the steps down to the lower floor and made his way to the stables. He had spoken the truth, for the last four days had been one torrential rainstorm, complete with winds and lightning that split the sky and rumbled over Dunalastair with fierce power. This morn had dawned clear and crisp as though the storm had raged only in their imaginations. And mayhap it had?
He reached the stables and his horse greeted him with the same snorts and stamping he’d just offered to Symon, telling Duncan that they both needed a good run to burn off some of the tension that built within them. Readying the horse himself, it was only a short time before they both raced toward the keep’s gate and out through the village. Crossing the bridge, Duncan let the horse have his head for a short time. Using muscles that had been too long unused, Duncan brought the mount under control and laughed as the exertion revived his body and his spirits. A short time and distance later, he turned around and headed back to the keep.
As he rode, he tumbled this morn’s work over and over in his head, searching for the problem. There had been significant progress and then he felt as though they hit a stone wall. Each word, each provision was contested. Reviewing it brought him no clarity and he continued to assess the strengths and weaknesses in his offer. When next he looked up, he was sitting on the path that led to the woman’s cottage without any knowledge of how he’d gotten there.
He knew he should leave and return to his duties and to the keep where others waited on his return.
He knew he should avoid her for she was like every other distraction that pulled him from his task.
He knew there was nothing remarkable about her, yet something drew him to her and something enticed him to discover more about her.
Duncan shook his head at such nonsensical thoughts. He must be more tired than he thought if he lost his concentration so easily now. Mayhap if he learned her name, her appeal would lessen? ‘Twas a chance that it was the mystery of her that made her attractive to him? He’d nearly talked himself out of staying to speak with her when the door to the cottage opened and the woman came out.
Once more struck by the way she looked from a distance and how differently she appeared up close, he watched as her daughter followed a few moments later and skipped along in her mother’s shadow, through a gate and into a garden next to the croft. Their soft and completely feminine laughter floated to him where he sat, still on his horse, in the shadows of the tree-lined path.
He’d watched and listened to Connor’s wife, Jocelyn, as she played and frolicked with her son and, more recently, her daughter and his heart did the same thing now as then. He felt as though a fist wrapped around it and tightened. With each soft peal of laughter or each word spoken in love and encouragement, the grasp grew tighter and tighter in his chest. A longing so strong he could not breathe filled his heart and soul.
His horse must have sensed the tension, for it began to shift and become skittish beneath him. When he gathered the reins to try to calm it, he dropped one and cursed at his stupidity. Sliding from his seat, he collected the reins and prepared to mount again when he noticed the silence around him. Glancing toward the garden, he did not hear the two any longer. Had they seen him and gone inside?
‘Twould be untoward for him to deliberately approach the woman, so he decided it was time to leave. Duncan chose to walk the horse back to the keep and he was just about to when he saw the blond little head peek over the stone wall that surrounded the garden. He could not help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Some whispering followed and then he spied her pale hair again. Finally he settled on a new approach, damn it all.
“Good day,” he called out, as he hobbled the horse near the path.
Silence followed his call. Tempted to give up but not willing to, he tried once more. “Good day.”
“Good day, my lord,” the woman said as she rose from her hunched-over position and stood at the gate.
“I am not your lord,” he said, shaking his head. “My name is Duncan.”
Marian knew both of those things, but fought not to reply with the sarcasm she felt. If the truth be told, she was higher in precedence than he and could rightly be called “my lady.” But that life was so far away that she dared not even think of it. “The Peacemaker,” she said instead.
“Just Duncan,” he answered as he walked toward the gate. “And you are called…?” he asked her.
She hesitated for a moment, dreading and anticipating the sound of her name on his lips, but she answered in spite of her fears. “I am called Mara.”
The gate opened and Ciara ran out. She stopped a few steps from Marian and her eyes widened as she caught sight of his horse. Her mouth dropped open in awe and although she tried to say something, no words could be heard. Then only one.
“Pretty,” she whispered on a sigh.
“Ciara,” Marian called. “Come away now with mama.”
Ignored because of the animal, Marian grew nervous and held out her hand to her daughter. “Ciara, my sweet, come to mama now.” She took a step, but Ciara was faster and bolted in the direction of the horse. Marian froze in fear.
Luckily the man called the Peacemaker did not. With little effort, he leaned down and intercepted her daughter before she could pass. And, in an effort that was made apurpose, he lifted her up and swung her around to make it seem a game. By the time he’d circled her around once, Marian reached his side.
“My thanks, sir,” she said, reaching out to take her from him. Instead he gathered Ciara in his arms and took a step toward his horse. “Sir, please!”
“Fear not, Mara. I would but show her the horse. If you would permit it?” he asked before taking another step.
Marian watched as Ciara settled into his arms, leaning against his chest and examining everything in her world from this new height. Pointing to the horse, she uttered that word again. “Pretty.”
Then, the daughter who never talked to strangers and never strayed more than a step from her side abandoned her completely.
“What is his name?” she asked the man, even as she leaned toward the horse, forcing Duncan to move or risk dropping her on the ground. With a quick nod of consent Marian freed him and then followed right behind as they approached the horse.
“He has no name. I call him ‘horse’,” he answered.
Ciara laughed then and for a moment Marian could not decipher the expression in his eyes when he watched her daughter laugh aloud. The same ones she thought were so hard and ungiving melted, and yet now she witnessed a longing there so strong it made her knees almost buckle beneath her. And then it was gone as quickly as it happened. He carried her closer, but stopped a few paces away.
“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