Page 5 of The Unexpected Laird

“Ye are a good lass,” he told her. “I promise, we will return safe and sound wi’ a more secure future for us all.”

“I ken ye will, Da,” she confidently replied. “We will celebrate yer success wi’ a fine dinner. Ma has asked me tae arrange it meself.”

“That sounds wonderful,” her father said, his smile widening. “I will look forward tae it upon our return. I must go find yer ma and brother now, as we are tae depart verra soon.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Florence’s forehead before turning to wander down the hallway. Florence watched him go, a mixture of pride and anxiety twisting in her belly. She just could not shake the worry she had over this alliance. Some instinct deep within her was practically screaming out that it was not a good idea.

Still, what did she know of it? Her father was wise and had no doubt considered every possible consequence of joining with the McClarens. It was not her place to tell him to throw out all his plans simply because she had a bad feeling.

She needed to distract herself so she would not fret about the matter the entire time her father, mother, and Ian were away. She quickly made her way up to her room and collected paper and charcoal and hurried outside to the garden. She had a favorite spot where she always liked to sit while she drew. Snuggled between the protruding roots of an old oak tree at the edge of the garden, she could enjoy the warmth of the day while also staying in the shade so as not to burn her pale complexion.

Florence positioned her paper along a wooden slat across her knees, picked up her charcoal, and soon lost herself in her drawing. It was the one outlet she had for all her inner turmoil and jumbled thoughts. When she drew, she did not often know what it was she was creating until it was done, and then it was usually an illustration of something that had been troubling her.

Her charcoal flew across the page and three figures began to form. Two standing together toward the front of the picture, and the third alone in the background. Furrowing her brow, Florence took her time filling in the details of the first two figures, already knowing exactly what they looked like. Her ma and da appeared on the paper, smiling together, and though they stood close to one another, they did not touch.

The details of the third figure were more elusive. She had no memory to reference, nor real description of what he might look like, so it was all instinct that drove her hand as she attempted to flesh out the face of the person. In the end, the image that appeared was that of a total stranger, and yet he appeared somehow familiar. Florence realized she had put several of her own features in the face. Ones that she did not share with her mother, so they had to come from him.

Sitting back, she gazed down at the drawing of her parents, and the man that could have been her sire. She could not understand why she was thinking of him so much as of late. Of course, she had always been curious, but in the last few months the man had been on her mind more and more. Florence wondered if perhaps she should finally find the courage to ask her mother for the truth of her parentage.

“Florence! Florence! Do ye hear me?”

Blinking, she glanced up from her drawing and found Scot sauntering toward her with a grin. The sun had shifted in the sky above her, and she realized with a start she had been working on her drawing for over an hour. She quickly hid her work away and pushed to her feet.

“Whit is it?” she asked, arching her brow.

“I was just on my way tae practice wi’ ma bow and thought you might like tae join,” he said.

Florence considered the invitation for a moment and then nodded. “Aye, I would. I need a bit o’ exercise.”

Scot glanced down at her drawing materials, which she had clutched in her hands. She worried he might ask to see what she had been working on, but he did not. Looking back up at her, his grin widened.

“Come along,” he said, jerking his chin to urge her to follow him. “It will be a good distraction as we wait for da, Elspeth, and Ian tae come back.”

Florence thought that was a rather good idea, and she also wanted to keep herself from thinking about her true father. The two made their way to the training yard, where targets were already set up. Scot grabbed a bow and quiver full of arrows and handed them to her.

She moved to stand in front of one of the targets and knocked an arrow in her bow. Lining up her shot, she pulled back the bowstring, released a slow breath, and let the arrow fly.

It hit the middle of the target.

Scot let out a whistled and said, “Impressive as always, sister.”

He lined up his own shot and released the bowstring. His arrow hit slightly off center.

He grimaced and Florence chuckled. “Dinnae worry, brother. Ye just need more practice."

Scot rolled his eyes. “Ye arrogant wee chit. Dinnae forget who it was who taught ye tae shoot in the first place.”

Florence giggled. “Aye, brother, I ken, I ken. Ye were a verra good teacher, clearly.”

He grinned at that and the two spent the next hour or so trying to out shoot each other. It proved an effective distraction for Florence, for she thought of neither her birth father, nor of the precarious alliance being formed between her clan and the McClarens at that moment.

However, the distraction could not last forever, and when they were both tired with sore arms, they brought their exercise to an end.

“When do ye suppose they will return?” Scot asked.

Florence sighed and shook her head. “I dinnae ken. I am worried, tae be honest. I understand why da did no’ want to bring them tae the castle, but whit if the McClarens turn on them when they are unprotected?”

Giving her a sympathetic look, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

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