Page 37 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“What was to stop her from being a nun, if that was the life she desired?”

Finn shook his head. “Circumstance. And her father.”

“He wished her to wed an heir?”

“He wished her to wed a MacKenzie. If it hadnae been you…”

“It would’ve been Blair.”

“It would’ve been somebody.”

Si’s jaw tightened.

Regardless of what she might have wanted, the lass would’ve wed. And so would he. Faced with such inevitability, somehow there was consolation in the fact they got each other in the bargain.

“Besides which,” Finn went on, “the Chattan Confederation has a healthy distrust of convents. Here and abroad. With good reason.”

Si nodded. Auntie Alys had related the gossip of the Gordon clan’s nefarious dealings.

“Jory believes—”

“Leave it, Shaw—”

“My wife believes Lady Ellen can be won over. Give her time.”

“It doesn’t matter. I cannot be what she wants. I cannot be what she deserves. I don’t wish to win her over.”

Finn tilted his head, scrutinizing Si. A lesser man would have told him, as Si had berated himself now many times, Then you are not the man I thought you were. But Finn studied him as though taking the measure of more than what stood before him, and finally he said with a shrug, “Perhaps you also need time. Like those wee sprouts there.” He nodded at the windowsill, where a few of Si’s plants were racing towards the sun.

Si blinked at Finn, the kinship he tried to bury forcing its way to the surface, and suddenly he felt less alone, like the brother he’d always longed for now stood before him dispensing wisdom and refusing to be kept at arm’s length. He didn’t quite know what to do with that.

“Oats.” He pointed to one of the pots, and Finn laughed, stopping short when he realized it wasn’t a jest.

“Don’t imagine those pots will yield much parritch.”

Si shook his head. “An experiment of sorts.”

Finn nodded sagely and a slow smile crept across his face. “You and Jory are going to get on fine.”

“Where is your lovely wife?”

“Lady Ellen has taken her to see your father.”

“My father? Why?”

“She’s a healer. It’s why we reside in Edinburgh, though I’ve long suspected there’s little the learned men can teach her that she doesn’t already ken.”

That explained the herbs she’d left before. Once again Si blinked back an onslaught of emotion at his young wife’s thoughtfulness. He really needed to start getting more sleep before he turned into a mewling infant over every kind notion.

“Let’s see what she has to say.” He stood, pulling on a jacket and tucking in his rumpled sark.

Finn cast him a skeptical look. “A comb, perhaps.”

When a slightly less disheveled Si arrived at his father’s chamber, the ladies were gathered around the bureau along with Mrs. Kynoch, where Jory instructed them in the preparation of some kind of tea.

“Perfect, Ellen,” she told her cousin, who was grinding some fragrant herb beneath her pestle. To the cook she added, “This will give him the same relief without the drowsiness.”

“If ye say so,” Mrs. Kynoch replied, but there was a grudging respect in her voice beyond mere deference. Then she muttered something about nettles going missing before they could properly dry, and Ellen cast a fearful glance her way, no doubt concerned about her safety if there were, in fact, thieves about. Or rats.