Page 63 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“It isn’t finished.”

“When it is, then,” she said, getting to her feet.

He nodded then. “Are you off somewhere?”

“To visit Greer and see the window.” The anticipation made her pleasantly warm, or was it simply the morning sunshine pouring through the window? “Can you finish off the whitewash?”

“I’ll make a muck of it,” he mumbled.

“Nonsense. There’s no one I’d trust more.”

The boy grinned. “Can’t be held accountable should Dorrie come charging in,” he said, and Ellen laughed in agreement.

But when she passed through the kitchen to snag a carrot for Buttercup, the little girl was drawing her letters in the flour where they’d been preparing the day’s bannocks, while her grandmother looked on in amazement. Catching Ellen’s eye, Morag pressed a piece of bread and cheese into her hands alongside the carrot, and then turned back to watch wee Dorrie and her writing.

“Thank you, Morag,” Ellen said, relieved by the cook’s reaction. Then she skipped down to the stable, breathing deeply of the fresh morning air.

Inside, Gawyn bent low over a shirt he was mending, which gave Ellen an idea. All that remained to be done for the chapel besides the whitewash and the window was sewing new cushions for the pews.

“May I?” Ellen nodded towards his shirt, and he handed it over for her inspection. “Very fine stitching,” she said, and the groom blushed and tsked and tucked his work out of sight.

“Did you want a bridle and saddle, milady? For your walk?” he asked, looking desperate for her to say no.

But she nodded. “Looks silly without,” she explained.

“I’ll just fetch the former Lady Kintail’s—”

Ellen stopped him, not wishing to be a bother nor wanting an added reminder of the day she was thrown. “That one’s fine,” she said, pointing to the closest saddle on a nearby shelf.

Gawyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he readied the horse without argument.

“Milady,” he said when he finally handed over the reins. “I wanted to ask—that is—I understand ye’ve been giving lessons to the weans up at the house.”

“Yes,” she exclaimed, realizing she was quite proud to admit to something so useful.

“Only I wondered,” the groom stammered, “well, my eyes aren’t so young as they used to be, but I always wished to learn to read. D’ye reckon ye could teach an old dog like me? Before it’s too late, I mean?”

Ellen squeezed his hand. “I’d be delighted. In return, could you help me with some needlework?”

His brow creased, but he nodded, perplexed, and Ellen set off with Buttercup, more content than she’d been in quite a long time.

When she stopped to search for a woodpecker that was hammering away in one of the pine trees, Buttercup nuzzled against her neck, reminding her once more of Silas burying his face in her shoulder, as if she needed any reminding, and it sent a warming thrill through her whole body, even as she gently pushed the horse away.

“Trying to make up for throwing me?” she asked, stroking Buttercup’s velvet soft nose, which didn’t help her efforts to forget stroking other velvety soft things.

“I know,” she told the horse. “It was mostly my fault. I was afraid of you. I was afraid of everything, really.” And her own use of the past tense made her pause.

She’d been afraid last night. Foolish, really. When had a dream ever hurt anybody?

But then, in Si’s arms, she’d stopped being afraid. When she asked him to stay, and he slipped into bed beside her, she should’ve been terrified—of his nearness and his nakedness, of his power and strength, of his anger over finding the nettle-laced shift. She should have been afraid of eternal damnation for her sins, and how she could ever live up to the role of lady of the castle. The window would be a disaster and the whitewash would turn grotty, and her project would make a mockery of the chapel the late Lady Kintail held so dear.

But as Si’s heart beat fast against her shoulder and she curved perfectly into his long, hard body, she had finally been unafraid for maybe the first time in her entire life. She knew only safety and protection and… calm.

Si made her still in a way that not even Jory had ever been able to do. In his arms, she became the fierce and brave Lady Len, cherished wife of the future Kintail. She became… whole?

The woodpecker stopped hammering and hopped to a new branch, drawing her eye, and Ellen marveled at it. This wilderness was so much slower and more magical than Inverness. The town had its own charms, of course, but Ellen realized with a deep exhale that she could breathe here. And wasn’t that some special sort of magic?

Buttercup nuzzled her hand, hoping for a carrot, and she reached in her pocket for one, remembering too late the unopened letter she’d placed there after breakfast when she discovered it nestled between the tea and toast.