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She nodded gracefully. “Thank ye. Dinnae ye want to dance as well?”
Roibert nudged him with his elbow, and Tormod cleared his throat. “Aye,” he said gruffly. “I mean, nay, I’m nae such a good dancer. Two left feet and all that. Me cousin is definitely the better option for ye.”
“Oh,” Anabella replied, and from Roibert’s exasperated expression, Tormod knew he’d said the wrong thing.
Idiot. She wanted to dance with ye, ye pillock!
“Tormod and I are off to the front lines on the dawn,” Roibert told her. “Tormod’s Faither, me Laird Uncle, has always believed that the rulin’ family owes it to their people to fight at their sides, and Tormod believes the same.”
“That’s very noble,” Anabella said, her gray eyes wide and innocent and even admiring. It was an expression that made Tormod’s heart thrum in his chest. “Will ye be quite safe, Sirs?”
“I hope so,” Tormod replied. “Me Faither has trained me for battle since a young age. Yer own Faither will be joinin’ us soon enough, will he nae?”
Anabella nodded. “Aye, much as I wish he would nae. Fightin’ is a young man’s game, but our clans are allies, and he’ll stand with Seaghagh in this war.”
Tormod nodded his head. “We appreciate his bravery, ye ken.”
Roibert rolled his eyes just out of Anabella’s sight, then said, “Actually, Tormod was tellin’ me before we got here that he wanted to speak with ye tonight. Were ye nae, Tormod?”
He felt the skin under his thick beard go hot as her gaze turned questioning. “Er…aye, actually. If…if ye’ve got the time and dinnae mind.”
Hesitantly, Anabella asked, “Talk? Now? With Roibert with us?”
“Nae, I was wonderin’ if ye might nae want to…take a walk in the gardens?” Tormod asked. He could barely believe that he was saying such a thing, that he was acting so bold–but it was the right thing to do, and he knew it.
“I…I cannae,” she replied. His heart sank, but she quickly added, “Nae because I dinnae want to, but…me Faither will nae allow me to be alone with a lad, nae tonight at such an event. But if ye cared to dance–?”
Roibert nudged him again, but Tormod didn’t need the encouragement this time. “Aye, of course,” he said, trying to swallow his disappointment, “just be patient with
me.”
She smiled. “Let’s go, then.”
He followed her, and they took their place in the dancing circle. The whole time they danced, he was trying to build up the courage to ask her now, while nobody was looking. It may not be as private as he wished, but as they effortlessly matched each other’s steps, it was as private as they’d get.
The dance brought them close together, and he said, “Anabella, I’ve been…there’s somethin’ I wanted to ask–”
She shook her head, but she didn’t look upset. “Nay, nae now,” she said–practically pleaded. “Whatever ye have to ask me, pray wait until ye return from the war. I cannae bear to act like all is normal now.”
And then the dance was over, and she was walking away, and Tormod tried not to let anyone see how his heart was crumbling to dust.
Chapter 1
After the War
The war raged for a solid year, and Tormod was fueled by one thing–that Anabella was waiting to hear his question when he returned. He thought of her nightly while they camped out at the borders of the Clan.
Though her father fought with them, he did not see him often. That was good because he had barely an idea what sort of thing he could possibly say to the man.
But now the fighting was over, and it was time to return home. Tormod’s own father, Alec Dunaidh, Laird of Seaghagh, had been injured many months before. Though the Laird had wished to stay on the field until he had recovered, his progressed age and his importance to the Clan had finally made him listen to Tormod’s insistence that he go home to recover.
Stubborn old man. I cannae wait to see him again and let him ken of our victory over the Lowlanders.
The Sassenach attackers had truly tested their limits. Still, Tormod, in his father’s stead, had led the army to its eventual victory. His debt to Clan Galloway and their other neighbors, Clan Wrightley, would not soon be forgotten. The combination of the soldiers and tactics of all three clans had brought them the win they so desperately needed.
The army camp was only halfway home, still a few days ride away when the messenger found them, and the thrill of victory that had surrounded them all drained away. The messenger approached Tormod and Roibert directly and spoke the words that would change his life forever.
“Yer Faither’s wounds were worse than we thought,” he said solemnly. “I’m sorry for yer loss.”
