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Relief reflected in Finn’s eyes, and he eagerly turned to Keir’s question. “Aye, they said that there are currently two English ladies at the castle.” He paused for a moment, thinking, then shook his head. “I canna say that I saw anything suspicious; however, I went across country and didna stay at an inn.”
Keir nodded, wishing that there was no need for suspicion at all. More than anything, he simply wanted to be happy here with Sarah.
“If ye wish,” Finn offered, “I’ll send word to my friend Cormag and ask him to keep an eye out.”
Keir nodded, grateful. Cormag MacDrummond was the current clan chief’s son, a rather serious young man, but with good instincts and a watchful eye. “I thank ye.”
As the three young men headed toward the stable, Keir, too, saddled Scout and made his way down to the village and the harbor. The gelding was eager to move, tossing his head and stretching his legs, clearly wishing for a longer ride across country. “Soon,” Keir told him, patting his neck as he dismounted and then tied the prancing horse to a pole near the docks.
Duncan stood on deck of one of their larger ships, overseeing repairs. “I didna expect to see ye today,” he remarked with an insinuating grin. “Where is yer betrothed?”
Keir shook his head at his brother, deciding that it was best to ignore him completely. “I wish to send letters to our neighboring clans, asking our allies for help.”
At Keir’s words, the smile upon Duncan’s face vanished. “I thought about it myself.” He nodded. “Perhaps ’tis wise to ask for their help. After all, these are times of peace, are they not?”
Keir exhaled a deep breath, casting a frowning look at the horizon where dark clouds gathered. “It seems a storm is coming.”
A noncommittal grunt escaped Duncan’s throat. “If ye have Father write the letters, I shall deliver them.”
“Thank ye.” Keir grasped his brother’s shoulder. “Let me know the moment ye hear anything.”
Duncan nodded, and Keir hurried back to the castle, quickly discussing their plan with his father before hurrying back to the harbor. The sky had grown even darker, the bright sunshine from this morning gone, as Keir handed Duncan the letters. “Is it safe to sail now?”
Duncan grinned. “If ye know what ye’re doing.”
Shaking his head at his brother, Keir held his gaze. “Take care of yerself, Brother. I expect to see ye back here tonight.”
Duncan nodded, and Keir walked down the gangplank, lifting his hand in farewell as Duncan ordered the ship to be readied. Mounting Scout, Keir returned to the castle. There, he brushed down the snorting gelding, hoping that all their precautions would prove unnecessary.
As he crossed the courtyard, Keir’s gaze traveled upward, coming to rest upon the windows to the library, and suddenly, he remembered Kenna’s favorite hiding place.
Far in the back of the vaulted room, there was an alcove, half-hidden behind tall shelves. As a wee lass, she had often crawled in there, her lips pouting and her face streaked with tears whenever Eoghan, Duncan, and Keir had refused to let her join their games.
Although she might not fit in there anymore, Keir decided to try his luck. He did not wish to put off their conversation any longer, wanting peace of mind for his future with Sarah. And, of course, he did not wish to see Kenna upset, praying that he would find the right words to see them made friends once more.
A hushed silence hung over the library as Keir stepped inside. A fire burned in the grate, and yet its dancing orange flames did not break through the gloom of the day and illuminate much of the interior. Most of the room lay in shadows, and Keir moved slowly through the rows of shelves, peeking around each one, straining his eyes to see if anyone might be nearby.
At first, he found nothing, no sign that anyone had been here recently. Then, however, his ears picked up the soft sound of someone breathing nearby. His steps quickened, and he rounded another shelf, now remembering where precisely the alcove was. Indeed, he had not been here in a long time.
“Kenna?”
At his call, there was a pause before the sounds of breathing continued. He heard the rustling of fabric and then the soft fall of footsteps approaching.
“What do ye want?” Kenna demanded; her arms crossed over her chest as she stepped toward him. “I wish to be alone.”
Keir heaved a deep sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “Do ye not think we need to talk, lass?”
Kenna stared at him, tears shimmering in her eyes even in the half dark. “What is there to talk about? Ye are betrothed! Betrothed!” She shook her head, then suddenly shot toward him, accusation burning in her eyes. “How could ye? How could ye do this to me?”
Caught off guard by the vehemence of her emotions, Keir was at a loss. “I thought we were friends,” he began tentatively, not wishing to upset her more. “Was I mistaken?”
Kenna inhaled a slow breath, her chest rising and falling slowly, her eyes fixed upon his face. “I thought we were more than friends,” she retorted, her voice sharp. “Ye almost kissed me that night.”
Keir sighed, remembering the night she spoke of. Only in his memory, there had been nothing romantic about it.
Clearly, Kenna disagreed.Eoghan was right. I oughta have spoken to her sooner.
It had been the night of the spring festival when the air had grown warmer again, bringing forth blossoms and shades of green otherwise lost to winter. There had been music and dancing, banquet tables set in the great hall laden with food, a feast worthy for kings. As custom had it, many young men and women alike adorned themselves with an early bloomer, such as a bluebell. While women tied them into their hair, men often fixed them with a brooch onto their plaids. It signaled not only the beginning of a new season but also represented a willing sign for another age-old tradition similar to that of the mistletoe.
