Her hero dragged his attention from Mayra for an instant. “Och, aye...Coburn. Coburn Wallace.”
As Mr. Wallace respectfully dipped his head, polite but not the least subservient, the sun caught the bronze streaks ribboning his russet hair.
“Mr. Coburn Wallace, Miss Mayra Findlay,” Searc finished, another broad smile stretching his kind face, as if he’d been granted the highest honor in introducing them.
Mayra adjusted her sleeve, smoothing the slightly-frayed cuff over her glove.
Ach. Not done.
Searc only meant to be helpful, but in introducing her to the stranger, he overstepped propriety. Mum and Bettie wouldn’t be pleased.
Mayra ought to nod her head and sweep past the men without another word. Most peculiar thing, however. Her feet stayed fixed where Mr. Wallace had deposited her and seemed as loath to move as Glen Coe’s majestic mountains towering beyond the horizon.
“Miss Findlay? Of Dunrangour Tower?”
A different glint, keener and assessing rather than appreciative, entered Mr. Wallace’s interesting eyes. His hot gaze leisurely crept to her scuffed half-boot-clad feet, and then made the reverse journey over her well-worn midnight blue and hunter green arisaid to rest on her hair secured in a simple knot beneath her hat.
“Aye, I am.” Mayra’s stomach renewed its frolicking when he’d said her name. Mindful of the intrigued onlookers, she inclined her head in what she hoped was a regal, yet impersonal manner.
“May I ask what brings ye to our fair village, Mr. Wallace?”
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