Steam from the mug in her hand wafted up across her face, bringing with it a fresh wave of guilt. Though her stomach growled at the enticing smell, she found herself unable to take that next sip.
What if itwereher fault? No, she’d not made the choice for MacQuarrie to stay, but she had been unsettled by the whole of the day, and most especially by his decision to remain with her.
As unsettled as the weather.
“Nonsense,” she muttered, ripping a small chunk of bread from the loaf on the table next to her and dipping it into her broth.
Spring weather was frequently unsettled. It had nothing to do with her reaction to the warrior, and she certainly didn’t intend to waste another minute thinking about the man. She’d told him she wouldn’t take on the responsibility for his feeding and care, and she’d meant it!
She shoved the bite into her mouth, chewing with much more enthusiasm than she actually felt.
She refused to think about how he’d stood before her grandfather and claimed his right as her guardian to protect her, or how he’d stood up to the MacDowylt for her, championing her cause against the greedy man. Most especially she would not think on how she had felt as he’d lifted her up onto his horse in front of him, encasing her within the warm, protective circle of his arms.
And what had she done to thank him for his efforts? She’d left him without benefit of hearth or fire, to suffer through the long dark night. Alone. Hungry. Perhaps in danger of freezing in a storm that could very well be of her own making.
“Fie on it,” she said aloud, tossing the woolen from her legs onto the floor.
She’d get no peace this way. She could spare a cup of broth. It would be no hardship for her. It wasn’t as if she were actually taking on the responsibility of caring for him. It was no more than a simple cup of warmth handed out to one in need.
Besides, in weather such as this she truly should check on the ewe and her new lamb.
Dropping to her knees on the floor beside the box where she stored all her treasures, she pulled out the tall metal and bone lantern that had once belonged to her father. Beside it, wrapped in soft wool, lay her dwindling supply of fine beeswax candles. She fit one into the lantern before filling a mug from the bubbling pot that hung over the fire. Isa strapped on her pattens, tossed a cloak over her shoulders, and lifted the cover to her head before lighting her candle. She didn’t really need the light to find her way around back to the stable, but it would be too dark inside to adequately check on the condition of the new lamb.
Cold rain spattered her face when she stepped outside. Clutching the mug in one hand, she braced the lantern against her body while she closed the door.
Stepping carefully along the muddy path, she shuddered as the smell of wet dung stung her nostrils. Must be time to clean the stables again.
From her childhood, Isa had hated the odor of filth and its vile feel on her body. Her grandfather had claimed that her constant bathing would send her to an early grave and declared it was her mother’s fault, insisting that her unnatural heritage made her an aberration in nature.
Even after all these years, the memory of his words set Isa’s teeth to grinding. The great laird of the MacGahan was wrong. Wrong on so many counts.
The differences Isa had inherited from her mother enhanced her life. Anyone with eyes could see that nature loved cleanliness. She washed the earth with her rains on a regular basis. Isa could do no less.
She paused outside the door to the stable, looking up toward the blanket of clouds that hid the stars from her. Fat drops of clean, cold rain pattered her face, caressing her skin as they rolled down her cheeks.
In truth, not all of the differences she’d inherited from her mother enhanced her life, but this rain tonight felt too comfortingly natural to have been her fault.
Holding on to that reassurance, she pushed open the big wooden doors and slipped quietly inside.
Light from her lantern barely pierced the curtain of black, as if she moved about inside a small, dimly lit cocoon. The flickering candle sent strange shadows wavering around her and the silence of the stable beat at her ears. The calm she’d felt only moments before began to slip away.
The giant black warhorse loomed as a massive dark mound at one end of the room.Helay next to the animal, huddled into his plaid for warmth, just as she’d imagined he would.
Her hands full, she tried to ignore the need to pull her cloak tightly around herself, to retreat into the warm safety of the wool’s heavy folds. Instead she tiptoed nearer, stealing a closer look at MacQuarrie.
The eyes that had so mesmerized and intrigued her when open were shut now, allowing her to study the warrior’s face without embarrassment.
Only to ascertain his well-being, she assured herself, and for no other reason. She would not enjoy the task of dealing with his great body should he take sick and die on her out here.
Tendrils of dark brown hair escaped the plaid pulled snugly around his head, curving softly over his strong, whisker-shadowed jawline. His lips, slightly parted in his sleep, were full and strong, and for an instant she allowed herself to wonder how they might feel against her own.
His nose, which she’d earlier thought straight and perfectly aligned on his face, on closer inspection appeared to be slightly crooked, as if it might have been broken at some point in his life.
Not that it made a difference in his beauty. She allowed herself to honestly admit he was the most starkly handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon.
She bit down on the exclamation that bubbled to her lips so as not to wake him. What had happened to her practicality? What a ridiculous thought for her to harbor—as if she were in any position to compare the qualities of men’s beauty. Her of all people! It wasn’t as if she saw men every day. Didn’t months at a time go by where wee Jamie was the closest thing to a man she encountered?
Shaking her head at her foolish flight of fancy, she sighed and turned to spot her small wooden milking stool. Moving as silently as possible, she placed the mug of broth on the stool. It would cool quickly out here but there was no point in her carrying it back with her. Besides, he might awaken during the night in time to appreciate its warmth.
