The three of them chorused, “Aye,” as Lara lifted Tomas down. The bairn crawled toward Liam’s toys.
“Now,” said Agatha with a satisfied sniff, “tell us what’s got ye so snitty, Lara.”
“I am no’—”
But Nessa rolled her eyes and began to fold her embroidery. "Ye seemed so happy after I sent ye off to chat with Alistair, but ye havenae been the same in the past week. What happened that day? What’s happened since then?"
There was no way she could tell her best friend what had happened that day in Alistair’s solar. But…she did need some advice.
So she folded her hands in her lap and directed her attention to them.
“Alistair asked me to marry him,” she confessed quietly.
The other two women were silent for long enough Lara risked a peek. Her best friend looked confused.
“But…that’s a good thing, right? Ye’ve loved him for ages.”
The way Agatha cocked her head and studied them told Lara the old woman must not have guessed. “Ye’ve heard the drummer then, lass?”
The drummer? What did the Ghostly Drummer of Oliphant Castle have to do with—
Oh.
Lara just managed to keep from rolling her eyes when she recalled Lady Agatha’s theory about the drummer foretelling doooooom…dooming the listener to fall in love.
“Aye, milady. I’ve heard the drummer.” Not recently, but she’d heard the pounding coming from the walls before.
The old woman nodded in satisfaction. “Then I give ye permission to love my great-nephew. He’s a good lad.”
“He is,” interrupted Nessa, “so why are ye so disappointed about him wanting to marry ye?”
“Because I’m no’ sure he wants to marry me for me,” Lara whispered.
“Ah.” Her best friend nodded. “Ye think he wants to win Da’s stupid ultimatum? That he’ll marry just anyone?”
Nay, just anyone who lets him fook her.
Unconsciously, she winced, knowing she wasn’t being fair to Alistair. What they’d done hadn’t been fooking—they’d made love. Twice. And he’d asked her to marry him because he wanted to take care of her. That had to count for something, did it no’?
Unfortunately, Nessa had seen the wince. “What are ye no’ saying— Ah.”
She seemed to realize they weren’t alone in the moment before Lara sent her a clear cease-and-desist look. Her blue-gray eyes flashed toward her great-aunt, then to the two lads playing soldiers, and Nessa snapped her mouth shut.
Agatha cleared her throat. “Let me understand here… Ye love Alistair, and ye admit he’s a good man, but when he asked ye to marry him, ye said nay?”
Mutely, Lara nodded, feeling miserable.
The old woman clucked her tongue and picked her knitting back up. “I’m too auld for this shite. My sausages arenae working properly.”
Lara blinked, then exchanged a look with her best friend. “Um…what?”
“My sausages!” Agatha waved her knitting, as if that explained everything. “My finger sausages! I cannae seem to make them small enough!” She scoffed down at her work. “What in damnation was I saying?”
“Damnation! Shite!”
Nessa placed her finger to her lips and shot Liam a scolding look. But ‘twas too late. Wee Tomas levered himself into a sitting position, clapped his hands, and said something very much like, “Shite.”
“Oh, fook,” whispered Nessa, her eyes wide. “We’re never again going to be allowed to watch the wee angels, are we?”
Her great-aunt cackled gleefully. “ ’Tis a fine strategy! Why did I no’ think of that? Shite! Damnation! Shite! Bollocks!”
Liam perked up. “Och, I ken that one already! Bollocks! Da says I’m no’ supposed to say it in front of ladies, but if the lady says it first, ‘tis fine!”
Having trouble hiding her smile, Lara waggled her finger at the lad. “Ye let us ladies have our conversation, aright? Ye show yer brother how to wage battle.”
With a great sigh, the little boy rolled his eyes. “Fine. Come along, Tomas, we’ll send these English bastards—I’m allowed to say bastard, because that’s what Da is—to damnation! Damnation!”
Agatha huffed. “Now, where were we?”
Shaking her head, Nessa smiled ruefully. “We were talking about Lara and Alistair, Aunt Agatha.”
“Och, aye. Look, lassie.” The woman pierced Lara with a knowing look. “I dinnae need to ken why ye’ve turned down marriage to the man ye love. Do ye ken why?”
Lara didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. She wasn’t quite sure herself. All she knew was that it had something to do with Alistair assuming she was something she wasn’t, and the damn lairdship.
Agatha nodded, as if satisfied. “ ’Tis what I thought. So here’s my advice: Dinnae sit here and try to explain yer damn-fool reasoning to us. Go to him and make sure he understands.”
“She’s right, Lara,” Nessa said in a serious tone. “If even ye dinnae understand, then ‘tis likely he doesnae either.”
Lara squeezed her eyes shut, remembering how confused Alistair had looked a few times in the last sennight, when she’d met with him. It had broken her heart, mainly because she hadn’t been certain what to say.
“Ye’re right,” she whispered.
“Well, of course we’re right,” snapped Agatha. “We’re aulder and wiser.”
Nessa cleared her throat. “I’m less than a year aulder.”
“But wiser?” her great-aunt pointed out.
“Och, mayhap no’. ‘Tisnae like I’m married to the man of my dreams yet.” When Lara met her friend’s eyes, Nessa was smiling softly. “Go to him, Lara. Tell Alistair ye love him. Tell him what ye’re feeling now, and what ye’ve always felt for him.”
“Do ye think ‘twill help?”
Her friend nodded. “Aye.”
“Aye,” snapped Agatha. “Now all of ye shut up so I can work on my finger sausages, would ye? Go away, Lara. Go to Alistair.”
So she did.
Chapter 9
Kiergan hadn’t been at the evening meal, and Alistair wondered where he’d been. It wasn’t exactly as though he’d gone looking for his twin, because his mind was so involved pondering his dilemma over Lara, but he wasn’t entirely surprised to find the door to the solar cracked open.
Sighing, Alistair tilted his head upward, expecting another balanced bucket or some kind of messy practical joke.
There was naught there.
Had he guessed
