I’ve no wish ever to wed. Why would I now be daft enough to set my sights on some stranger, and a foreigner to boot?”
“Who knows?” He pulled her so close the paperwrapped vegetables pressed hard now between them. “Mayhap because ye imagine a better life awaits ye in America, and that ye can run from yer people and responsibilities by doing so? Or mayhap because ye hope yer precious brother would stop his fighting and thieving there, and suddenly become the little angel ye’ve always hoped he’d become.”
Claire gave a disparaging laugh. “Have you been in your cups again, Dougal? You talk as if you’re whiskey besotted.”
“Ye canna run from me or yer people, lass. Ye belong here. I willna allow any man to take ye from me!”
“And I say, let me go and let me be!” Placing a hand on his broad chest, Claire shoved back hard, breaking at last his hold on her arm. “I’m not your wife, and never will be. You’ve no right to tell me what I can and can’t do!”
“I think the lady has a point there, mister.”
As one Claire and Dougal swung to face Evan, who had joined them at last. He, too, now had a wrapped parcel tucked beneath his arm. Standing there, his dark hair windblown, his stance loose, a slight smile quirked one corner of his mouth. It was all a ruse, however, Claire realized. The light glinting in Evan’s smoky blue eyes was hard, and rife with warning.
Dougal paused to look him up and down, then snickered. “So, ye’re the bonny lad all the lasses are talking about. Meeting you at last, I canna say as how I see the reason for all the clash ma claver.”
“They weren’t idle tales, Dougal MacKay!” Claire countered hotly, angered now for Evan’s sake if not for her own. “He’s a real cowboy. He wrestles steers and can hit a rat with his six-shooter half a mile away, and—”
“Whoa, hold on, hold on.” Hand upraised in protest, Evan grinned down at her. “Though I’m flattered you suddenly seem to hold me in such high regard, I doubt Dougal here is interested in any of my particular talents.”
“Hardly,” the big Scotsman muttered.
“Well, in case you mayhap failed to realize it,” Claire said, glaring now at Evan, “he just all but insulted you.”
“Did he?” Evan appeared to consider that statement, then shrugged. “Well, no matter. I’ve been insulted before, and by better men than him. All I care is that we be on our way. Ever since you explained how you make stoved chicken, my mouth’s been watering thinking about our supper.” He stepped up and offered her his arm. “Shall we be heading for home, then?”
Claire hesitated but an instant, then took his arm and stepped out with Evan down the street. He was right in not allowing Dougal to drag him into a shouting match, then a fistfight. Far better to leave the big farmer standing there, still struggling to muddle through the implications of Evan’s words. When he finally did, the impact would be greater than any blow to the face or body could ever be.
Mayhap, just mayhap, Dougal MacKay had finally met his match, Claire mused as she walked along. Mayhap he would finally leave her be. If such a miracle were to occur, she’d be ever so grateful that Evan MacKay had come into her life. Why, she might even have to throw common sense to the four winds, and take back her illchosen words about him being a burden!
Claire smiled. With each passing day, he really was becoming quite a handy person to have around.
The next morning dawned clear, bright, and warm—a perfect day for a walk into the rolling hills outside Culdee. Though Saturday, Ian still had several hours of schooling to attend. Despite his heartfelt entreaties to be allowed to accompany them to visit Donall and Lainie MacKay, Claire was adamant. School must always come before pleasure.
After packing the remains of last night’s meal, a halfloaf of the bread she had baked, and a flagon of cider into a small basket, Claire removed her apron,
“Who knows?” He pulled her so close the paperwrapped vegetables pressed hard now between them. “Mayhap because ye imagine a better life awaits ye in America, and that ye can run from yer people and responsibilities by doing so? Or mayhap because ye hope yer precious brother would stop his fighting and thieving there, and suddenly become the little angel ye’ve always hoped he’d become.”
Claire gave a disparaging laugh. “Have you been in your cups again, Dougal? You talk as if you’re whiskey besotted.”
“Ye canna run from me or yer people, lass. Ye belong here. I willna allow any man to take ye from me!”
“And I say, let me go and let me be!” Placing a hand on his broad chest, Claire shoved back hard, breaking at last his hold on her arm. “I’m not your wife, and never will be. You’ve no right to tell me what I can and can’t do!”
“I think the lady has a point there, mister.”
As one Claire and Dougal swung to face Evan, who had joined them at last. He, too, now had a wrapped parcel tucked beneath his arm. Standing there, his dark hair windblown, his stance loose, a slight smile quirked one corner of his mouth. It was all a ruse, however, Claire realized. The light glinting in Evan’s smoky blue eyes was hard, and rife with warning.
Dougal paused to look him up and down, then snickered. “So, ye’re the bonny lad all the lasses are talking about. Meeting you at last, I canna say as how I see the reason for all the clash ma claver.”
“They weren’t idle tales, Dougal MacKay!” Claire countered hotly, angered now for Evan’s sake if not for her own. “He’s a real cowboy. He wrestles steers and can hit a rat with his six-shooter half a mile away, and—”
“Whoa, hold on, hold on.” Hand upraised in protest, Evan grinned down at her. “Though I’m flattered you suddenly seem to hold me in such high regard, I doubt Dougal here is interested in any of my particular talents.”
“Hardly,” the big Scotsman muttered.
“Well, in case you mayhap failed to realize it,” Claire said, glaring now at Evan, “he just all but insulted you.”
“Did he?” Evan appeared to consider that statement, then shrugged. “Well, no matter. I’ve been insulted before, and by better men than him. All I care is that we be on our way. Ever since you explained how you make stoved chicken, my mouth’s been watering thinking about our supper.” He stepped up and offered her his arm. “Shall we be heading for home, then?”
Claire hesitated but an instant, then took his arm and stepped out with Evan down the street. He was right in not allowing Dougal to drag him into a shouting match, then a fistfight. Far better to leave the big farmer standing there, still struggling to muddle through the implications of Evan’s words. When he finally did, the impact would be greater than any blow to the face or body could ever be.
Mayhap, just mayhap, Dougal MacKay had finally met his match, Claire mused as she walked along. Mayhap he would finally leave her be. If such a miracle were to occur, she’d be ever so grateful that Evan MacKay had come into her life. Why, she might even have to throw common sense to the four winds, and take back her illchosen words about him being a burden!
Claire smiled. With each passing day, he really was becoming quite a handy person to have around.
The next morning dawned clear, bright, and warm—a perfect day for a walk into the rolling hills outside Culdee. Though Saturday, Ian still had several hours of schooling to attend. Despite his heartfelt entreaties to be allowed to accompany them to visit Donall and Lainie MacKay, Claire was adamant. School must always come before pleasure.
After packing the remains of last night’s meal, a halfloaf of the bread she had baked, and a flagon of cider into a small basket, Claire removed her apron,
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