The Mackintosh Bride. Debra Brown Lee

nearly fell off the stool.”

      You know my father? And my—”

      “Aye, that I do. Rob and I raised trouble together before ye were e’en a twinklin’ in his eye.” Duncan laughed. His bright blue eyes seemed focused on things far away.

      He continued in a soothing voice, as if he were telling a bedtime story to a child too anxious to sleep. “Back before ye were born, when the old lairds, the Mackintosh and the Grant, were allies, yer da and I traveled together in search o’ breedin’ stock. Och, we was green as sticks, but what a time we had. England, Spain, France…”

      “France was where he met my mother!”

      “Aye, and a bonnier lass there ne’er was—until now.” He looked her over with a sort of paternal approval.

      “Oh,” she said, and felt her cheeks warm. “I’m afraid I was not blessed with my mother’s fair looks. She is small and delicate, and I’m…well, I’m—” She shrugged her shoulders.

      “Ye are like a sorrel filly in high summer. A beauty, ye are, and many a man’s took notice.” A mischievous grin creased his wrinkled face. “Some more than others, I’d say.”

      She felt her blush deepen, then remembered why she’d come. “But, Duncan, how did you know it was me? We’ve never met.”

      “Och, I used to see ye in the forest playin’ with the lad.”

      Her eyes widened. “It was you! I knew someone was watching us.”

      “Aye, I was there.” He grinned, but then his expression sobered. “D’ye think The Mackintosh would ha’ let his son run wild about the wood wi’ nary a soul to protect him?”

      “Nay, I expect he wouldn’t have.” She’d never really considered that.

      “And you. Do ye think yer da ne’er missed the fact ye were gone long hours from the Grant stable?”

      “I did wonder how it was he never found out. I always thought ’twas because I was so clever.”

      “Clever?” Duncan laughed.

      “But how did you recognize me? I was but a child when last I met Iain at the copse.”

      “Och, lass, who else could ye ha’ been? There was only the one lassie who could vex Iain so.”

      She opened her mouth in wonder at this admission.

      “One look at the both o’ ye perched atop that stallion like a pair o’ snarlin’ wildcats, and I knew ye. And that wild mop o’ gold atop yer head was another clue.” He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it. “Aye,” he said, warmth and affection shining from his eyes. “I knew ye, girl.”

      Alena wiped at her eyes, then stood and looked out a small window at the rising sun, a fireball in the east. Somewhere under its roving eye Glenmore Castle slept, and in it the man who would mold her future to his will.

      “You won’t tell Iain—about who I am?”

      “He doesna know?” Duncan sat up straight.

      “Nay.”

      The old man stroked his white-silver beard and looked hard at her. “Ye would keep the truth from him?”

      “I…I plan to tell him, but not just yet,” she lied.

      “All know of how he saved ye from the Grant. And he’s mad as a hornet that ye willna make plain what ye were about.”

      Alena knew this all too well. She recalled Iain’s barely controlled anger at her refusal to explain her circumstances.

      “Can ye tell me, lass?”

      She paced the straw-strewn floor and wouldn’t meet the stablemaster’s eyes. “Nay. Nay, I cannot.”

      They were silent for a moment and Alena heard the warbling of a lark and the comforting clatter of the waking estate.

      “Weel,” Duncan said, drawing out the word. “I willna press ye—but I willna lie to the laird, neither. If he asks me, I’ll tell him what I know.”

      “Oh, please—let me tell him. In my own way.”

      “And what of yer parents? They canna know ye’re here?”

      “Nay, they do not.” Guilt and fear knotted her stomach. “They must be worried sick.” She knelt before Duncan. “I must get word to them. Can you help me?”

      The old man stroked his beard again, his eyes far away. “Weel,” he began, and Alena knew he’d hatched a plan. “There’s a travelin’ priest makes the Highland circuit amongst all the old Chattan clans. He’s no’ due here for more than a fortnight yet, but he’ll pass through Davidson land on the forest road—tomorrow, methinks—headed north past Glenmore to Inverness.”

      “Father Ambrose! I know him!”

      “Aye, he’s the one.”

      “Can he be trusted?” she asked.

      “Och, lassie, he’s a priest.” Duncan stood abruptly and Alena heard his bones creak. She rose and followed him to the door. “I’ll send Gavin out on the morrow to meet him. Ambrose will get word to yer da that ye’re safe and here with us.”

      Relief washed over her. Each night she prayed that they were safe, as well. “Thank you, Duncan.”

      They walked out into the stable yard and were bathed in sunlight. Alena shook off a chill and raised her face to its warmth.

      “And now, lassie, perhaps ye can do something for me?”

      “Aye, anything.”

      “Ye’ve a talent with horses— ’tis plain to see. Rob taught ye well. We’ve a new group of Percherons to break before high summer.” Duncan indicated the enclosure that lay at the end of the stable yard farthest from the lodge.

      A small herd of horses grazed in the wild grass that grew, untrammeled, at the edges of the corral.

      “Gavin’s a good lad—does the work o’ two men, but we could use another pair o’ skilled hands.” The stable-master looked at her, gauging her ability, it seemed. “Are ye game, lass?”

      “Oh, aye. I’d be pleased to help.” And relieved to have something to occupy her hands whilst she considered her next move.

      “Weel, then, ye willna be much use to me in that.” He nodded at her attire, the too tight woolen gown. He then pointed at the stable lads newly arrived from their beds to work, still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. “See if young Jamie or Fergus has a pair o’ breeches that will accommodate ye.”