Page 8 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

Her skepticism must have shown on her face, because Jory said, “Maggie regaled us with stories of his height, dearest, but dinna fash, as my wretched husband would say. There are many different ways to enjoy the bedroom.”

Ellen’s cheeks burned, remembering the spark that shot down her arm when she accepted the MacKenzie’s handkerchief, and the way it sizzled straight to her core.

Though smaller than Silas MacKenzie, Finn Shaw was no shrimp, and if Jory could enjoy being with him, maybe there was some hope left in the world after all.

“Have you eaten?” Jory asked, squeezing her elbow.

Ellen shook her head. She’d not been hungry, but the reminder made her weak and shaky, like her legs could give out any moment.

Never far from his wife’s side for long, Finn stepped close. “I’ll fix you a plate. Seems we’re to be practically related on both sides now, Miss Ellen,” he said.

“How so?” Jory asked.

“MacKenzie’s mother was a first cousin to Alys Leask through the Campbells,” he explained.

Ellen didn’t really know the Leasks, but they were something like foster parents to her cousin-in-law, and she’d met the pair at Jory and Finn’s own wedding eighteen months back. They’d been instrumental in helping Finn to rescue Jory from the treacherous Long Thomas Gordon at Bearradh Dearg, earning Ellen’s eternal devotion.

She shuddered once more at what might have been, and Jory rubbed her arms to warm them.

“There, you see. It’s practically fate. Mrs. Leask is a lovely, discerning woman. Once in her fold, you’ll boast no fiercer ally.”

Ellen tried to smile.

“You really must eat something, dearest. It’ll be a long few days before it’s over.”

“I’ll get it,” Finn offered once more, disappearing before Ellen could protest.

“Just promise you won’t try to run away,” Jory said. Her tone was light and teasing, but she tilted her head, forcing Ellen to meet her gaze, and there was no laughter there.

How could she know running was exactly what Ellen had been dreaming of? She’d never run before, not even in a footrace as a child. And how could Jory forbid it, when it was exactly what she’d have done in Ellen’s place?

“I mean it. There’s a whole world out there. But in here,” she tapped Ellen’s heart, “and here,” her temple, “you’re stronger than you think. Give yourself a chance to prove it.”

Chapter Three

Sleep had eluded Silas since he was a child, to the point that he suspected Mrs. Kynoch had told the kitchen maids he was a changeling left on a hillside by the faeries—preposterous given his size. His insomnia persisted into adulthood, and the evening of his betrothal was no different. He hardly waited for the creeping fingers of dawn to trace his windowsill before heading down to the stable, his favorite refuge as a lad. It was like stepping back in time: the smell of hay and horse, the chuffing and munching of oats, the dust filtering through the first rays of sunlight, and Gawyn the old groom running everything like clockwork.

Si breathed it all in: crisp, sweet pine and oaky tannins. Moments like this, it was good to be home.

“Madainn mhath, milord,” the groom said. “Needing a horse?”

“How long have we known each other, Gawyn?” Si asked, noting for the first time that the groom’s hair was no longer grey but white and wispy.

The old man looked confused and scratched his head. “Well, now, I held you in my arms the day after you were born, so you ken it’s nigh on thirty years, milord.”

Twenty-eight.

“Exactly,” Si said, clapping the order man’s shoulder. “So then call me Si. Are you well?”

“Och, aye. Fit as a fiddle. Is it Uinnseann you’ll be wanting?” Gawyn picked up the saddle and tack.

“Aye, but I can manage,” Si replied, taking the gear and moving to saddle his ash-grey horse himself. “My father,” he began, not looking at the groom, but sensing the man still behind him. “How long has he been ill?”

Gawyn didn’t answer until Si looked over his shoulder. “I think it’s been some time, milord. But it’s fits and starts though, ye ken?”

“How do you mean?”

Gawyn rubbed the back of his head like he was wrestling over whether to share gossip, but he finally gave in with a sigh.