Page 35 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

Thank you for your kind words. I cannot tell you how they brightened my morning. It’s nice to know I have an ally. You’re quite right. It has been a strange time. I feel very much like Gulliver washed ashore on Brobdingnag, far from the home where he was safe and secure.

You seem to know my husband quite well, and I appreciate the insights you’ve shared, though I’m afraid I have a dozen more questions. And while I believe you are truly fond of him, I must take you to task for being too harsh on his character.

Rest assured, he has treated me better than I deserve, though I’ve hardly spoken two words to him, as you may have noticed during my wedding vows. It’s no snub against the MacKenzies, nor even deliberate.

When I was young

Ellen paused, unsure how to continue, how much to reveal. It was odd, how easy it was to open herself to this stranger through ink. But some secrets are not easily revealed. And she must think as the wife of the future laird, not just lonely Wee Ellen. Which details were appropriate for others to know?

Her pause left a terrible blot of ink, so she pushed herself on before it bled clean through the paper.

When I was young, it was as though my voice were frightened away, never to return. It’s true, I have little inclination to speak, but I’m not certain I could remember how if I tried—hardly an ideal situation for the wife of the Kintail. And I should hate for my silence to bring shame upon his head. Knowing him as you do, would he consider sending me away before that can happen?

She could think of little else to write, since she knew not to whom she was writing, so she simply added, Do you happen to know his favorite color? Then she signed it, Most sincerely, Lady Len, and had it sealed and waiting when a knock at the door was followed by the mouthwatering aroma of a dinner tray.

The food was brought in and the bath taken away, and then Silas ducked under the lintel, freshly washed and combed and trimmed to near perfection.

“May I join you for dinner, ’Lady ’Len?”

When she nodded, he pulled out a chair, angling it so he might stretch his legs out into the room instead of kicking her under the table.

The meal consisted of a sumptuous leg of lamb with roasted root vegetables in a flavorful sauce, and of course, freshly baked bannocks.

“Mrs. Kynoch’s getting fancy,” Silas observed, but his tone was approving. “Preparing for the Gathering, no doubt.”

That reminder made a lump settle in Ellen’s stomach, but she forced down every bite, hoping each morsel would shove the lump deeper out of sight. What duties would be expected of her, to be witnessed by all the clan? What missteps would she undoubtedly make to earn their pity or disdain?

After eating, he lingered, near but not quite entering his library, as though he didn’t want to spend another night apart.

Ellen wasn’t quite sure whether she wanted him to or not.

“ ’M sorry,” he finally said, an awful scowl upon his face. “For the horse.”

Ellen shook her head to stop him, but he was staring angrily at some image only he could see.

“You weren’t ready. I see that now. I’ll not force you again.”

His assurance made Ellen a little bit sad. She’d half expected him to march her trembling back to the stable first thing tomorrow and set her sternly in the saddle to try again, and next time—she had vowed—she wouldn’t lose her head.

She didn’t know why exactly, but some part of her yearned not merely to not be an embarrassment, but to make him proud. Some small part of her longed for his whispered, “Good girl,” to be for her, rather than the horse.

“I’ll bid you goodnight,” he said after another moment’s hesitation.

Then he nodded at her and shut the door between them on his way out.

“Don’t forget the latch,” he called, his voice sounding thick and far away.

Ellen stood at the door for a long time before she wound the length of rope around the handle, and she kept on standing there after it was done.

When he’d had the bath brought in, she’d assumed her reprieve was over.

Her belly tightened at the image of him taking her in his strong arms, laying her back on the bed, untying her ribbons one by one.

There was movement on the other side of the door, as though the MacKenzie paced back and forth like a caged cat, a distance he could easily cover in two enormous strides.

Ellen stroked the soft wood of the door idly, the way she might run her hand down his sculpted chest, and her fingers snagged on a tiny knothole. She snatched her hand away quickly and turned her back, then faced it again.

She would barely have to stoop to look through it, just to ensure Silas was all right.