Page 17 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

Once Dahlia and Arran had finished their porridge and collected Arran’s laundered shirt, they made their farewells to Abigail and Morag and the babe in Abigail’s arms and made their way back to the spot where the horses waited.

As Arran assisted Dahlia into her saddle, he was acutely aware of the show of tears glistening in her eyes, her downturned mouth and the tremble in her lower lip. Her distress was clear, and his heart went out to her. What loomed before them now was the rest of the journey and in little more than an hour, their arrival at Castle Mackinnon.

“Are ye saddened tae leave our new friends?”

She lowered her eyes and shook her head, sending her fair ringlets flying around her face. He longed to hold her in his arms, wipe away the tears and bring joy into her day. His fingers itched to smooth her hair from her troubled face.

But, regardless of how much he was drawn to Dahlia MacLeod, a voice inside his head was cautioning him against losing his heart and his mind. He was sorely tempted to delay their arrival, yet he knew too well the fate awaiting his mother, the Lady Emilia, should he not obey his laird’s instructions.

Despite it all, he wished Bairre Mackinnon and his commands to hell.

They were about to turn their horses back onto the road when Arran pulled up, reining in Dahlia’s horse with his. An idea had occurred to him that could bring pleasure to them both.

“I can see the prospect of our ride this day is nae pleasing tae ye.”

She shook her head. “Indeed. This is nae me home, Mackinnon. The country is strange tae me. I long fer me bonny island, where I could roam free and swim in the sea with naebody tae hinder me or command me, save fer our king, Robert the Bruce.”

“D’ye have a dream of where ye’d while away yer time when ye were a lass? Mayhap a wildflower meadow, a glen, a gentle flowing burn or the loch?

She gazed into the distance, a wistful expression in her eyes. “I long tae be riding in the Cuillins, walking the cliffs by the sea or dipping me toes in the icy waters of the loch.”

He reached over and took her soft, small hand in his. At that moment all he wished was to bring a smile to her face, to see the sadness banished from her blue eyes.

“I cannae take ye intae the hills ye love, or escort ye along the cliffs, but I ken a place, nae far from here, where a burn cascades over bonny waterfall. We could spend a wee moment there before we continue on our way.”

A smile broke out, lighting her face. “I would love that.” She brightened, sitting higher in the saddle, straightening her shoulders. “Mayhap I shall be able tae wet me toes in the burn.”

He turned the horses in the opposite direction and soon the road narrowed, turning into nothing more than a track where they could not ride two abreast but continued in single file.

Arran marveled that Dahlia had not taken advantage of his injury during the night, when she could well have taken her mare and set off. He struggled to find an explanation; wrestling with the possibility that she may have been concerned for him and then rejecting such a fanciful idea out of hand.

No, he could only consider they had travelled too far for her to find her way back home.

The track they followed was thickly wooded and it was slow-going through the pine trees. Dahlia looked around, a delighted smile on her face that warmed his heart.

“However did ye discover such a hidden place?”

“I was only a lad, out hunting with only me dogs for company. The dogs took off barking in hot pursuit of a rabbit, with me following them on me horse.”

“And did ye catch the rabbit?”

He chuckled. “Nay, he was long gone before I caught up with the hounds. But I kept going, following the burn a short distance further on. It’s been a place I’ve returned tae many times. I find solace here when times are difficult or when I simply yearn fer a lift tae me spirits.”

He understood her answering sigh. This was a difficult time for her and he hoped the brief moments they would spend together in this peaceful place would provide her spirits with some serenity.

They stopped in a small clearing where the sun’s rays penetrated deep. Arran dismounted and helped her to slide off her mare’s back.

“We’ll leave the horses here and go on foot until we reach the burn.”

Leaving the tethered horses, they continued along the track until the rushing water came into view. He took her by the hand as they ventured along the rocky, fern-covered bank following the roaring sound of the nearby waterfall.

“Careful lass, these stones are slippery and I daresay ye’re nae in fer a soaking.”

She clutched his hand tighter, her feet slipping and sliding as they traversed the rough stones positioned at the edge of the burn.

As they progressed, the roaring intensified until, all at once, the stream disappeared in a rush, tumbling over the edge of a chasm that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

He led her over to an outcropping rock from which they had an unimpeded view of the white, frothing cascade as it descended to a pool far below.

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