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Chapter Nine
Chrisdean had to admit that Nimue’s reaction to being on a horse worried him. He had never seen anyone be so afraid of a horse before, save for little children, and he was surprised to see just how much Nimue detested riding one.
Perhaps they could continue their tour of the land later, he thought, but for the time being, he decided that sitting by the lake to admire the scenery would be the best option, as it would give Nimue some time to calm down.
“It’s a bonnie place,” Nimue said after several minutes of silence. Chrisdean had been watching the waters of the lake as they moved gently with the wind, and he only turned to look at her when he heard her voice. “Na as bonnie as home,” she added hastily, as though a compliment for the Highlands would make Chrisdean think that she had suddenly fallen in love with the place.
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Aye, aye, nothin’ is ever as bonnie as yer home, and ye hate the Highlands. Ye’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“I didna say that I hate the Highlands,” Nimue pointed out. “It truly is bonnie up here. It reminds me of me own loch, back home.”
Chrisdean thought back to the night when he had taken Nimue from the lake near the MacLellan castle, and he had to agree with her; it did remind him of the scenery there. He hoped that it would give Nimue some comfort, seeing a place that reminded her of home.
Chrisdean turned to face Nimue, his lips curling up into a smile. “Will ye marry me?’ he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Nimue shook her head. “Na, I willna marry ye.”
“Then will ye tell me why ye’re so afraid of horses?” Chrisdean asked. “It willna serve ye weel here, lass. Everyone rides a horse in these parts.”
“Weel, everyone rides a horse in the Lowlands, too,” Nimue said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Everyone but me, and I’ve managed just fine so far.”
“Because yer faither had a carriage for ye, surely,” Chrisdean said.
“Ye willna give me a carriage?”
“Where will I find a carriage?” Chrisdean asked. “I can give ye one that we use for the carrots if ye want.”
The look that Nimue gave him had Chrisdean struggling to control his laughter. She didn’t seem to be pleased with him or with the fact that her reaction had amused him so much, and she tutted at him under her breath.
“I’ll tell ye about it if ye tell me somethin’ about yerself,” Nimue said.
“What do ye wish to ken?”
Nimue gave him a small, noncommittal shrug. “What do ye wish to tell me?”
“Weel . . . I’ve been the Laird for twelve years noo,” Chrisdean said, but when he saw the confusion on Nimue’s face, he paused. “What?”
“Twelve years?” she asked. “I didna think that ye were so old!”
“Old?” Chrisdean’s word was accentuated with a gasp. “Old? I’m na old, lass! How dare ye say that to me face? Do I look that old?”
“Weel, ye dinna look old, but ye must be!” Nimue said. “Twelve years?”
“Aye, I became a Laird at seventeen,” Chrisdean said. It was a subject that he didn’t want to broach, but now that he had already started talking about it, he was certain that Nimue would have questions for him, and as much as he didn’t want to answer them, he thought that perhaps his cooperation would result in her mellowing toward him.
Nimue hummed at that, nodding slowly as though she were doing mental calculations. “I see . . . how come ye became the Laird so young?”
Chrisdean took a deep breath. He figured that if he were to marry this woman, he would have to tell her about his past and his family at some point, and this point in time seemed as good as any.
“Me family died when I was seventeen,” he said. “Na . . . na, they didna die. They were murdered. They were massacred by the English, and I was the only one left. They . . . I dinna ken why they did it. I suppose they wanted to get rid of me faither, but me maither and me sister were in the way. He was a powerful man, me faither. He had influence, and the Sassenachs didna like it. But me maither and me sister . . . they didna have a reason to kill them. They could have let them live. I dinna ken why they didna. Me sister was only a bairn.”
Silence fell between the two of them. Chrisdean’s gaze was glued to the ground, on a patch of grass that seemed to grow thicker and longer than the rest, and he flinched when Nimue’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. In fact, her silence was more valuable to Chrisdean than any words could ever be. He had heard every version of condolence that there was and, while he knew that people meant well, he was tired of hearing such words.
Nimue seemed to understand, and that could only mean one thing, Chrisdean thought; she, too, had lost someone.
“Me maither,” Nimue said after a long stretch of silence, but then she seemed to falter, her words trailing off. Just like she had done earlier for him, Chrisdean remained silent, giving her the time that she needed to find the right words. “I saw her die. That’s why I’m afraid of horses.”
