Page 47 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“Yes,” she agreed, handing over the knotted ribbon, and she was treated to another broad grin.

“Grand. Only I want it to be a surprise for himself,” she nodded towards the building once more. “Can I come up to the big house? Tomorrow? At lunch?”

Ellen smiled at her referring to Castle Leod as the big house, but she nodded her agreement and murmured, “Tomorrow.”

Greer held out her hand to shake as gentlemen did, and Ellen accepted it, realizing once more how hungry she was for the contact. She almost didn’t want to release the sweaty thing, but she untethered Buttercup and began the walk back home.

She wasn’t accustomed to so much freedom. Even prior to her marriage, Ellen spent more time indoors engaged in prayer and reflection or reading or mending than out digging in the garden or foraging in the woods as Jory was wont to do. A weekly stroll down to the loch where Maggie could eat cakes and skip stones across the water was about the extent of Wee Ellen’s adventures, and even then she was cautioned not to overexert herself.

But now the fresh air filled her lungs, releasing every pent-up nervous breath, and the sun shining on her face cheered her from the outside in. She was smiling and confident in her project by the time they arrived back at the stable to find something of a kerfuffle.

The old groom, along with a younger one, raced here and there, watched by Silas’s elusive young cousin, but they all stopped to stare at her approach.

“Buttercup!” the young groom exclaimed, running to take the lead from Ellen.

“Milady,” Gawyn said cautiously.

“Did ye ride bare?” Bram asked in awe, but Gawyn smacked him sideways.

Ellen shook her head. She hadn’t meant to cause a stir. They must not have seen her message.

She followed Gawyn into the stable. “Sorry,” she said softly. “For the worry.”

He tsked but didn’t turn around. “The horses are yours now, milady. Ye dinnae need permission to take one.”

“I left a note.” She picked up the paper, still lying on the shelf where she’d placed it.

“Ah. So ye did.”

“I…” she tried, but the words, as usual, failed her.

“My eyes aren’t what they used to be,” Gawyn explained, patting her shoulder. “All’s well, milady. Go and have some tea.”

He was kind, the old groom. She could see why Si liked him. But she couldn’t shake the sensation that she’d done something terribly wrong. She could hear her father’s clear baritone berating her for going off alone, her mother’s tacit agreement. What if something happened? You as good as stole that horse.

Even Maggie’s laughter permeated her brain, teasing but demanding to know where she ever got the notion to try and spruce up the chapel. You’ve never built or repaired anything in your life. Why would you think you could do it now, when no one else has managed it?

She’d allowed it all to go to her head—the kind attention of the Mac, of Silas that solitary afternoon. They had all made her too confident, too big for her boots, too proud of the imaginary Lady Len, and now she had fallen on her face.

The smith said he didn’t have time to help after she’d shamed him with her scribbled note. Perhaps he’d be angry with Greer for going behind his back, perhaps punish the girl, when it was Ellen who deserved punishing. It had been tactless to go to them, to rope them into her own selfish plan, and with that realization top of mind, Ellen passed through the herb garden on her way back inside and picked great bunches of stinging nettle to line her shift.

After changing clothes, Ellen went to torment herself with the sight of the chapel, but when she passed the laird’s chamber, he called her inside. Would he yell at her for what she’d done? Rage about the noise and disruption to his peace? Could she pretend not to have heard? Make a beeline for the gardens and never show her face inside again? No, of course not, so she tiptoed anxiously inside.

“How are you finding Leod?” he asked, his voice warm if somewhat weak and reedy.

“It’s lovely,” she said fondly, realizing that she meant it.

“And the lad? He treats you well?”

She nodded, smiling.

“Good,” he sighed, seeming to relax. “Will you sit and read to me a spell? Being old and infirm gets fearsome dull.”

Nodding again, Ellen pulled over a chair and took up the book the laird indicated from his bedside table, and shutting out the nerves and the nettles, she began to read.

Chapter Fourteen

Mrs. Kynoch’s usual grizzle had become a right temper over the impending Gathering, and since none of it would be occurring at all had she not conspired with his father against him, Silas took a little unchristian satisfaction in her distress. At least it meant he wasn’t alone in his.