Page 25 of The Highland Laird’s Hellion Bride

An absolute silence fell over the pasture.

Dougal looked from Elspeth to Magnus.

Magnus said nothing, but the muscles in his jaw shifted slightly, tightening under the skin.

“Aye,” Dougal said after a long beat, shifting his hat. “Might be.”

They moved on.

Magnus remained silent for the first long stretch of track after Dougal’s fence.

“Feed problem or a fence problem,” he said eventually, his deep voice vibrating right through her.

“It seemed like a reasonable distinction.”

Another long silence. “It was.”

She did not show what that brief praise did to her. She kept her eyes fixed on the muddy track ahead, her hands tight on the pommel, and thought determinedly about sheep.

The second stop was a widow. She lived in a low stone cottage with a bright yellow door and three young children who appeared at the small window the moment the horse’s hooves struck the road. They remained there in a silent, staring row until Magnus dismounted and knocked.

She came out drying her hands on her apron. She took one look at Elspeth sitting high on the stallion and immediately began smoothing her stray hair behind her ears.

“Me Laird.” She looked up, her gaze tentative. “And Me Lady.”

“Mistress Violet.” Magnus paused, his jaw working briefly, as though the sentence required more effort than inspecting three roofs. “This is Lady Elspeth.”

Violet waited. When nothing else came, she looked between the two of them, then pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. “Aye, Me Laird. I can see that she is.”

A faint, unmistakable flush crept up the back of Magnus’s neck. But the next moment, he glanced at the roof timbers, the door lintel, the window frame. His eyes scanned the outside of the cottage, cataloging every flaw, noting every crack.

“Winter stores. Are ye set?”

“Well enough.” Violet nodded. “The children are fed.”

“The roof on the eastern side needs attention before the hard frost.”

“I’ve managed.”

“Aye. I’ll send the Brennan lad. He’s good with thatch.”

Violet looked at him for a moment, then she gave a small nod. “That’d be welcome.”

Elspeth leaned forward slightly in the saddle, her fingers loosening on the reins. “The yellow door,” she said.

Violet looked up, startled.

“It’s a lovely color,” Elspeth noted softly. “Did ye paint it yerself?”

Violet blinked. Then, the hard guard on her face came slightly open. “Me husband did. Three years past.”

“It suits the stone.”

It was a small thing.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, before Violet nodded once and went back inside.

Magnus remounted, and his large arm settled across Elspeth’s waist to gather the reins.