“Nay.” Alan sighed. “Father has done a fine job o’ hiding it these many years.”
“And have ye no’ ambition?” she asked, gazing into his eyes. “For yoursel’?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “That was driven fro’ me long ago. Come, let me get a fire started.” A pile of kindling and some larger logs lay beside the hearth. “We will shelter here till the rain eases.”
Or his brother arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alan could find no way to bring real comfort to the interior of the lodge. Even with the fire lit, struggling as it did against the heavy, damp air outside, and the wooden bench drawn up to the hearth place, the room proved dusty and bleak. They were both wet to the skin, and Alan could see how his wife shivered.
Better, though, than being out in the wet. For the rain continued crashing down outside, the sound of it on roof and ground nearly drowning out any words they exchanged.
It would also drown out sounds of approach, if Evan came. Alan reminded himself he must remain on guard.
His wife, though, was still a distraction. With nowhere to sit except the bench, they perched there side by side, and she soon huddled even closer.
“I am sorry for this,” he said and succumbed to the impulse to put his arm around her. How many times had he now broken his promise not to touch? Did she mind?
It did not seem so, for she slid in against his shoulder. Their shivering—hers and his—settled into a combined rhythm before beginning to subside.
“’Twas no’ ye who insisted I should come wi’ ye,” she returned wryly. “I ha’ no one to blame save mysel’.”
“Aye, so.” He murmured while stretching his ears to listen beyond the rain. “I am learning o’ ye.”
“Are ye, then?” She turned her face and regarded him. So near were they now, her breath fanned his face when she asked, “And wha’ ha’ ye learned?”
“My wife is a stubborn woman.”
“Och! I suppose I canna deny it.” In the dim light from the struggling fire, her eyes looked alive with flecks of amber and gold. “Is it such a terrible bad thing?”
“Nay. Merely, somewhat wi’ which a man must deal if he wishes for a peaceful life.”
“And do ye wish for a peaceful life?”
“More than almost anything. But I do no’ see me attaining it. The country is at odds. As for Kallan—”
“Aye.” She seemed to reflect upon that before she offered, “I never expected peace, me.”
He snorted and she widened those wicked, lovely eyes. “Do ye imply I ha’ not a peaceful nature?”
“I imply naught.”
“Well, but I was always the one who had to stand up and speak for us—as Robena would not. And my family is on the poorer side of the conflict in which our country finds itself, us being Catholics. The losing side.”
“Ye think the Queen will lose?”
“I fear so. And then what will happen to the rest o’ us?”
Despite himself, Alan tightened his arm around her. “Our marriage was designed, in part, to provide ye some protection.”
“Aye. But the coming o’ your father’s visitors canna possibly bode well for us.”
Alan wanted to tell her he would defend her. Keep her safe. He longed to make yet another rash promise.
Fortunately she did not give him the chance. “Wha’ else ha’ ye learned o’ me?”
“That ye be strong,” he returned promptly. “The strongest woman, likely, I ha’ ever known.”
