Moira smiled, looking down at the full basket sitting beside her in the grass. “Quite observant, little Blair.” She glanced behind the girl, noting the way her brother Niall was eyeing them with suspicion. “Go ahead and play now. The others are waiting for ye.”
Shrugging off Moira’s words, the girl sank down into the grass, her blue eyes looking up into Moira’s face with curiosity. “’Tis only my brother,” she remarked, scrunching up her little nose as she glanced over her shoulder at the scowl on Niall’s face. “I dunno why.”
Moira sighed, knowing full well that it was indeed Niall’s father, Ian MacDrummond, who’d instilled such hatred for Moira in his son. For a reason Moira could not name, the man detested her−beyond the familiar distrust and suspicion of the rest of Clan MacDrummond. He openly opposed her place in the clan and often tried to rally others against her. More than once, Moira had seen the man’s distorted face as he had glared at her, his hands balling into fists as though he wished to attack her. Deep down, Moira knew that it would not take much for Ian’s hatred to push him into acting against the decency and honour she knew he possessed.
“He’s only looking out for ye,” Moira counselled, enjoying the girl’s company despite the glare in Niall’s eyes as he continued to watch them. Blair was one of only a handful of clan’s people who met Moira with unadulterated kindness and without even the smallest hint of suspicion. It was a balm to Moira’s soul, and she would have loved to spend more time with the girl.
If it were not for Ian MacDrummond.
Blair tilted her head sideways, her blue eyes still as curious as before. “Are ye a witch?” she asked openly.
Moira chuckled, “What makes ye say so?”
Blair shrugged. “I’ve heard it whispered.” Her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Ye dunna look like a witch.”
“What does a witch look like?” Moira asked, knowing she ought to send the child on her way.
Blair’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I dunno. Are witches always bad?”
“I dunno.” Moira shrugged. “I’ve never met one. Have ye?”
The girl shook her little head. “People say ye did something bad. Is that true?”
Hanging her head, Moira sighed, “Aye,” she whispered before lifting her head and meeting the girl’s eyes once more. “I did.”
“Why?”
“At the time, I believed it to be the right thing.”
Inhaling a deep breath as though to better absorb what she had been told, Blair nodded. “Ye made a mistake.”
“A grave mistake,” Moira pointed out, knowing that Ian as well as the rest of Clan MacDrummond had a very good reason to distrust her. After all, she was not an innocent in all of this.
“Are ye sorry?”
Sighing, Moira nodded. “Aye, verra sorry.” To this day, she could not understand how she could have been so blind as to not see the wrong of her ways. The thought to be mistaken like that again, to act against others, believing she was doing the right thing, was constantly with her. After all, she had not seen it coming the last time either.
What if it were to happen again? What if this time someone did get hurt? The mere thought sent a shiver down her back.
A smile came to Blair’s face. “Good.” And with that, the issue seemed to be resolved for her. “Do ye like flowers?”
Moira nodded.
“I’ll pick ye some,” the girl exclaimed as she jumped to her feet.
“Ye dunna need to,” Moira said, trying to stop her. She ought not encourage the girl’s kindness. What would her father do if he found out? And judging from the look on Niall’s face, he would.
“But I want to,” Blair replied with a smile.
“Yer parents will worry about ye if ye spend yer time with me.” Moira did not quite know what to say, how to dissuade the enthusiastic little girl, but she knew she at least needed to try.
Blair shook her head. “My mother always tells me to be wary of strangers, and ye’re not a stranger,” she reasoned, not a hint of doubt in her young eyes.
Moira smiled at the girl as her thoughts strayed to Maggie MacDrummond, who was the complete and utter opposite of her husband. Friendly to a fault, Maggie treated everyone with kindness and respect. She was a warm and loving woman, and Moira was always happy to exchange a word or two with her as Maggie had a way of making those around her feel at ease.
Still, Maggie’s kindness toward her had initially surprised Moira for she had learnt that the dainty, young woman had not been born a Scot. In fact, she had grown up in England and had then married Ian MacDrummond upon visiting her mother’s clan years ago. She had found a new home in the Scottish Highlands and loved its people with a fierceness that had long ago made her a true Scot in the eyes of her clan’s people.
Still, she had been English once, and considering that Moira had been banished because she had conspired against her laird’s English wife, she had expected Maggie to despise her more than anyone else.
But Maggie had not.
Moira wished she knew why.
“Come!” Blair’s red-headed brother called, a stern tone to his voice as he took a careful step closer. “We needa head home.” His green eyes were wary as he watched Moira as though he expected her to jump up and swallow him whole at any moment.
Blair merely shrugged, then all but rolled her eyes and whispered to Moira, “He’s afraid of ye, but I dunno why.”
Forcing a smile onto her face, Moira said, “Perhaps he too thinks I’m a witch.”
Blair laughed as though the mere thought was ludicrous. Then she mumbled a quick goodbye and skipped up the small slope
