Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

At the mention of Sìleas, Ian swept his gaze over the few women still in the churchyard.

“Have ye seen Sìleas?” he asked, thinking she must have gone back into the church.

“She left with Gòrdan”—Alex cleared his throat—“for their usual Sunday stroll.”

“Their what?”

“Don’t fret—she said they’ll meet us at the house,” Alex said. “Ye see, Gòrdan’s joining the family for Sunday dinner. As usual.”

“What does Sìleas think she’s doing?” Ian felt as if his head was exploding.

“Strolling, I suppose,” Alex said.

Ian wanted to smash his fist into the middle of Alex’s grinning face.

That sneaking Gòrdan. Ian found his brother by their horses and grabbed him by the arm. “Tell me what’s been going on with Sìleas and Gòrdan.”

Niall jerked his arm away. “Gòrdan’s been protecting her, just as we all have, in your absence .”

With that, Niall swung up onto his horse, slapped the reins, and galloped off. Ian blew out his breath and wondered what had happened to the young lad who used to look up to him. He would have to have a talk with his brother. But first, he would deal with Sìleas.

On the ride back to the house, he ignored Alex’s attempts at conversation. He was in no mood for it. He kept his eyes out for Gòrdan and Sìleas, but he did not catch a glimpse of the wandering pair all the way back.

If they were not on the path, where in the hell were they?

CHAPTER 8

When they reached the house, Alex went to the byre, saying he preferred the beasts’ company to Ian’s. Niall must have taken himself off somewhere as well, for there was no sign of him. Ian found his mother alone, stitching by the fire.

“How’s da?” he asked.

“Sleeping.”

Ian sat with his arms folded, waiting for Sìleas and Gòrdan.

His mother looked up from her sewing. “What’s troubling ye, son?”

“I am trying to understand why my family appears to have encouraged Sìleas to go off alone with Gòrdan every chance she gets,” he said, grinding out the words. “Ye know how that looks, mam. Sìl didn’t have a mother who taught her that sort of behavior could earn her a reputation, but ye know better. Why did ye not tell her?”

His mother arched her eyebrows. “If ye were concerned about your wife’s behavior, perhaps ye should have come home sooner.”

“I didn’t know she was traipsing all over the Isle of Skye with Gòrdan Graumach MacDonald.” And traipsing had damned well better be all she was doing with Gòrdan.

“Ach, men,” his mother murmured and went back to her stitching. “What ye should be doing is thanking Gòrdan for looking after her.”

“I should be thanking him?” Ian said, working hard not to shout at his mother.

“Ye can’t expect her to stay cooped up in the house all the time,” his mother said. “Your da never let her go out alone for fear her MacKinnon relations would try to snatch her. Since he was injured and the other men quit working our lands, Gòrdan has been kind enough to accompany Sìleas when your brother can’t.”

“Hmmph,” Ian snorted. “Gòrdan has something in mind other than protecting her.”

“Gòrdan is an honorable man,” his mother said. “If ye don’t want Sìleas for a wife, I’d be glad for her to have Gòrdan as her husband.”

Ian sat up straight. “As her husband, ye say?”

“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake your da.”

Before Ian came home, his plan had been to see Sìleas settled with a good man. But Gòrdan? He would never do for her.

“It would be a good match for our Sìleas—except for Gòrdan’s mother, of course.” She clucked her tongue. “That woman will be a trial to any daughter-in-law.”

“It would be a good match— except for his mother ?” Ian bit out. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this.

“Aye, it would,” his mother, breaking the thread with her teeth. “Losing Sìleas would be like losing my baby daughters all over again. If she isn’t going to remain part of our family, then it would please me to have her close by.”

“What makes ye think I’ll let Gòrdan have her?”

His mother set her sewing aside and gave him a soft smile. “If ye want Sìleas as your wife, don’t ye think it’s time ye told her?”

At the sound of the door opening, Ian jumped to his feet. Sìleas came in, looking over her shoulder and laughing. She was a vision, with her cheeks rosy from the cold and loose tendrils of hair curling about her face.

Her laughter died when she turned and saw him.

“Where have ye been?” Ian stood in front of her waiting for an explanation.

“With Gòrdan,” she said, as she slipped off her cloak and handed it to Gòrdan to hang by the door.

“I did not see ye on the path,” Ian said.

“We weren’t on the path,” she said, then turned to speak to his mother. “Such a lovely afternoon for this time of year. No, don’t get up, Beitris. I’ll see to supper.”

She brushed past Ian and headed for the kitchen without so much as a glance at him. He was about to follow her when Alex stuck his head through the front door.

“Niall and I could use your help with one of the horses,” Alex called, then shut the door again.

Ian stormed outside and found Alex waiting for him by the byre. “What do ye need me for? You’re the best man with horses.”

“I didn’t call ye out for help with the damned horses,” Alex said in a low voice. “Your brother is in the byre, and he’s in such a fury he’s like to put the cows off their milk.”

“I don’t have time now,” Ian said, clenching his fists. “I need to talk with Sìleas.”

“Just now, I think ye need to speak with your brother more. I’ve tried telling Niall that ye are not the horse’s ass ye seem to be, but I fear I wasn’t too convincing.” Alex slapped Ian on the back. “Go talk to the lad.”

“Ach!” Ian banged into the byre and found Niall brushing his horse down.

When Niall looked up and saw him, he threw the brush against the wall.

Ian grabbed Niall as he stormed past him. “Niall, what is—”

“Go back to France!” Niall shouted in his face.

Ian blocked Niall’s arm when he tried to drive his fist into Ian’s face. Before Niall could punch him with his other hand, Ian spun him around and held him by the neck. His own temper was flaming now.

“You’re a long way from taking your big brother, so I suggest ye not try that again,” Ian hissed in Naill’s ear.

There was no point in talking when they were both so angry, so he let his brother go.

Ian watched Niall’s stiff back as he stalked out of the byre with his fists clenched. So much for following Alex’s advice. Ian finished brushing the horse to calm himself before going back to the house.

By the time he got to the table, his brother and Gòrdan were sitting on either side of Sìleas, and Alex had taken the seat across from her. He sat down and glared at Alex as he started shoveling his food down.

His mother was speaking to him, but Ian couldn’t follow what she was saying when it was plain as day that Gòrdan was set on stealing Sìleas away—right under his own roof. God’s bones, the man’s gaze never left her face.

And what was Alex up to? He was putting on a full show of his dazzling charm. And from the way Sìl laughed at Alex’s foolish remarks, his charm was working.

Ian could hardly choke down his food.

Sìleas was determined to be cheerful. Damn Ian MacDonald anyway. First, he demands she ride with him, leading her to believe he was going to play the part of her husband before half the clan at the church. Then, as soon as they arrive, he sends her off as if she were still a child.