Once the meeting ended and the wooden doors were opened, letting in a breeze of delicious cool air, Aileen followed Jamie out of the pew, stepping into the aisle and not glancing back once to see if Conall was approaching. In spite of her impulse to hurry away, she took her time.’Twouldn’t do to rush home, not when the other villagers remained behind visiting of a Sunday afternoon. She stopped to thank Mr. Graham for his sermon and moved on to join Dores and Mrs. Ross in the kirkyard.
Instead of finding his friends, Jamie remained beside her, making her wonder if he was hungry and eager to get home to eat. He seemed quieter than usual. She turned toward him, pulling on a glove. “We’ll not remain long if ye’d rather—”
Her words were cut off when the other glove was snatched from her hand. Turning, she saw Dores, grinning wickedly, brows moving up and down. She held the glove in one hand, her index finger raised in front of her mouth.
Mrs. Ross stood beside her, lips pulled to the side in an attempt to restrain her smile. Both women’s expressions were so obviously conspiring that a feeling of dread settled over Aileen.
“And what mischief are the two o’ ye plannin’?” she hissed.
Instead of answering, Dores grabbed on to Aileen’s arm and pulled her across the kirkyard. Mrs. Ross walked on the other side, making an observation about the warm weather that was much louder than necessary. The two women conducted Aileen along, speaking casually—though in a strange, forced manner—and excusing themselves as they passed through a group of people visiting with the minister. They stopped beside the cemetery wall.
“What on earth was that?” Aileen asked. She pulled away her arms and turned to make sure Jamie was still beside her. “Have the two o’ ye lost yer—”
A voice sounded behind her. One she recognized all too well: Conall Stewart’s. “I believe ye dropped this, Mrs. Campbell.” He held out the glove toward Dores.
Aileen’s mouth opened, but she was speechless. Did the two women truly conspire to drop her glove, hoping Conall would retrieve it? She needed to give the superstitious meddlers a talkin’ to.
“Oh no, ’tisn’t mine.” Dores’s eyes were wide in feigned innocence. “Does this glove belong to you, Mrs. Leslie?”
“Aye.” Aileen reached for the glove, but Conall pulled it away.
“Och, in tha’ case, I’ll be keepin’ it for a bit if ye don’t mind.” He tucked it into his vest pocket then offered her his arm. “Would ye walk with me, Mrs. Leslie? I’ve a matter I’d like to discuss wi’ ye.” His eyes twinkled.
Aileen glanced at the women, seeing by their surprise and confusion that their design had taken a different direction than they’d intended. She didn’t know whether to feel angry or flattered or embarrassed. The situation was so absurd that she was left with an overall bewilderment.
She slipped her hand into the bend of Conall’s arm, and with his other hand, he took ahold of her fingers, reminding her of the day they’d met in the library. Her skin tingled beneath his touch.
“I’ll deliver her home safely,” he said to Jamie then gave the boy a wink.
Jamie grinned then winked in return.
Aileen didn’t understand what was transpiring between the two and started to ask, but Conall led her away before she had a chance.
He led her from the kirkyard and across the road. They passed between buildings and came out on the hill overlooking the waterfront. Beneath, fishing boats bobbed in the water or rested on the shore, idle on the Sabbath.
Conall led Aileen along the top of the hill away from the village. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and the pace was leisurely. She wondered if he had a destination in mind or if he simply intended to walk. Would he mention the kiss? What if he planned to apologize for it, telling her ’twas a mistake? She glanced back, wondering if she should make an excuse to leave, but he’d likely offer to escort her home, so ’twouldn’t save her from the inevitable.
They walked in silence nearly as far as the Beltane field and stopped at a grassy spot beneath a flowering crabapple tree. The hill was much higher here, nearly a cliff, and with the clear sky, they could see all the way to the ocean. Seabirds soared over the water, their cries mingling with the crashing of waves. She and Jamie had walked this cliff often in the fall and winter, hoping to spot gray seals—selkies.
Conall stopped walking and turned toward her. “How are ye feeling?”
The question sounded abrupt, and she wasn’t certain if he were asking out of concern or just acting polite. His manner was tense, and she felt a trickle of worry. “I think I am fully mended, sir. Thank ye.”
“I’m glad.” He stepped back, releasing her and clasping his hands behind his back. He scratched beneath his ear then stepped forward again, leading her to the crumbled remains of an ancient wall where he indicated she should sit. He stood before her.
“If ye don’t mind,” he cleared his throat, “I want to ask ye somethin’.”
“Aye, of course.” Her mouth was dry. What could be making him so nervous? Had Jamie done something deservin’ of a reprimand? She didn’t believe so. Not with the way the two had exchanged winks. It had to be the kiss he was thinkin’ to discuss.
He ran a finger around the inside of his collar then dropped his hand. “Aileen Leslie, would ye do me the honor of bein’ my wife?”
“Oh.” She touched fingertips to her lips. He wished to marry her? She’d not expected . . .
Aileen’s mind was a whirl. Fluttering started in her stomach as his words sank in. Marry Conall Stewart? The man who’d saved her life, cared for her son, opened his house to them. He loved her Jamie, brought out the best aspects of the lad. He was gentle and thoughtful, handsome, a hard worker. Conall made her feel safe and happy. He embodied all the qualities she could desire in a husband.
She twisted her fingers together, one gloved hand winding with her bare one. She didn’t dare to look up. Marriage to Conall would be everything she could ask for. But what of him? He was educated; well traveled; and now lived in a grand house with carpets, a book room, and delicate china. What could Aileen possibly offer him?
She knew plenty of women who married with the sole objective of improving their circumstance. So why did the idea make her uneasy?
She laid her palms flat on her legs. Conall obviously liked her company, but did he love her? Would he come to regret marrying her? He was a generous man when it came to caring for those less fortunate. He’d proven it time and again by sending home food and other necessities with Jamie. She’d heard of various generosities he’d performed for members of the village, and he’d bought an entire sheep for the Beltane festival. Was he proposing to her out of a sense of chivalry or philanthropy? Her stomach soured at the thought.
Conall cleared his throat again, and she looked up, realizing she’d remained silent far too long. “Conall, I—”
“I worried ye’d need convincin’.” He knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his. “’Tis difficult for ye to consider, I understand. I ken ye loved someone before—yer first husband—and I’m not meanin’ to diminish that.”
Aileen closed her eyes, the sick feeling in her stomach getting stronger as it was joined by guilt.
“I promise I’ll be a good husband to ye. I don’t mean to replace him. I—”
She tugged on his hand to stop his words. “Nay, ’tisn’t that at all.” She let out a heavy breath and looked at him directly. “Sir, you’ve no need to convince me to accept you. I would love nothin’ more than to marry ye. But I worry yer not considerin’ everything properly. I’ve nothin’ to offer to ye: no dowry, only a small crofter’s cottage, a goat, and some hives.” She felt ashamed admitting it, but to remain silent felt like deception—and not telling the truth pertaining to her widowhood and Jamie’s parentage was already deceiving him enough. But she’d kept the secret for so long, and Jamie’s protection was still her strongest motivation. “Conall, a marriage between us seems to be beneficial to only one party. I’d not be wantin’ ye to regret y
er decision one day because ye showed compassion to a poor woman and her son.”
Conall stood. “And is that what ye think this is? Charity?” He removed his hat and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Ye think I’m proposin’ marriage out o’ the goodness o’ my heart?”
“I would hope ’tisn’t the case. But . . .”
Conall sat beside her. “Listen to me, Aileen. I fret about ye in tha’ drafty cottage, I do. When it rains, I worry ye’ll take a chill and yer fever will return. I care about Jamie and hope the two o’ ye have enough food so ye don’t go to sleep hungry. I’ll not apologize for my worryin’, but I’d not marry a woman out of sympathy. No matter how I agonized when she was ill.” He cupped her chin, lifting her face toward him. “I love ye, Aileen. Tha’s the reason I wish to marry ye.” He dropped his hand, his gaze not leaving hers.
He looked vulnerable, eyes soft and brows drawn together, but there was also a determination in the set of his mouth. He’d laid out his feelings, and now the matter was left up to her.
Aileen stood. She stepped around until she stood before him. Conall’s broad shoulders were tense, but he didn’t hunch. He sat straight with a confidence that she admired. He held his hat dangling between his knees and just watched her, waiting.
“Do ye love me truly?”
“I do.”
A jittery feeling spread through her. He was in earnest, and she . . . “I’ll need to be speakin’ with Jamie of course.”
One side of his mouth drew up in a smile. “I spoke to him already. The lad gives his blessing.”
Aileen felt like her chest was expanding as her heart grew light. Every argument she could think of floated away leaving her with a warm contentment. She smiled. “Then, Sergeant Conall Stewart, nothin’ would make me happier than bein’ yer bride.” Once the words left her mouth, their significance grew, taking up the world. Everything would be different from this moment on. But it felt . . . right.
The other side of his mouth rose, and his eyes darkened. “Come here, lass.”
Aileen pulled off her glove, one finger at a time, and let it fall to the ground. She stepped forward until she stood before him. He rested his hands on her hips.
She felt brave and nervous as she brushed her fingers through the curls that fell over his forehead and ears, smoothing his hair. Placing hands on both sides of his face, she tilted his head back, and her thumbs smoothed the lines between his brows. A jagged white scar stood out on his forehead, and she drew a finger over it, wondering if an enemy bayonet had caused it or perhaps he’d simply fallen as a child. The idea of, over time, learning the details about his life gave her a thrill. The whiskers on his cheeks were scratchy on her fingertips as she traced the line of his jaw and touched the cleft of his chin. She drew her finger up the shallow crease and along his lower lip, surprised again by the softness.
Conall made a noise deep in his throat. His hands slid up her back, tipping her forward to press their lips together.
And time stopped. ’Twas exactly how she remembered. Her heart racing, nerves tingling, but this time, the kiss wasn’t a question but an answer. A commitment between the two o’ them. A promise.
When Aileen finally drew back, her legs felt shaky. Her skin was flushed. She stooped down to pick up her glove, but Conall clasped her hand, stopping her. He lifted the glove and stood, pulling her up with him. Taking the other glove from his pocket, he placed the two together and set them in her palm.
His motions seemed meaningful, and she looked up at him, brows furrowed in question.
“I waited to return it to ye until after we’d talked. I didna want ye to think the auld hens’ tricks were the reason behind anythin’ I said today.”
She smiled, looking down as she drew on the gloves.
Conall waited for her to look back up at him. “From now on, trust that everythin’ I do or say is because I love ye. Not out o’ pity or auld women’s manuverin’. Do ye understand?”
Aileen nodded. “Aye.”
Conall touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. “That’s my lass.”
Chapter 16
Conall kept Nellie to a slow pace. Aileen would be returning from the heather hives at any time, and he didna want to miss her. He scanned the hills as he rode, a pleasant anticipation stirring in his belly. Though the engagement had lasted longer than a month, he’d not grown tired of the feeling, the skipping of his heart when he saw her, nor the heat that moved through him with her simplest touch.
The banns had been called for three successive Sundays, and at Dores Campbell’s insistence, they’d delayed another week for the new moon. Waiting to marry Aileen had been an exercise in patience. If Conall had his choice, he’d have taken her before the blacksmith and married her the very day he’d proposed, but he knew the deed should be done respectably. Not only for Aileen’s sake. In the back of his mind, he wanted to make his ma proud. And at long last, the day had nearly arrived. June 25 was tomorrow. At last.
Tomorrow he’d not have to bid her farewell of an evening and return to his own home. He’d not have to invite Mrs. Campbell or Jamie along if they went for a picnic. He could finally toss aside the blasted rules of decorum and hold her hand in kirk, stay awake talking to her late into the night, kiss her for as long as he wished—for Aileen Leslie would be his wife.
He thought back to the past ten years, realizing in all his hopes for the future, he’d never imagined he’d be so happy. After years of travels and fighting, tomorrow he’d have a family of his own. The knowledge filled him with a joy that surpassed any he’d known.
He rounded a hill and saw her, raising a hand in greeting.
She smiled, her bright eyes visible from even this distance. The wind lifted the veil of her beekeeping hat, and she swatted it back out of her face.
He urged Nellie forward. “What a surprise. If ’tisn’t my betrothed.” He dismounted and took her hand, bending forward in a bow.
Aileen curtseyed. “A surprise, is it?” She smirked, raising a teasing brow. “Ye jes happened to be out ridin’ toward the moors this evenin’ then?”
He took the basket holding her beekeeping tools and put it over his arm. “I jes returned from deliverin’ Jamie home.” He’d fetch the lad back in a bit for his stag-night party. “Since my fiancée was still out tending her bees, I thought I’d take a wee ride in search of a kiss. Maybe one of the Aos si would oblige.”
Aileen covered his mouth, her eyes looking around nervously. “Bi sàmhach. Ye shouldna name the folk aloud, even in jest.”
He smiled, her superstitions reminding him of his childhood. His mother would have punished him for teasing about “the good neighbors.” His own belief in the faery folk had weakened in his travels, and he found Aileen’s convictions of the mythological creatures to be charming. “Ye remind me so much o’ my mother at times.”
Aileen raised her brow. “I don’t ken if ’tis a good thing or nay.”
“I said sometimes, not all times.” He set down the basket, pulling on her fingers to draw her closer, then he untied her hat, pulled it off, and slid his hand beneath her ear to cradle her head. He pressed a kiss to her mouth, the heat from her touch filling him nearly to bursting. Pulling back, just a bit, he whispered against her lips. “Like now, ye don’t remind me o’ her a’tall.”
Aileen rolled her eyes. “I should hope not.” He saw a smile on her lips as she turned toward the horse. She patted the bridge of Nellie’s nose. “And how are ye, bonny lassie?” she murmured as the horse nuzzled her cheek.
“’Tis still undecided whether she favors ye or Jamie the most,” Conall said. “Lately, I think she leans in yer direction.” He tucked the hat into the basket and laid a hand on Nellie’s neck. “Would ye care to ride her home?”
Aileen shook her head, declining the offer as she always did. He knew the idea of sitting so high off the ground on a large, moving beast frightened her, but he’d hoped her concern would decrease as she spent time with the animal. He was certai
n she’d develop a love for riding if she could overcome the initial anxiety.
He gave her the reins, letting her lead the horse, which he knew she enjoyed doing, and took her hand. They started back along the road toward Dunaid.
“I know ye miss yer ma,” Aileen said after a moment. “Ye mention her often. And yer da. I’m sorry ye still haven’t any word from yer family.”
He’d yet to tell her about the letter from Mr. Douglas, fearing she’d think he’d manipulated her into marriage with the intent of whisking her away to Canada once they were wed. Which, of course, he’d no intention of. He knew her heart was here, in Dunaid. She loved the village, belonged here. They’d taken her in as a young widow with a baby. How could he ask her to leave this behind? And as for himself, this peculiar little village with its unpredictable residents had siezed hold of his heart as well. He felt an attachment to this place. Perhaps because ’twas less than a day’s ride to Glengarry. Perhaps because it reminded him of his childhood. Whatever the case, he wasn’t anxious to leave. But the draw to find his family still pulled at him.
He glanced down at her, bracing himself for her reaction. “I did receive a response.”
Aileen stopped, holding her arm out behind and pushing back on the reins to keep Nellie from running into her. “When?”
“Over a month ago.”
“And are they . . . alive?” She winced.
“Aye, my parents and likely my sister are all alive and well in Nova Scotia.”
“Well, tha’s good then.” Her eyes squinted, and her mouth drew down into a frown. “Why did ye no’ tell me?”
He shrugged, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. “I thought ye’d worry I’d try to take ye away from here.”
“And would ye?”
“I don’t know. I want to find them. I need to. When I left—well, I wasn’t the courteous gentleman I am now.” He attempted to smile, but it fell flat. “Words were spoken. There are things I need to say that canna be written in a letter. Apologies mostly.”
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