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Her single resource should be to retreat, to put a distance between her and the man she always wanted. Because the stupid part was she made a fool of herself. He might not be a womaniser, as she suspected, but every woman in the Highlands would fall at his feet if only for five minutes of his attention. She did not want to be that woman. She did not wish to scrape for crumbs from his table of sensual delights.
“Have you thought about how you want to handle this?” he asked without looking at her.
“I suppose I have,” she answered, vaguely looking ahead.
This stifled sort of dialogue constituted the tenor of their exchanges in the last few days. Rife with superficiality, emptiness and meaninglessness.
Moira understood his remoteness. He would not risk his bachelorhood by risking this much with her, the daughter of a laird. Not when he had his pick of any lass anywhere. The laird would leave here a free man when this was finished.
Even if she would walk away unshackled, for her, nothing would be the same again. She would lose her reputation and prospects. But this should be no excuse to act like a witless woman. And she would not let it.
At last they neared the place where the clan and their families gathered. Externally, nothing changed, they kept the united front and acted as if in agreement with each other.
A dais lay in the middle of the yard, and Moira felt grateful the weather held, without rain or low temperatures. As she neared the clan, she waved and nodded to those she passed by, receiving words of encouragement and admiration. Nobody expected her to turn the disaster of the fields around and try to recover the lost crop. In her point of view, it was the only way to save the Darrochs from the nasty consequences even though Lachlan offered help. Perhaps she would need to swallow her pride and accept it, should the re-sowing fail to yield the necessary staple.
Both Lachlan and Moira climbed up the dais and greeted the crowd. After the initial formalities, she started talking.
“The gravity of this incident cannot be ignored. It’s clear that taking the cattle into the fields required a number of hands willing to do it.” Her head rotated to look each individual in the eyes. “This crime will not go unpunished. The magistrate is on his way to go over what happened. I’d like to ask you to cooperate with his every request.”
Murmurs of approval echoed from the clan members. “Ye ken who’s doing this?” A woman asked.
“That’s what the magistrate is coming here for, to discover it.” Lachlan answered.
Moira understood it to be unwise to raise suspicion and animosity between clans when they could prove nothing. She held no illusion that gossip ran loose among them, but to confirm it would put the clan in danger if her uncle retaliated.
“We wilna stay put when we ken the culprit!” shouted a man at the back.
“We will let the law follow its course,” she reiterated.
“Laird McKendrick, dinna ye think we must skelp the dunderheid?” An angry man poked in search of vengeance.
Moira peered at the man by her side to see his utterly stony expression.
He stared at the clan. “Much as I’d like that, I will respect and follow Lady Darroch’s lead. She’s been showing exceptional commitment to her clan and deserves all our trust.”
Heads nodded in agreement while Moira stood there in wonderment. Never did she expect a laird to say such a thing in relation to a woman. Warmth spread over her at his words. Despite their…awkwardness these last days, he did not allow it to come in the way of their original plans.
After that, the clan shared a dram and toasted to good crops.
CHAPTER SIX
Moira worked in the pigs’ pen, cleaning and caring for the piglets. As she finished, she stepped outside and witnessed the approaching evening, with a bright sunset in a riot of pinks and purples colouring the horizon. These spring dusks listed among her favourites. Her eyes tracked the sun as it almost touched the lake in the distance. She sighed at the sense of peace that invaded her. A light breeze rustled the trees and spread the scent of their new leaves in the air. Even with the turbulence affecting the clan, at this right moment, she felt serene.
“Darroch,” came the laird’s rumble.
Felt, past tense.
Serenity had nothing to do with the reaction that erupted in her
at the sound of his voice. Or the nearing of his large, purposeful steps on the grass. Or the large frame that loomed over her. Even less with the sensations thrumming through her.
At the peril of getting stuck in his rugged beauty, she lifted her eyes to him. “McKendrick,” she answered, innerly cringing at the effect her had on her.
The fading light fell on his eyes, making it almost translucent. A day’s stubble lined his jaw and now she knew how it bristled around her mouth when he rained kisses over her face. Was it possible to die from such an acute want? Because she might be on the verge of succumbing.
His gaze fell on her like a blast of fire that turned the cottage to ruins. For a millisecond, it attacked her mouth before darting to hers. He stopped a mere two feet from where she stood, making her favourite pink sunset seem dull in comparison.
“Duncan’s sister said the Magistrate’s men have been around,” he said, directing his attention to the pen.
