roderick. But Fin cares, and we see it. Would you like a tea?”
“Oh, I am fine, but thank you so much,” answered Kyla, unsure how to respond to the women’s revelations of the man who could become her husband. “I shall see you again soon, though, I hope.”
As she continued walking down the dusty path, lost in her thoughts, she was startled when she bumped into a hard wall. One that was… a bit soft, and not entirely friendly. Kyla first saw the weathered leather boots on the ground, and then ran her eyes up to a broad, plaid-covered chest, and finally to a grisly beard that had not seen a bar of soap in some time.
The man, who looked to be not much older than Kyla, was surrounded by three or four others, forming a wall in front of her.
“If it ain’t the MacTavish wench,” he said, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
Kyla balked. “Excuse me, sir, I am not sure why ye feel inclined to address me as such, but I don’t take kindly to your words. I am a MacTavish, aye, but am not, as you say, a ‘wench.’”
“You’d be the sister of Rory MacTavish, would you not?” he sneered.
“I am.”
“Tell Rory to keep himself away from here from now on, ye hear me, lass? You MacTavishes think you’re so much better than the rest of us. Well, I tell ya girl, you’re no better than any one of us. None of you are—’specially yer brother.”
With that, he spat on the ground and brushed by her, knocking her back a step, leaving her sputtering but unable to form any words of rebuke. His companions said nothing, but silently stared her down so that she understood their displeasure as they continued on their way.
She was shaking from the encounter as she mounted Cadarn—but not from fear. No, she was angry. Angry that a man she had never even met before would think he had the right to treat her in such a way, to say such things to her when he knew nothing about her. She turned the horse toward the woodland now, soured on the idea of continuing with her visits, no longer wishing for company.
Her thoughts turned from her emotions to what the man had actually said. She knew Rory was no saint. But what had Rory done to anger these men to such an extent? She didn’t even want to guess.
She shook her head to clear it, pushing Cadarn as fast as she had ridden in some time, hardly needing to give her much direction as the two of them moved as one. Loch Ness usually called to her, but the loch glistening in the distance, was not her destination today. It held too many memories—memories that included the McDougalls. Their past, however, no longer mattered. What mattered was their future. She continued on past it and up the hill, inland to the woods.
Rory’s actions and their consequences would have to wait. She had more pressing concerns involving Finlay McDougall, his family, and their future. She had some decisions to make, and her destination now was obvious.
There was only one place she could truly think. One place where she always found peace, where everything made sense—her clearing. She wasn’t sure how the area had been formed, but she had found
