Braden ran his hand through her hair, caressing the shiny locks.
“Nay,” she said. “It was after my father had scolded us and returned us to the wagon. I felt so terrible, and then all of a sudden there you were with your painted horse.”
“Connor.” Braden remembered the toys his uncle had carved for him. He’d loved those horses. But the dark brown stallion he had given her had been his favorite. To this day, he didn’t know what had possessed him to give it up to her.
It had been another impulsive act his mother had taken him to task over.
Still, he recalled the happiness he’d seen on her tear-streaked face as she had cradled the tiny horse to her chest. “You looked as if I had just given you a king’s treasure.”
“You had,” she said softly. And in that instant Braden felt a very strange tenderness in his chest toward her. One he couldn’t define.
Never had he felt anything like it.
And when the edges of her lips turned up ever so slightly, it was as if lightning struck him.
“I still have it.”
Her confession amazed him. He would have thought she’d have tossed it out years ago. “Do you?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
She shrugged sheepishly. “It was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me. I couldn’t believe you gave me such a valuable gift.”
It touched him that even at so young an age, she had known the true value of the horse. Then again, Maggie had always been wiser and more insightful than most girls her age.
“Well, I felt badly for the way your father shouted at you. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nay,” she said, her eyes dancing as she wrinkled her nose. “‘Twas Ian’s for wanting to kill me.”
Laughing, Braden stared in wonder of her as foreign emotions swept through him. She was so different from most women he’d known. So giving and kind, yet fierce and independent.
“We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?” Braden asked.
“Aye, we have.”
“It’s strange where life takes us … I remember the first time I ever saw you. You had just started walking. Your head was as bald as it could be and you had the biggest eyes I’d ever seen.”
“Far from a flattering image.”
“True.” He traced the outline of her cheek with his forefinger. “But for a baby, you were passable enough.” He winked at her.
Too easily, he could recall the day he’d first seen her pulling herself up to stand by his side. She’d looked up at him with a big, sweet grin that had warmed his heart. She had cooed at him, then laid her head down on his knee. At first he had ahhed the gesture until she had laughed, then bitten a piece from his thigh.
He had yelped, and she had cried, and his leg had worn that bruise for days. After the experience, he had approached wee bairns with much more caution.
And respect.
“Is that all you remember?” she asked him.
“Nay.” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I remember the way you laughed at me. You had such a happy laugh and most every time I went to your cottage you had a smile on your face. Until your mother died.”
Maggie nodded, her eyes turning sad at the memory. “My da expected me to care for the boys in her place.”
He hated to see her sad. For some reason, it made his own heart ache and so he decided to lighten the conversation. “Aye and from that day on, you were always so serious. Especially on the days when you were trying to kill me.”
Maggie dropped her jaw at his words, offended that he would think such a thing. “I never tried to kill you.”
