Page 68 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

The girl didn’t seem to know how to respond. “The window’s ready. We came to install it,” she explained, picking at a spot on her shawl.

At her words, Sam MacPherson entered with the patchwork stained glass, and Ellen gasped. Seeing the design and the frame and the bits of colored glass hadn’t prepared her for the work of art before her now. Dozens of tiny squares in reds and golds, blues and purples, and every shade in between, fitted neatly together in a whimsical non-pattern within the black iron frame.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

Greer and her father beamed with pride, and the girl pushed a pew close to the window and stepped up onto the bench.

Sam handed her the plate of glass and then left, presumably to help from the outside.

Ellen watched in awe as they placed and sealed the window, the bright rays of afternoon light filtering into rainbows upon the wall, and she smiled. At least the chapel was complete before she left.

“Magnificent,” a scratchy voice breathed, and Ellen looked up to see the Kintail in his traveling cloak staring gleefully around at the soft colors.

Greer scrambled down from the bench to offer a little curtsy, and then she and Ellen helped the old man to a seat. “Just magnificent,” he sighed again, studying Bram’s incredible cushion before taking his ease.

“Thank you for everything,” Greer whispered, kissing Ellen’s cheek before scurrying away, leaving her alone with her father-in-law, who still hadn’t stopped smiling.

“This was my dear Iona’s favorite place in the world,” he said.

Ellen still wasn’t certain the laird was well enough to travel, but she was glad he got to see the chapel complete before they departed.

She offered a small, sad smile, and he nodded sympathetically and patted her knee. “Nothing’s ever as dark as it seems,” he said.

Ellen chewed the inside of her cheek to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay.

“Ye’ve proven that.” He gestured around the chapel. “Ye’ve transformed all this. Ye’ve transformed my son.”

“I’m not so sure,” she whispered, blinking and struggling to swallow.

“I am. Dinnae argue with your laird, now.”

That made her chuckle. She’d miss reading to the old man once they parted on the continent. Perhaps she could visit him from time to time if he remained there instead of coming back to help Silas. “Will they pledge to him?” she asked.

The Kintail sighed and shrugged. “I hope they will.”

They sat in silence as the light around them grew dim. Ellen wasn’t ready to leave. She wanted to see this room at every hour of the day and night.

“Whatever he’s done,” the laird finally said, “it’ll eat away at him the rest of his life. That’s how he holds on to things, tight and festering, while everyone else moves on.”

“He hasn’t done anything,” she assured him.

“No?” he asked, frowning. “I thought maybe this time he finally had.”

Ellen didn’t understand quite what her father-in-law meant, but the sound of a gathering crowd filtered from the Hall into their sanctuary. It was time for them to go. She leaned over to kiss the laird’s cheek, and he squeezed her hand tightly.

“You can tell me all about it on our journey. He’s sending us both. For our own good, he’s sure.”

And Ellen finally understood that Alex couldn’t hand over the title of Kintail and still tell his son what to do.

Chapter Nineteen

The junior groom, Fraser, loaded their trunks onto the carriage that would take Len and the laird away, and all Si could do was watch. He had the sense of being powerless to prevent disaster while knowing he was the only one who could stop it. Knowing he was the cause. None of it seemed real. To avoid a scene, Fraser had brought the carriage to Leod’s rear door, off the garden, typically reserved for hauling supplies straight into the larder.

“It’s been raining for days, milord,” Gawyn implored softly at his elbow.

“How astute,” Silas bit out.

Gawyn shifted, unaccustomed to Si’s sharp tone, and the sickness in his belly grew. “Fraser’s a good lad, but he’s green, and the roads’ll be naught but muck.”