Page 6 of An Allusive Love
Patience! He’s coming to his senses, her heart whispered.
Slap him!her brain urged as she suppressed a giggle.
They walked back down the lane, and he asked what she had done during his absence.
“Well, the Widow Weir fell, trying to hitch her own wagon and bumped her head. Her horse—”
“Och, but I saw some pretty ponies in the city. One was a fine bay, wasted as a carriage horse just standing around waiting for a customer. I saw it as I left a fine establishment my first night there.” The rest of their exchange revolved around his time in Edinburgh. Conversations usually spun back to Brodie. Kirstine didn’t mind; she enjoyed the deep timbre of his voice.
His blue eyes twinkled with humor when he described a comical tavern scene that involved a stray mutt, a barmaid with a full tray, and a drunken patron. He soon disarmed her with his genuine smile, and she decided not to ponder their closeness and just enjoy the moment, this time alone with the man she loved. When he began to laugh, pulling her into his side, his arm lazily slung across her shoulders, the flutters in her stomach increased.
Someday, Kirsty told herself,someday soon. Her conviction had held strong all these years. After today, seeing the heat in his eyes, she couldn’t give up. Deep inside her soul, she knew Brodie would be hers.
*
“And what wasso important he couldna talk to ye here?” asked her mother, scouring the stained and dented wood next to the dry sink. With a sharp blade, she sliced a hunk of venison and added it to a pot simmering over the grate.
“Leave the lass alone,” chided her father as he filled his pipe. He held a long, thin tinder toward the hearth’s embers, set it to the carved wooden bowl, and puffed at the fragrant tobacco. “Brodie just returned, and they needed some privacy.”
Her ma snorted. “For what? Advice? If they truly needed privacy, I’d give them the cottage and go outside myself. The lad is no’ likely to settle on a wife for some years to come. And my only daughter is getting older.” She tossed a scrap to Charlie. Thechompof his jaws made them all smile as he caught the piece of gristly meat midair.
“There’s nothing wrong with a young man seeing what he has to choose from. When he comes to us for Kirstine’s hand, he’ll ken he’s got the best woman in these hills.” Mr. MacDunn chewed on his pipe, his red and gray beard wiggling as his jaw worked. “That smells divine,mo ghràdh.”
“Yer sweet talk willna distract me.” She wagged a finger at her husband, but the pink in her cheeks told him she was pleased.
“Ma, please. Could we talk later?” Regardless of the harsh tone, Kirstine knew her mother was only worried she’d be hurt. “What shall we bring for Beltane?”
Mrs. MacDunn recited the full menu—to her present knowledge—provided by the villagers. Mr. MacDunn grunted occasionally, his hazel eyes following Kirstine as she swept the floor near the fire. She turned her back against his scrutiny and busied herself washing the turnips and potatoes for soup.
“I stopped to check on the Widow Weir yesterday. The lump on her noggin is better. No more swelling, only a faded bruise.” Kirstine grinned. “She’s a survivor, that one.”
Her mother laughed. “Aye, I hope to be as tough when I’m her age.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “One of the villagers sent word they need more loosestrife tincture. Spring chills have given several of the children sore throats. A few good gargles should do the trick.”
“That plant will be in bloom shortly. We’re low, so I’ll add it to my list and collect more.” Kirstine prided herself on keeping their medicines stocked.
After dinner, her father went out to the blackhouse to feed the livestock.
“Now tell me what’s happened. I saw a different kind of excitement in yer eyes when he came calling.” Ma sat down at the table and brushed crumbs from the varnished surface onto her apron. “Did he kiss ye?”
Kirstine’s cheeks flamed. “Och, no, but I thought he would. I told ye I fell from Speckles when I was gathering herbs, and he came upon me while I was flat on my backside. He helped me up and we… he tickled me, and before I knew it, we were both nose-to-nose, and his eyes had turned a stormy blue.”
“And that’s no’ happened before?”
She shook her head. “He reached out for a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers, and stared at it as if he’d never seen such a thing. Then Speckles whinnied, and I didna ken what to do, so I ran.”
“Ye ran?” Her mother threw her hands in the air. “And this afternoon?”
“Nothing. Back to the old Brodie.”
Another familiar snort. “Weel, we need to pretty ye up for the cèilidh. Even if he doesna notice, there will be other fine young men in attendance.”
“I dinna want—”
“Ye also dinna want to be alone, do ye? Yer twenty years old, my dear, and time is no’ on yer side when it comes to marriage.” She stood and cupped Kirstine’s cheek with one palm. “If he hasna made his intentions clear by the end of the summer, ye need to put him behind ye.”
The pesky tears burned her eyes again, but she blinked them back. “I canna marry another when my heart belongs to Brodie. How can ye ask that of me?”
“Then ye better let him ken how ye feel.” Her mother grunted with disgust. “A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. Subtlety doesna work on mutton-headed men. I say, a little competition would be a good way to open his eyes.”
