always included in the nightly watch to safeguard Brenna, Rose and Nellore. Although Brenna was the first to say it was Nellore that truly safeguarded their lives when the men were absent.
Duncan had left before first light to meet Ronan and Logan. The men intended to make the rounds, visiting the crofters strewn across northern Mull, checking on the security of their borders and collecting the rents; whereas, the ladies had set out together at dawn to head into the village. Brenna and Rose wished to visit Anna while Nellore volunteered to purchase what they needed for supplies. She had been happy to volunteer when she had learned Garik had not joined the men on their rounds.
She ducked her head into the blacksmith’s stall with several pairs of shears, which needed repair before they could harvest the season’s wool. While she waited, she could not help but peek out every now and then to scan the village for Garik. Her mind still reeled from their last exchange. Her attraction to him had been instantaneous and powerful, and she had no wish to deny it. She remembered the feel of the fleeting squeeze of his hand at her waist. Each time her mind returned to that moment, heat rushed to her cheeks. The sound of his lilting voice echoed in her mind. He possessed a strange allure she had no intention of resisting.
As she waited for the smithy to finish with their tools, she leaned against a wooden post and eyed the passersby, always on the lookout for black hair and wintry blue eyes. It was then that she spied her good friend, Mary.
“Mary,” she called. With a promise to collect the tools before her return home, she raced from the stall. As she drew nearer to her friend, a little bundle with a shocking mop of red curls hurled herself into Nellore’s arms.
“Oh, my sweet lass,” Nellore squealed as she pressed kisses to the giggling girl’s cheeks. Then she leaned over and kissed Mary too. “I cannot believe our good fortune,” Nellore began. “’Tis rare that we both come to the village at the same hour.” Then she paused as she studied her friend’s face. The telltale signs of worry were visible in her drawn skin and unkempt, red hair. Typically fastidious about her appearance, Nellore was also surprised to note Mary’s wrinkled and stained tunic.
“Are ye not well?” Nellore asked.
“I am fat,” she said with a slight smile. “But otherwise I am well.”
Nellore pressed a hand to Mary’s swollen stomach. She guessed Mary did not have long to wait for her third babe to make its way into the world. She once again met Mary’s troubled gaze. “Something weighs on ye. I know it.”
Mary nodded her head and she sighed. “Aye,” she said. “’Tis my Gordon. He has been suffering from terrible stomach bouts. I’ve stuffed him full of cabbage and mint broth but to no avail.” The next instant Mary’s expression lightened somewhat as she held out her basket. She pulled the cloth from the top, revealing several small vials stopped with wax. “I’ve hope,” she said. “I have just come from the keep. Bridget has given me a syrup made with horehound and laurel. She swore to me that it would relieve his trouble.”
Nellore smiled encouragingly. “Ah, now, ye see. He should be feeling better in no time. Ye know as well as I that there is no finer healer than our lady,” she said.
“That is a truth if ever I’ve heard one. We always include Bridget in our daily prayers. What this clan would do without her I dread to imagine.”
“We are lucky, indeed,” Nellore said. The little lass in her arms continued to squeeze her neck. “Oh, I’ve missed ye too, Maggie.”
Nellore felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around and her breath hitched as she found herself staring into Garik’s ice blue eyes.
“Garik,” she said, smiling as she continued to stare up at him, but then she noticed his own smile did not quite reach his eyes, causing hers to falter. “Good morrow,” she said
Duncan had left before first light to meet Ronan and Logan. The men intended to make the rounds, visiting the crofters strewn across northern Mull, checking on the security of their borders and collecting the rents; whereas, the ladies had set out together at dawn to head into the village. Brenna and Rose wished to visit Anna while Nellore volunteered to purchase what they needed for supplies. She had been happy to volunteer when she had learned Garik had not joined the men on their rounds.
She ducked her head into the blacksmith’s stall with several pairs of shears, which needed repair before they could harvest the season’s wool. While she waited, she could not help but peek out every now and then to scan the village for Garik. Her mind still reeled from their last exchange. Her attraction to him had been instantaneous and powerful, and she had no wish to deny it. She remembered the feel of the fleeting squeeze of his hand at her waist. Each time her mind returned to that moment, heat rushed to her cheeks. The sound of his lilting voice echoed in her mind. He possessed a strange allure she had no intention of resisting.
As she waited for the smithy to finish with their tools, she leaned against a wooden post and eyed the passersby, always on the lookout for black hair and wintry blue eyes. It was then that she spied her good friend, Mary.
“Mary,” she called. With a promise to collect the tools before her return home, she raced from the stall. As she drew nearer to her friend, a little bundle with a shocking mop of red curls hurled herself into Nellore’s arms.
“Oh, my sweet lass,” Nellore squealed as she pressed kisses to the giggling girl’s cheeks. Then she leaned over and kissed Mary too. “I cannot believe our good fortune,” Nellore began. “’Tis rare that we both come to the village at the same hour.” Then she paused as she studied her friend’s face. The telltale signs of worry were visible in her drawn skin and unkempt, red hair. Typically fastidious about her appearance, Nellore was also surprised to note Mary’s wrinkled and stained tunic.
“Are ye not well?” Nellore asked.
“I am fat,” she said with a slight smile. “But otherwise I am well.”
Nellore pressed a hand to Mary’s swollen stomach. She guessed Mary did not have long to wait for her third babe to make its way into the world. She once again met Mary’s troubled gaze. “Something weighs on ye. I know it.”
Mary nodded her head and she sighed. “Aye,” she said. “’Tis my Gordon. He has been suffering from terrible stomach bouts. I’ve stuffed him full of cabbage and mint broth but to no avail.” The next instant Mary’s expression lightened somewhat as she held out her basket. She pulled the cloth from the top, revealing several small vials stopped with wax. “I’ve hope,” she said. “I have just come from the keep. Bridget has given me a syrup made with horehound and laurel. She swore to me that it would relieve his trouble.”
Nellore smiled encouragingly. “Ah, now, ye see. He should be feeling better in no time. Ye know as well as I that there is no finer healer than our lady,” she said.
“That is a truth if ever I’ve heard one. We always include Bridget in our daily prayers. What this clan would do without her I dread to imagine.”
“We are lucky, indeed,” Nellore said. The little lass in her arms continued to squeeze her neck. “Oh, I’ve missed ye too, Maggie.”
Nellore felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around and her breath hitched as she found herself staring into Garik’s ice blue eyes.
“Garik,” she said, smiling as she continued to stare up at him, but then she noticed his own smile did not quite reach his eyes, causing hers to falter. “Good morrow,” she said
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