art?
“She says I cannot touch her,” he said out loud, forgetting Murdoch was standing there.
“Aye, lasses often say such things.”
“You have much experience of this?”
Murdoch looked away, and Symon would have sworn the man blushed. “Enough. Usually it takes a slower pace, a gentler approach, when they say that. They want soft words, and promises, lots of promises. Of course, she could just be repulsed by you.”
Symon started to defend himself, then realized Murdoch was grinning broadly at him again. “Aye, that must be it,” he agreed. “I do not know how to soften her toward me. I have had little experience with gentle words.”
The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Elena wander below. She seemed to be searching for something, while still avoiding all who came near. Symon’s attention was caught by a child skipping across the open space, singing tunelessly. She skirted the well, then broke into a strange almost dance, twirling and skipping and jumping and running, one after the other until she seemed unable to stop. She was heading straight for Elena, who seemed unaware of the child as she examined the bricked up remains of the old postern gate. As the child crashed into her, Elena grabbed her, steadying the wobbling wean.
Symon watched, amazed, as a smile broke out on Elena’s face, her obvious amusement clear even this far away. He could not take his eyes off her, the transformation from grim determination to quiet pleasure shook him. That is what she should look like always, carefree, open,happy. She squatted down to look the child in the eye, and the two spoke for a moment, then the child’s laughter pealed out, echoing off the cold castle walls. Elena rose and the little girl took her hand and led her away.
“Aye, she’s a bonny lass,” Murdoch said quietly. “If she does not want you, perhaps she’d be interested in me.”
Symon rounded on the giant.
“Just teasin’ you, Symon. Just teasin’. I would not interfere with one of Auld Morag’s prophecies!”
Symon took a slow breath and nodded.
“But you may have witnessed the way to the lass’s heart, there, lad,” Murdoch said, turning his attention back to the scene below.
“I cannot give her a wean to bind her to me.”
“Well, it has been done before”—Murdoch winked at him—“but I agree ’tis not the way of things this time.”
Symon pondered the man’s words a moment, then understanding dawned. Of course. “If she’ll talk to the weans, then they can soften her to our need.”
“Aye, lad. Why waste your time bashing your head against a stone wall if you can let someone else take it down bit by bit for you?”
’Twas not Symon’s preferred way of doing things, but at the moment he did not have a better plan. “Do you ken the lassie that broke through?”
“Aye, ’tis wee Fia. Mairi’s youngest. She’s a fey thing, small and pale, and knowing beyond her years. She might just do your work for you.”
Symon nodded. “Come on, then. We’ll let wee Fia do her work. I’m sure we’ve something needs doing.”
Murdoch nodded. “Aye, Ranald’s returned.”
“Why did you not say so?” Symon glared at the giant and headed toward the stair.
“I was enjoyin’ the view.” Murdoch snorted and followed his chief back into the castle.
E lena examined the blocked-up gate, easing one way or the other as MacLachlans moved around her. Blocking up a perfectly good gate was a bloody stupid thing to do. She looked about and a weight settled over her. The only way out appeared to be the main gate, well guarded, and obvious.
She did not trust Symon’s word any more than she would trust Dougal’s. She had learned that lesson too well. She could only depend upon herself to secure her future, which did not include living in this castle full of hopelessness and fear. She had enough of those on her own.
She eyed the old gate once more. Ducking out through a postern gate would have been a much
“She says I cannot touch her,” he said out loud, forgetting Murdoch was standing there.
“Aye, lasses often say such things.”
“You have much experience of this?”
Murdoch looked away, and Symon would have sworn the man blushed. “Enough. Usually it takes a slower pace, a gentler approach, when they say that. They want soft words, and promises, lots of promises. Of course, she could just be repulsed by you.”
Symon started to defend himself, then realized Murdoch was grinning broadly at him again. “Aye, that must be it,” he agreed. “I do not know how to soften her toward me. I have had little experience with gentle words.”
The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Elena wander below. She seemed to be searching for something, while still avoiding all who came near. Symon’s attention was caught by a child skipping across the open space, singing tunelessly. She skirted the well, then broke into a strange almost dance, twirling and skipping and jumping and running, one after the other until she seemed unable to stop. She was heading straight for Elena, who seemed unaware of the child as she examined the bricked up remains of the old postern gate. As the child crashed into her, Elena grabbed her, steadying the wobbling wean.
Symon watched, amazed, as a smile broke out on Elena’s face, her obvious amusement clear even this far away. He could not take his eyes off her, the transformation from grim determination to quiet pleasure shook him. That is what she should look like always, carefree, open,happy. She squatted down to look the child in the eye, and the two spoke for a moment, then the child’s laughter pealed out, echoing off the cold castle walls. Elena rose and the little girl took her hand and led her away.
“Aye, she’s a bonny lass,” Murdoch said quietly. “If she does not want you, perhaps she’d be interested in me.”
Symon rounded on the giant.
“Just teasin’ you, Symon. Just teasin’. I would not interfere with one of Auld Morag’s prophecies!”
Symon took a slow breath and nodded.
“But you may have witnessed the way to the lass’s heart, there, lad,” Murdoch said, turning his attention back to the scene below.
“I cannot give her a wean to bind her to me.”
“Well, it has been done before”—Murdoch winked at him—“but I agree ’tis not the way of things this time.”
Symon pondered the man’s words a moment, then understanding dawned. Of course. “If she’ll talk to the weans, then they can soften her to our need.”
“Aye, lad. Why waste your time bashing your head against a stone wall if you can let someone else take it down bit by bit for you?”
’Twas not Symon’s preferred way of doing things, but at the moment he did not have a better plan. “Do you ken the lassie that broke through?”
“Aye, ’tis wee Fia. Mairi’s youngest. She’s a fey thing, small and pale, and knowing beyond her years. She might just do your work for you.”
Symon nodded. “Come on, then. We’ll let wee Fia do her work. I’m sure we’ve something needs doing.”
Murdoch nodded. “Aye, Ranald’s returned.”
“Why did you not say so?” Symon glared at the giant and headed toward the stair.
“I was enjoyin’ the view.” Murdoch snorted and followed his chief back into the castle.
E lena examined the blocked-up gate, easing one way or the other as MacLachlans moved around her. Blocking up a perfectly good gate was a bloody stupid thing to do. She looked about and a weight settled over her. The only way out appeared to be the main gate, well guarded, and obvious.
She did not trust Symon’s word any more than she would trust Dougal’s. She had learned that lesson too well. She could only depend upon herself to secure her future, which did not include living in this castle full of hopelessness and fear. She had enough of those on her own.
She eyed the old gate once more. Ducking out through a postern gate would have been a much
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