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‘That is not fair Murray. I remember you were always like that, quick to find the bad in people.’
‘And must you always look for the good? Forgive me, I promised I would try to behave myself. So what kind of man is he?’ Murray asked
‘The best kind,’ she said abruptly, giving him a filthy look and walking away to Aidan’s side.
***
Ailsa watched her daughter from across the hall. She seemed at odds with Murray tonight, and little wonder, for he was a world away from the impetuous teenager who had once held Ilene’s absolute trust and affection. There had always been an affinity between these two, and Ailsa wondered if it lingered still, in his mind, if not Ilene’s, as she noticed how his eyes sought Ilene wherever she was in the hall.
‘I can’t imagine why you and Duncan have welcomed that scoundrel back so warmly for he does not deserve it.’
Ailsa frowned at the bitterness in Morag’s voice. Before William’s death, she had never heard her sister say a bad word about anyone. ‘He is our son Morag and the past is behind us.’
‘Is it? In truth, I never understood why you took him as your son in the first place. He’s caused you no end of trouble Ailsa, always fighting and drinking and stealing and then what does the ungrateful wretch do, runs away without so much as a by your leave.’
‘Aye you’re right Morag, he has always been trouble and likely he always will be, yet I have always loved him, in spite of it.’
‘Tell me, was it you who agreed to welcome him back with open arms or Duncan?’
‘Murray sent word that he was back in the Highlands and wished to be reconciled. The first I knew of it was when he rode into Cailleach, a boy returned as a man.’
‘Rather high handed of Duncan, to do that without asking, don’t you think.’
‘He knew I would be overjoyed to have Murray back with us so he didn’t have to ask. He’s where he belongs, Morag.’
‘Well, on your head be it.’
Ailsa looked back at her adopted son. Murray was a man now and a hardened one at that, or so it would seem to a casual observer. Ailsa found it hard to reconcile her memories of him to the current reality. They had guessed his age at around seven or eight when they had found him all those years ago, bone thin and starving, but they had no way of knowing for certain. Having suffered the loss of a pregnancy around that time and almost breaking under the grief of it, Ailsa had needed someone to save almost as much as Murray had needed a home and a family. So she had taken the scrawny child to her bosom and poured her grief and love into him instead of sending him to the stables to work, or to one of the tenant farmers for raising. In this, she had not been entirely fair to him, but a fine, if somewhat rebellious and standoffish young man had risen from those sad and humble beginnings, one she was proud of, one who had always protected her daughter.
Murray had always had a watchful mistrust of people which had never gone away completely, except for when he was with Ilene. Everyone else he kept at arms-length, but Ilene seemed to have a fascination for him, even as a baby, and he had made himself her protector and confidante as she grew up. He admired and respected Duncan, was kind and respectful to her, but Ilene, well, he had loved her, no matter how he had tried to hide it. That was why she had been heartbroken when he left her behind.
Since his return, Ailsa had seen glimpses of that boy she had once loved as her own. When Murray smiled and his face softened, it was there. Duncan still had his admiration and respect, that much was clear in his manner. He had so far been kind to her boys too when they would give him no peace from their questions, showing a great deal of patience in dealing with their clamouring, incessant need for his attention. But around Ilene, there was awkwardness in his manner and something guarded and Ailsa didn’t know why.
Murray may be master of his destiny now but there was still some of that old snarling resentment and need for acceptance about him. He had come back to them after all these years for a reason. Ailsa was just not sure what that was.
Chapter Five
A light wind swept off the loch, lifting wisps of Ilene’s hair which tickled her face as she tried hard to concentrate. Her arm shook with the strain of holding back the bowstring. She took a deep breath and released the arrow but it landed with a dull thwack, nowhere near the target, and way down the field.
‘Damn and blast it,’ she exclaimed loudly.
‘Your elbow is held too low, your stance is sloppy and you grip onto the arrow as if your life depended on it.’
Oh, that’s all she needed, Murray coming along to disturb her peace and make fun of her. He came right up to her and casually took her hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘See the grooves and red marks, you’re holding too tight. That is the worst thing to do,’ he said, with a big grin on his face. He had a rare but winning smile and it gave his face a boyish look, rendering him warmly handsome rather than severely imposing. In truth, it made her heart melt a little just to see it.
‘Well, if my life did depend on it, I would surely be dead by now,’ she said flinging down the bow, pulling her hand free of his.
‘You fail because you have no respect for your instrument. It must be treated gently and coaxed into submission, like a woman.’ He winked at her as he bent to pick up her bow making her feel as though her face had burst into flames. She noticed that his eyebrows were darker than his hair, which had been streaked gold in places by the sun. The fact that she should notice unsettled her.
Before she could protest he had fired off several arrows with deadly accuracy.
‘Must you boast Murray?’
‘Aye I must,’ he said smiling, the sun lighting up his blue eyes, which were full of laughter and now looking at her in such a way as to make her feel as though all her clothes had suddenly been stripped away.
‘You have had much more practice than me that’s all.’
