Page 13 of A Wife for the Highland Wolf
It hadn’t escaped her notice that Murdoch had very pointedly ignored her question. And that made her doubly curious as to what the answer was. Why had the laird of Clan Lochlann come out to meet her?
8
The village tavern to which Murdoch had chosen to guide Lydia for their noon meal was reputed to have hearty food, but it was also situated in a village where his face wasn’t well known. Murdoch had deliberately avoided wearing his laird’s torc, or any other sign of his rank, in the hope that it would help them avoid trouble.
Clansmen in this village would surely know of the ‘murderous laird’, but they were less likely to know Murdoch was the man they spoke of. That, at least, was his hope.
By the time Lydia’s carriage had pulled up to the building that served as both an inn and a tavern, Murdoch had already passed his horse off to the stable boy, along with a coin to see that all of their horses were fed, watered, and rubbed down before being resaddled for the remainder of the journey.
He helped Lydia down from the carriage, then glanced at the man she traveled with. “Will yer escort be joining us?”
A quick glance passed between the two, and the man-at-arms shook his head. “I’ll be nae more than a shout away, but I prefer to stay with the carriage.”
Murdoch nodded and turned to offer Lydia his arm, only to find she’d already entered the tavern. He grumbled under his breath and hurried after her.
He found her seated at a table with a pitcher of weak ale and two tankards. “Daenae go wandering off without me.”
“Why nae? Surely tis perfectly safe.”
“Ye daenae ken that. Besides, I came to guide ye safely to Lochlann. I cannae do that if ye wander off.”
“Tis nae as if I’d kent ye’d meet us on the road.” She smiled up at him, but there was an edge to that smile that made him think of Wilma in one of her more curious or mischievous moods. “Besides, I went ahead to get ye something refreshing to drink.” She offered him a tankard.
Murdoch sighed and sat down, then took the tankard. He couldn’t deny he was thirsty, and the ale, when he sipped it, was a satisfying balance of flavors, as well as cooling to his parched throat. He took a larger drink and drained half the tankard.
Lydia watched him with bright, interested eyes. “Do ye like ale?”
“Tis passable.” He’d have preferred a proper ale, but he understood her restraint, given that they still had a fair distance to travel.
Lydia sipped at her own drink. “I suppose. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I thought a bit of shared repast between us might help us get to ken each other.”
Murdoch stifled the urge to groan and thump his head on the table behind another large swallow of ale. He’d never been one to enjoy conversation for conversation’s sake. Still, Wilma would kill him, or at least make him regret his actions, if he didn’t make some attempt. “Aye?”
“Aye. Do ye have any kinfolk?”
“Two cousins, an uncle and a son still living.”
Lydia smiled. “That sounds lovely. I’ve three sisters, and three brothers-by-marriage, as well as nieces and nephews. Tis a large family, but I’m glad of it. Do yer cousins have children? How old is yer son?”
“Nae. And me son’s seen a year and a half.”
Lydia’s smile widened. “I like bairns. What’s his name?”
“Finn.”
“Finn. Tis a nice name. Is it short for somethin', or is he named after someone? How did ye decide the name?”
His wife had chosen the name for a brother who’d passed away in childhood. She’d said the bairn reminded her of the lad for some reason, and Murdoch had never argued, as it had been one of the few civil conversations they’d had at that point.
Still, he wasn’t about to bring up his wife. “It was the name of a family member who passed away young.”
Lydia’s expression softened with sympathy. “Och, I’m sorry I dinnae mean to be insensitive. Were ye close?”
Considering he’d never met the boy, or the man he might have become… “Nay.”
“But ye named yer son after him?” Lydia frowned, clearly confused. Murdoch winced behind his upraised tankard. He was beginning to wish he’d either ignored the question or lied.
Blast Wilma for making me deal with this afore I was prepared.
