She pressed her lips together and then met his eyes, a smile spreading across her face. “Ye think I am pretty?” She asked coyly.
He closed his eyes and groaned. It wasn’t a lie. Moira Hart was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon. But that was something he was supposed to keep to himself, not announce it to the world.
She toed the floor of the cave with her booted foot. “Do ye?” She prodded.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “I do,” he finally confessed.
Her smile grew wider. “Thank ye. Ye are the first person to tell me that.”
He scoffed. “I cannae possibly be.”
“Ye are. Well, aside from my parent’s, but they dinnae count. They are supposed to say such things.”
Clearing his throat, he dragged his gaze from hers and focused on the story unfolding in front of them. “What is the next scene ye can decipher?”
He felt her stare for a long moment afore she looked away. “They had the bairn and lived together in a keep. I wonder if it is MacLeod Keep. Do ye think? Mayhap an early version of it.”
Approaching the scene, he studied the building. It was a square tower, similar in looks to the main building of their keep afore the various wings were added. “’Tis possible.”
“I wonder if they had more children. It seems that men always want more. One isnae good enough.” She added gruffness to her voice to imitate a man speaking. “Daughters serve no purpose other than as a bargaining tool. One can ne’er only have one son. What if something happens? There needs to be another to take his place.”
Errol stiffened.
Moira hitched her breath, reaching out a hand to rest on his arm. “Errol, I am verra sorry. I wasnae thinking. Trying to be comical. I should ken better.”
He shook her hand off. “Dinnae apologize. ’Tis fine.” But her words stabbed him right in the heart. His brother, now dead and gone, was just a memory. He was the one that would have taken Errol’s place if something had happened to him that prevented him from leading the clan. Instead, without that option, even more precautions were taken with Errol. It was the only way to ensure that he would be there for the time when his father finally met his maker.
It wouldn’t be in the near future. Nay, his da was strong as an ox. Big as a bear. He would remain laird for many years to come, and Errol will be there to support him.
Moira turned solemn. He believed she did truly feel bad for the words she’d said. He kenned she hadn’t spoken them in spite, she was making a jest. Naught more.
“What else do ye see?” Errol asked, trying to improve Moira’s mood.
Once again, a smile lifted her lips as she studied the scenes. She was enthralled with history. It was written all over her face. In the way her eyes widened when she looked at the paintings. Her excited voice when she spoke about what she’d uncovered.
It made him want to invite her to MacLeod Keep so she could spend time going through their history as well.
He scoffed. His father would never allow it.
“What is wrong?” She asked, her brows drawing down, crinkling her forehead.
He shook his head. “’Tis naught. I’m letting my thoughts take o’er.”
“Do ye want to share?”
“Nay. No’ now.” He dipped his head toward the wall. “Have ye found aught else?”
“I only see the one child, so I dinnae believe there were any more. But this last scene.” She tapped her fingertips on the picture. “The male and female are separated again. And the bairn is no longer withthem.” She dragged her fingers along to the last painting. “This one speaks of death. I cannae decipher if it is his, hers, or both of them. But at least one of them passed.”
Moira walked the perimeter of the room. There were several small recesses carved into the stone. Carefully, she inspected each one. Making a face when she withdrew naught but spiderwebs. Wiping her hands on her skirts, she continued on.
“There is something here,” she said, excitement lacing her voice as she withdrew a small bundle tied with fragile twine. “It has to be part of this. It looks similar to other items we’ve collected.”
Errol drew closer and watched over her shoulder as Moira broke the twine away, unveiling another letter. Like the one previously, the edges of the parchment were browned with age. Delicate. It looked like it would tear or crumble easily under Moira’s careful fingers. He listened as Moira read.
‘Congratulations on continuing on this journey of love’sdiscovery.
If ye are reading this, ye will ken that though we loved with all of our hearts, our love was not meant tobe.
