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“We must let him learn us or he will try to run,” he explained in a calm voice. “Let him learn your smell.”
Ciara giggled then as though that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. The horse’s ears pricked up and he snorted once and then again, watching them get closer now.
“‘Tis true, lass. We all smell funny to horses and you have to let them learn what you smell like before you get close.”
She watched as he took her daughter’s hand and held it out to the horse. Whether it was her daughter’s scent or its master’s that it recognized, the horse calmed and gently nudged both of them. Ciara turned back to her with the greatest smile on her face.
“He would become your friend if you gave him something to eat,” Duncan said seriously. “Horses like food.”
“I have none to give him,” Ciara said.
Shaking her head, she looked around as though she would find something on the ground. Before she could answer, Duncan reached beneath his cloak and took out the stub of a carrot.
“Ah,” he said, “here’s just the thing.”
Under his guidance, Ciara took hold of it and held it out to the horse, who first sniffed it and then pulled it into its mouth. Ciara laughed again, claiming it tickled.
In that moment, Marian’s world tilted before her.
No man had ever held her daughter so. No man had made her laugh this way. No man.
Now, there she sat in the arms of a stranger, feeding his horse and giggling over the way its wet tongue felt against her palm. Marian stumbled then, just a step or two, but enough that he noticed it and he reached his free hand out to steady her.
“Are you ill, mistress?”
“Nay, sir. Not ill, just a bit dizzy,” she said. Marian reached up to take Ciara from him, but he shook his head and stepped back.
“You cannot carry her if you are unbalanced.” He noticed Ciara staring at her, the enthusiasm of the horse now waning as she must have picked up on Marian’s concern. “Your mama is worried about us being so close to such a big horse. Come, let’s look at him from a bit further away then.”
He walked toward the cottage and crouched down to lower Ciara to her feet. Instead of letting her go, he spoke softly to her, telling her about how old the horse was, and how many teeth it had and its favorite foods. Marian felt as though she’d regained her balance by the time he stood and smiled at her.
“I am sorry if it made you worry. I meant no harm,” he said.
Looking at Ciara’s face and the pure joy that shone there, she knew he had not. “My thanks for such kindness to my daughter.”
“‘Twas nothing, Mara.” His voice poured through her and he turned his attention to her as he had to her daughter just minutes ago. “‘Tis not often I find a woman, although she is a wee bit younger than most I speak with, who likes my brute of a horse as much as I do.”
She laughed, for she doubted he ever had trouble finding women to talk to…or flirt with…or do the other things men and women do together. Marian met his gaze and wondered how she ever thought him stern or forbidding.
His eyes flashed with amusement as he watched Ciara talking to herself merrily about the horse. Marian was close enough to notice the small flashes of gold in their centers. And she noticed that his hair, worn loose around his shoulders, that had seemed all one color, now caught the sun as it shone through the trees above and gleamed with all the shades of brown.
When the direction of her thoughts struck her, Marian began to tremble. She purposely did not allow herself to notice such things and went out of her way to disguise any such attractive traits in herself so they would not be noticed by others. Being noticed meant trouble. And it was trouble she neither welcomed nor could afford.
“My thanks again for this small treat for my daughter, sir. We must not keep you from your duties any longer.” Marian reached out for Ciara’s hand and grabbed it when she did not move quickly enough.
“Ciara, thank Sir Duncan for letting you feed his horse.”
“Duncan is fine, Mara. She can call me Duncan.”
Ciara mumbled her thanks, still in awe of the horse and its owner and, with a nod, Marian led her to the cottage door.
“Mayhap Ciara can suggest a name when next I visit?” he asked.
She hurried inside, hoping her daughter had not heard his words. Closing it behind them, she resisted the urge to drop the bar and secure it. Such an action could be construed as an insult, since he’d offered nothing but pleasant company to her and her daughter. Even as Ciara went searching through her small box of toys for the horse made of sticks, Marian walked to the small window that faced the front of the cottage and peeked carefully through the covering to watch him leave.
He untangled the reins from the horse’s legs and pulled himself onto its back. The strength in his arms and legs was obvious as he brought the strong horse under control and turned it toward the village. If she’d thought him only a man of meetings and discussion, she’d been so very wrong. Duncan the Peacemaker was first a warrior and then a negotiator.
Marian watched as he leaned down and said something to the animal that made it rear up and shake its head and snort. Instead of trying to overpower the animal, Duncan laughed loudly and patted its head and neck in approval. Then just before he guided the horse into the path, he turned and nodded in her direction.
Had she been so obvious in her observation of him? What must he think of her gaping and gawking at him through her window? Shocked, she backed away but she knew it was too late. Her transgression had been witnessed. Luckily Ciara was completely engrossed in playing and reliving every moment of her horse experience and so she missed the embarrassing display her mother was making.
Tugging the kerchief from her hair and loosening the braid to allow her hair to fall freely, Marian moved about the cottage finishing tasks left undone when they’d been drawn out by the first flashes of sunshine in days. Now, she worried over the results and thought on his parting words.
Mayhap Ciara can suggest a name when next I visit?
A shiver pulsed through her body and claws of fear pulled at her as she considered all the dangers inherent in his words and possibly in his intentions, too. She knew how men thought, but her daughter did not. If Ciara became attached to this man, it would break her heart when he left…as he no doubt would.
She must discourage him somehow. Discreetly of course and in a way that did not offer insult to his honor. Although she kept apart from the machinations within the clan, even she understood the importance of his work and the alliance his laird offered her brother. Marian must turn his attentions from her, for whatever reason they were focused on her mattered not, and keep it on his duties and responsibilities.
She must convince him that she was not worthy of or interested in his concern and she must do it in a way that seemed like his idea. Regardless that he had stepped forward to help her rid herself of Laren. Regardless of the kindness he’d shown her daughter. Regardless that, as the clan’s honored guest, he should be granted any, any, measure of hospitality that gained his attention.
Discourage without insult.
Ignore without insult.
Direct his interest without insult.
Marian knew these were the tasks before her and she prayed that she was up to it. For the sake of her daughter and everyone she loved and for the multitude of sins she bore, she must be.
Duncan returned to the keep with a clear head and a much lighter spirit than when he’d left. Leaving the horse with a boy in the stables, he trotted to the great hall and found those he’d left behind readying for the noon meal. He climbed the dais, bowed to the laird and sat in the stool left open for him.
If anyone wanted to redress him for his abrupt departure earlier, none did. Platters of food were passed and cups filled and then simple and congenial conversation followed as they ate. Soon they all rose and prepared to return to the laird’s solar where the discussions were being held.
Mayhap he had been the problem? Mayhap his own attitude had been at fault and this short break would improve the business still ahead of them?
He spied Tavis in the corridor as he walked behind the laird and called him over. Tavis’s talent was just what he needed for a special gift he would need within the next few days. With a few instructions and a warning to speak of it to no one, Tavis headed off to find what he needed.
Duncan smiled then, thinking on the expression the child’s face would wear when she saw the surprise he was planning. And, if he did that, made the little girl smile, mayhap he could draw one from her mother as well?
Chapter Four
Duncan allowed three more days to pass, three long, unending days, before he permitted his thoughts to drift from the numbers and the clauses of the treaties under discussion to the woman and the wee child who lived at the edge of the village. Yet, for every step forward the negotiations took, they fell two behind. If the pattern had not repeated itself three times so far, he would have doubted his assessment. But, even Hamish had noticed it.
This time, Iain had suggested a break, with some hunting to refresh their larder and their spirits. His men agreed rapidly, as he knew they would, for they tired of their close quarters and good behavior. A hard ride and some good hunting would burn off the building tension. That and the feast that the laird had announced for two days hence. Fearing that he’d kept them on too tight a hold, Duncan accepted the invitation and extended it to the MacLerie men.
The day was fair and the storm clouds that built on the horizon in the morn seemed to drift in other directions, giving them the perfect conditions for their hunt. The Robertsons seemed a congenial lot—mock battles of their hunting skills carried them through the day, with each clan proving themselves as worthy adversaries. Even the laird brought down a stag, to the wild cheering of his men. Duncan allowed him his moment of triumph, deciding that he and the tentative negotiations did not need him to demonstrate his own prowess in the hunt. By the time the sun began to slide down toward the dusk, the group was heading toward the village and the keep behind it.
It was as they rode over the bridge that Duncan’s attention shifted for only a moment, but it was time enough to be noticed by Hamish. Feeling under his cloak for the toy, he took leave of the laird, announcing his intention to visit with his clansman Ranald. After the others traveled on ahead, he did indeed go to the smithy’s cottage, for he had questions on his mind and could trust Ranald for honest answers and discretion.
A mug of ale and a short conversation later, and Duncan headed to the cottage off the path. Along with the carved wooden toy, he also carried several game birds caught this day. A gift for Ciara and her mother.
He shifted on the horse as he realized how much planning he’d put into this supposed casual visit to the girl and her mother, but after that brief moment of doubt, Duncan continued down the path. Listening to the sounds around him, he did not hear the sounds of laughter that had greeted him previously. Nor did he hear any sounds of a struggle. Dismounting and tethering his horse to a tree, he walked toward the front of the cottage.
A glance and a listen told him that Ciara and Mara worked not in their garden. He strode over to the stone wall that surrounded it and peered into the enclosure. Examining it without the distraction of the women who cared for it, Duncan noticed that, though small in size, it was efficiently laid out and well-cared for. He recognized both some cooking and healing herbs that Jocelyn and her women used in Lairig Dubh, but there were many he did not. Still, the signs told him that the garden’s keeper was organized and dependable in its care.
Still hearing no sounds from the cottage, he returned to its door and knocked softly. When no reply came, he called out their names softly and still heard no response. He should have turned and walked away…and taken it as the sign he needed to tarry no longer in this interest. But, something made him stay, reach for the latch and open the door.
The cottage was small, but clean and dry. Several mats lay strewn over the packed dirt floor and a small palette was positioned in the farthest corner from the door. A cupboard and another trunk sat on the other wall. There was a small hearth in the far wall and, in the middle of the room, a small round table with two stools. Again, simple and efficient, in its contents and care. It was the few items on the table that made his chest tighten.
A child’s meager toys, made of sticks and cloth, sat in a pile there, as though waiting for their owner to return. One was a doll; another was a horse. Duncan smiled, knowing that the one inside his cloak would please the girl. And for some reason still to be deciphered, that pleased him.
Now, looking around the room, he acknowledged for the first time to himself, that this was what he wanted. No more traveling from one end of Scotland to the other on the clan’s business. No more always living and traveling in the middle of tension and danger and strife. His life had been and still was about peace at any price, but that did not mean he did not wish it to be different, with a wife, some children and lands to tend.
In his heart, Duncan the Peacemaker wanted to be nothing more than Duncan the Farmer.
Oh, Connor and Rurik would get a hearty laugh out of that. They would double over from laughing so hard at such a thought, but Duncan knew it for the truth it was. And now, standing here, in the quiet of this plain cottage, he believed it for the first time.
He was so caught up in contemplating his future that he never heard their approach. It was the girl’s gasp that drew him from his thoughts and made him realize he was an intruder here.
“My pardon,” he began, looking into the shocked eyes of the mother. “I was looking for you and thought you might be inside,” he explained.
Marian took Ciara’s hand, knowing that her daughter would run to him. The man had been the subject of her childish ramblings since his last visit here and now that he stood before them, Marian did not discount her daughter’s infatuation. His very size made her reluctant to enter the cottage, for he nearly touched the roof of it when he stood at his full height. It was Ciara’s other infatuation that saved her.
“Sir, can I see your horse?” her daughter asked.
A smile filled his face, once more softening his gaze and his eyes, as he nodded. But before he agreed aloud, he looked to her for permission. She was prepared for this, having thought through all sorts of scenarios after his last visit and knowing she must guide him into disinterest before it became dangerous.
Marian was prepared to wave off such an invita-tion…until she looked at her daughter’s face.
Never had she seen such an expression in Ciara’s eyes—wonderment and anticipation blended and practically shone like the sun there. Was it the attention of such a man that enthralled her daughter? Was it the simple interest in a lively animal? Or was there something else happening here? With a worried twisting in her stomach, she gave in without a word. All it took was a slight nod, and Ciara grabbed the Peacemaker’s hands and dragged him outside toward the horse.
Marian followed along, all but forgotten by both of them, or so she thought, until they reached the horse. Having seen it rear and rage, its docile stance now made her nervous. But, from the confident way that Ciara strode at Duncan’s side without hesitation, her daughter carried none of that fear. Although the horse raised its head and watched their approach, it stood still as they moved closer.
Duncan crouched down and whispered instructions to the girl before he took her to the horse’s side. She was as sure as anyone he’d seen in her manner around the animal and even the horse’s great size did not scare her off. He smiled and turned to her mother.
“With your permission, I would let her ride,” he said.
And he waited. He knew Mara was uncomfortable with even his presence, but he was counting on her desire to please her daughter to see this through.
“She is so small. I…” Mara shook her head. Though, if he could read her expression, she seemed less opposed to the idea and more fearful of it.
“Come,” he said, holding his hand out to her, “you get on first and place her in front of you.”
If he had thought her afraid, he’d been wrong. Duncan watched as the idea took hold within her and, in a second, he was no longer certain if she’d hesitated at all. Mara accepted his hand and stepped toward them.
She’d surprised her daughter as well, for the girl’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widened and then she uttered one word filled with such awe and appreciation and wonderment.
“Mama.”
Duncan left the horse tethered to the tree and stood by the saddle. He lifted his foot and placed it in the stirrup to give her something to leverage herself up. Surprising him with her ability, Mara stepped on his foot and climbed into the saddle. Patting the horse’s neck, she seemed as much at home on the animal as he might be. After a moment of adjusting her skirts around her, she held her arms out for her daughter.
And she smiled.
The corners of her mouth curved up and the whole countenance of her face changed. Her appearance brightened and he discovered another woman instead of the stern one he’d met. This one seemed younger than the other and there was a mischievous glimmer in her eyes that made him question his first, second and third appraisals of her.
“You have ridden?” Although a statement, it came out as a question.
“Aye, sir. But, it has been many years since then.”
Her body adapted to the horse’s shifting as though she were born to it, regardless of her claims. Duncan reached down and took Ciara up in his arms and then handed her to Mara, who settled the girl before her. Their heads bent together and they whispered words he could not hear, but could guess. He stood back and watched them for a few moments and the tightness in his chest returned.
Marian dared not meet his gaze, for his eyes had taken on that soft look of yearning that she’d glimpsed before. He stepped away from them and, after a few minutes of letting the horse accustom itself to their weight (though together they did not weigh as much as he did) and presence, he tugged the reins free of the tree and turned to face her.
“Shall I walk you or would you like the reins?” he asked.
It was a quiet question but it caused a yearning of her own to creep into her heart.
When she lived here those years ago, a daughter of the laird surrounded by all the honor and comforts of such a position, riding had been her passion and her talent. Her brother told her she rode better than any man he knew and that had been a source of pride to her. Now, though, owning or riding a mount such as the one she’d had or one such as this would bring too much attention to her and would remind too many of her past. So, she exercised the self-control that had served her this long and wrapped her arms around her daughter.
“We would be pleased if you would control the horse, sir,” she said softly.
“Oh, yes, Duncan,” Ciara said. “Please?”
Her daughter knew nothing of her past, and she intended to keep it that way now. ‘Twas safer for all involved. Mara held on to her and watched with a feeling of pride as Ciara sat confidently before her, reaching out to pat the horse’s mane and to ask the Peacemaker an unending string of questions. So many in fact that he finally laughed a loud at them.
When they reached the end of the lane to her door, he turned, thankfully, not toward the rest of the village, but away and down the path that led to the bridge and off into the forest. He walked quietly at their side, guiding the horse to a slow and even gait. He continued across the bridge and down the road and then stopped just out of sight of the bridge.
“How was that, Ciara?” he asked. “Did you enjoy riding my horse?”
“Oh, yes,” she said in that soft, childish tone. “And Mama did, as well.”
“Did she now?” he asked her daughter while shifting his gaze to hers.
Marian swallowed and then swallowed again, trying to clear her throat of the tightness that had taken control. She did not understand the how or why of it, but a glance from this man made parts of her feel alive and awake. Parts that had never been tempted to feel anything, now pulsed with some sense of anticipation. Regardless of her past, regardless of her lack of experience in such things, she had the urge to touch her mouth to determine why it tingled so. Finally she blinked and freed herself from his gaze.
“Aye, sir. And my thanks for such a pleasant ride.” She smiled and kissed the top of Ciara’s head before handing her over to him. “‘Twas an uncommon treat for us.”
Ciara babbled on to him as he lowered her to the ground, nodding or shaking his head in quick succession as the questions and comments flowed unabated. Ciara, as much as she, was unused to the presence of such a man in her life. Pretending to be a widowed cousin of the laird extended a certain protection and excuse to their lives and, except for the occasional incursion of someone like Laren, the men of the clan gave them no troubles or even attention. What Iain had said, or what orders he’d given, she knew not. But, the result was that Ciara knew very few men at all.
Duncan stood and held out his hand for a moment before dropping it to his side. Marian shook her foot free of the straps on the other side of the horse and was preparing to climb down when his words stopped her.
“In spite of his sometimes-brutish behavior, the horse is usually well-mannered,” he began, reaching out to stroke the horse’s head. He held out the reins to her. “If you would like to ride him down the road a bit, he wouldna mind.”
Of all the things he could offer, this one was truly temptation. She forced her hand to stay on the edge of the saddle and shook her head.
“I could not do that, sir. But I…” She was about to thank him when he interrupted.
“You have the skills. Any man with eyes in his head could see that.” He held the leather straps up closer. “I will keep watch on the lass while you go a bit down the road and back.”
How could she fight this? How could she resist such a simple and innocent pleasure? Ciara, once more, decided her answer before she could.
“Oh, Mama!” she exclaimed from the ground, where she stood safely at the man’s side. Marian noticed that he kept her close enough to shield her from any such movements by the horse. “Ride the horse, please!” That expression of awe filled her face again and Marian was unable to refuse and make that look go away.
“May I?” she asked, just to be certain she did not misunderstand. “And you will wait here with Sir Duncan for a moment or two, Ciara?”
Her daughter, fearless as she was, slipped her hand into Duncan’s larger one and nodded. “We will watch you.”
Marian nodded and took the reins from him. The two of them stepped back, still hand in hand, but now her daughter stood silent. Wrapping the leather straps around her hands, through her fingers and on her wrists as was her custom when riding, Marian brought her knees forward and leaned down to gain a better balance. With a touch on its sides, the horse began to trot down the pathway.
It felt familiar within scant moments: the feel of being atop of horse and using her legs to control it and the motion as they moved along the road. Glancing back, she saw the two standing there, waving to her and a wild thought entered her mind.
But, did she dare?
She laughed then, something of the old Marian filled her and then, with more pressure and a flick of the reins, she gave the horse its head and held on as the black stallion took it. The trees raced by her. The wind tore her kerchief from her head and loosened her hair from its bonds, but she cared not. Leaning down closer to the horse’s head, she whispered words of encouragement as it sped up even more. It was a glorious animal.