That surprised her. So intent had she been on serving Evan MacKallan as he deserved, since she’d arrived here, since she’d given her mother that promise, she’d spared no thought for after. However, she inhabited theafterjust as she inhabited the morning, and must carry on.
She was not the girl she had been when she’d arrived at Kallan—rash and angry and headstrong. She had not loved Alan MacKallan then. She turned her gaze on the man who sat so close beside her and saw him—really saw him. His dark hair was mussed and his eyes looked bleary with fatigue—fatigue and grief. There would be grief, aye, for whatever else, Evan had been his brother.
She had slain the brother of the man she loved. He had watched her do it. Could there be a return from that? Or had she killed, also, what had only just been born between them?
She stirred sluggishly and stared at the steaming cup the kitchen maid had set in front of her.
“Ye need to see the physician,” she told Alan. “Your wound—” The front of his white shirt bloomed with red, a fact that he seemed inclined to ignore.
“The physician is occupied wi’ Seumas. Wi’ my father.” A small silence fell then. Would Master MacKallan survive? It did not seem likely.
“Still and all,” she insisted.
“I will recover,” Alan said. “I canna do otherwise.”
Aye, and he had no choice, did he? Not if he loved this place—as she knew full well he did. With his brother gone—thank all the gods—and his father’s life dangling by a thread, he was Kallan. Responsible for every stone and timber, and for navigating the estate through the sea of the present scandal and intrigue.
Would he want her here with him? Or, given the circumstances, would he ask her to return to her father?
They had been forced into marriage with one another, neither of them given a chance to choose. Aye, something had begun to grow between them. That did not mean he would not prefer a chance to choose, in the end.
“Drink your tisane,” he said.
“I fear if I do, I will just bring it up again.” She glanced around the gloomy chamber. Light did stream in through the high windows to the east and through the open doorway. “Do ye think we could go outside? I need the air. Besides—I want to see Tempest. Find out if he’s all right.”
Alan nodded. But he flinched a bit when he rose, and guilt hit her again.
“Perhaps, Alan, ye should no’ move about till ye’ve seen the physician. I can go outside on my own.” The danger was now past.
He shook his head. “I too need the air.”
They left the hall and exited out the back into the yard, where the morning flowed over them like a blessing. Annista closed her eyes for an instant and breathed deep.
The air smelled so sweet. Was there healing in it?
“Come.” Alan tucked her hand through his arm, close against his side, and they walked across the yard to the stables.
Old Billy was there, as Annista knew he would be, and met them at the door of Tempest’s stall. The horse had been taken inside and, as Annista guessed, provided all due care.
“How fares he?” she asked the old man.
He shook his head. “Master Evan—” He hesitated over the name. He too had watched Evan die. “Master Evan used him hard. But he’s a stubborn bugger o’ a horse and I don’t doubt he’ll heal, given time.”
“Then we will give him time.” And care. And love.
Annista moved past Billy into the loosebox. Tempest was on his feet, head hanging like one robbed of all spirit. But he fixed Annista with a dark eye when she approached him, and his nostrils flared.
Slowly and very gently she raised a hand to his neck. He trembled beneath her touch.
“Sorry. I am so sorry,” she said.
She spoke not only to the horse but to the man behind her, for wounds inflicted, at least one of them by her hand. Would love be enough to heal those wounds? Could it be received by those who in the past had received so little of it?
Tempest melted into her hand. The big horse, once so fierce, at that moment gave her his heart.
“Ah, well,” said Billy. “He’s yours now, Mistress, I reckon.” And the old groom went off, leaving them alone.
“He’s right,” Alan said after a moment. “Ye needed a mount o’ your own. It seems ye ha’ one.”
