land he banished her
to was difficult to cultivate. I was chasing rabbits for our supper as far back as
I can recall. I have hard thoughts for me father when I remember just how grateful
me mother was when I brought one home. But now that I am grown, I wonder if he did
it to make sure I would grow up strong, since he would not be able to see to it himself.”
“That is a hard way to grow up.”
She tore a piece of bread in half. She could smell its nutty aroma, in spite of the
fact that it was cold. Her fingers shook as she stuffed some into her mouth. To her
starved body, the taste was intense.
“That brat has no grasp of how many hours she makes ye go without food. Just as me
laird father did nae know how many times I went to bed hungry before I grew strong
enough to catch those rabbits. But maybe he wanted me to know what those born beneath
me position felt like, so I would nae be like Abigail.”
He filled a goblet with fresh milk from the night milking and sat it near her.
Once she was able to control the urge to keep shoving food into her mouth, she asked,
“Yet yer father must have paid for yer sword training. Such training is nae given
for naught.”
“He did. Yet it was made plain to me that every day might be me last if his legitimate
wife produced a living son.” Satisfaction glowed in his eyes. “I trained longer and
harder than any other lad. I could best them all by the time I was growing me first
beard. Of course, me master pit me only against those older than me to make sure I
did nae grow arrogant.”
“I am nae sure that worked.” She spoke with soft amusement.
He shrugged. “Yet I earned what I am.”
“True.” For a moment, it was easy conversing with him, a sense of common understanding
growing between them. He had often been spoken of at court, for no one knew much about
him, and against the odds, he was laird of the MacLeods.
Little wonder he was as massive and hard as he was. Her gaze slid over his face, finding
the details of his harsh life. It was there in the scar on his left cheek and the
bump in the center of his nose. Another scar ran through his right eyebrow, and there
were several on his bared forearms.
“That is a harsh way to live,” she whispered.
His dark gaze locked with hers. “As difficult as lying down in yer bed and knowing
yer own kin might be selling yer body?”
Nareen looked away, unable to share that pain with him. It was too deep, too personal,
too intimate.
“We all endure what we must,” she countered. “Only babes think life is fair.”
“Aye. As I endure being inside these walls to be near ye.”
He was leaning against the wall again. There was a hint of discomfort in his expression,
and she realized it was because he truly did not care for the walls surrounding him.
It was another thing they had in common.
She shook off the feeling. He inspired too many emotions in her. She finished her
meal and took the plate to a bucket used for dirty tableware. They’d be taken outside
in the morning for washing.
“Good night, Laird MacLeod.”
He remained leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Even with night
fully fallen, his shirtsleeves were still tied up to the shoulder to bare his arms.
“Good night, Nareen Grant, may yer rest be peaceful.”
There was something too calm about his words. She hesitated in the kitchen doorway,
trying to deduce what it was.
“As for meself, I am wide awake,” he continued, lowering the foot he’d had braced
against the kitchen wall. “Would ye care to ride with me?”
The impulse to nod was too strong, and she was already lowering her head before she
realized what she was doing.
“I cannae.”
He chuckled and rolled his shoulders before stretching his neck and casting her a
devilish look.
“But would ye dare to, Nareen?” He moved toward the door that led out into the yard.
He turned and offered her his hand. “That’s
to was difficult to cultivate. I was chasing rabbits for our supper as far back as
I can recall. I have hard thoughts for me father when I remember just how grateful
me mother was when I brought one home. But now that I am grown, I wonder if he did
it to make sure I would grow up strong, since he would not be able to see to it himself.”
“That is a hard way to grow up.”
She tore a piece of bread in half. She could smell its nutty aroma, in spite of the
fact that it was cold. Her fingers shook as she stuffed some into her mouth. To her
starved body, the taste was intense.
“That brat has no grasp of how many hours she makes ye go without food. Just as me
laird father did nae know how many times I went to bed hungry before I grew strong
enough to catch those rabbits. But maybe he wanted me to know what those born beneath
me position felt like, so I would nae be like Abigail.”
He filled a goblet with fresh milk from the night milking and sat it near her.
Once she was able to control the urge to keep shoving food into her mouth, she asked,
“Yet yer father must have paid for yer sword training. Such training is nae given
for naught.”
“He did. Yet it was made plain to me that every day might be me last if his legitimate
wife produced a living son.” Satisfaction glowed in his eyes. “I trained longer and
harder than any other lad. I could best them all by the time I was growing me first
beard. Of course, me master pit me only against those older than me to make sure I
did nae grow arrogant.”
“I am nae sure that worked.” She spoke with soft amusement.
He shrugged. “Yet I earned what I am.”
“True.” For a moment, it was easy conversing with him, a sense of common understanding
growing between them. He had often been spoken of at court, for no one knew much about
him, and against the odds, he was laird of the MacLeods.
Little wonder he was as massive and hard as he was. Her gaze slid over his face, finding
the details of his harsh life. It was there in the scar on his left cheek and the
bump in the center of his nose. Another scar ran through his right eyebrow, and there
were several on his bared forearms.
“That is a harsh way to live,” she whispered.
His dark gaze locked with hers. “As difficult as lying down in yer bed and knowing
yer own kin might be selling yer body?”
Nareen looked away, unable to share that pain with him. It was too deep, too personal,
too intimate.
“We all endure what we must,” she countered. “Only babes think life is fair.”
“Aye. As I endure being inside these walls to be near ye.”
He was leaning against the wall again. There was a hint of discomfort in his expression,
and she realized it was because he truly did not care for the walls surrounding him.
It was another thing they had in common.
She shook off the feeling. He inspired too many emotions in her. She finished her
meal and took the plate to a bucket used for dirty tableware. They’d be taken outside
in the morning for washing.
“Good night, Laird MacLeod.”
He remained leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Even with night
fully fallen, his shirtsleeves were still tied up to the shoulder to bare his arms.
“Good night, Nareen Grant, may yer rest be peaceful.”
There was something too calm about his words. She hesitated in the kitchen doorway,
trying to deduce what it was.
“As for meself, I am wide awake,” he continued, lowering the foot he’d had braced
against the kitchen wall. “Would ye care to ride with me?”
The impulse to nod was too strong, and she was already lowering her head before she
realized what she was doing.
“I cannae.”
He chuckled and rolled his shoulders before stretching his neck and casting her a
devilish look.
“But would ye dare to, Nareen?” He moved toward the door that led out into the yard.
He turned and offered her his hand. “That’s
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