Lady of Light (9 page)

“Och, nay.” Claire held up a hand in friendship. “If you’re Donall MacKay, we’ve come to pay you a call.”

Watery blue eyes narrowed beneath a pair of wild, bushy white brows. “And why would ye wish to call on the likes o’ me? Who be ye, anyways?”

“My name’s Claire Sutherland,” she replied calmly, “and this”—she indicated Evan—“is Evan MacKay, one of your kin from America. Father MacLaren sent us.”

At mention of the priest’s name, the old man opened the door a bit wider. “Did he now?” He riveted the full force of his piercing appraisal on Evan. “And ye say ye’re kin o’ mine, do ye? From America, no less?”

After his recent failure with the dog, Evan decided it was past time he showed Claire he could stand up for himself. “Yes on both counts, sir.” He stepped forward and doffed his hat. “My great-grandfather was Sean MacKay of Culdee. I’m hoping you might have heard of him.”

Donall squinted up at him. “Lachlan and Sheena’s eldest, do ye mean?”

Evan nodded. “Yes. He wed Rose Fraser and emigrated to America in 1825.”

“Aye, I know o’ him. I was but a lad o’ ten when he left Culdee, never to return agin’. And ye say ye’re his great-grandson?”

Once more, Evan nodded. “Yes, sir. That I am.”

The old Scotsman swung open his door and stepped aside. “Well then, come in. Come in. Our poor home and all that we have are at yer disposal. Come in, I say!”

Joyous relief filled Evan. Though the trip to Culdee had begun on a lark, now it seemed as if everything since he had left Culdee Creek Ranch had been leading him to this very moment. Far from his own home, he had found family once again—family whose roots were far more ancient than his, but of his blood nonetheless.

He turned to Claire. “Do you mind visiting a bit with them before we head back to Culdee?”

“Nay, I don’t mind,” she said. “I expected no less. It’s the hospitable thing to do.”

Evan indicated Claire should precede him, then followed in her wake. His first impression, as he walked inside, was one of darkness and smoke. The source of the smoke was soon evident. A small peat fire burned in a circular hearth in the middle of the second and largest room. The hearth was surrounded by flat stones with a higher rock to one side where Evan knew the fire could be banked. Above the fire, suspended from an iron chain, hung a fat, cast-iron cook pot.

On closer inspection, he noted the walls and rafters were covered with a thick coating of soot. The main room was sparsely furnished. Two wooden chairs, their frames formed from bent tree branches, sat beside the fire. Nearby were a scarred wooden table, a chest, and two stools. Along one stone wall, several shelves protruding from iron brackets were filled with an assortment of chipped pottery jugs, mugs, plates, and wooden cooking utensils. In one corner were a wooden washtub and several barrels. Baskets hung overhead from the rafters, keeping company with three fat hens that, at their arrival, clucked loudly in disapproval.

An old woman, her arms full of blankets, walked in from the other room. “Well, well,” she croaked in a voice gone rusty with age, “what have we here?” She paused to peer first at Claire, then Evan. “I canna recall invitin’ anyone to come callin’. Can ye, Donall?”

“They’re kin, Lainie,” her husband offered, raising his voice a notch. “Or, leastwise, so the young lad claims. What did ye say yer name was, laddie?” he asked, glancing back at Evan.

“Evan MacKay. Sean MacKay’s great-grandson.” He turned to the old woman. “I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ehhhy?” Lainie said, cupping her right ear. “What did ye say?”

“Sean MacKay,” Donall repeated even more loudly. “He’s the great-grandson o’ my mither’s brother. Dinna ye recall that braw, strapping young MacKay who left here when ye were a wee lassie, headed for America?” He hobbled to one of the chairs, sat, then looked up at Evan. “Och, but there was some weepin’ and wailin’ over his departure. The finest flower o’ Scotland left the Highlands in those sad days o’ the Clearances, ne’er to be seen in these parts agin’. “

“He’s kin, ye say?” Lainie queried. “Well, put on a kettle o’ water, will ye, Donall? I must get these blankets aired ’afore the day’s gone. We can all sit then, have a spot o’ tea, and chat a bit.”

Claire hurried over and held out her arms. “Here, let me help you. We’ll be done in the wink of an eye. Then we can all chat together.”

“Och, and aren’t ye a kind lassie?” Lainie laid the blankets in Claire’s arms. “Are ye wife to the laddie then, and a part o’ our family by marriage?”

At the old woman’s question, Evan straightened and shot the auburn-haired girl a quick look. To her credit, Claire managed to hide her discomfiture well, the only hint of her embarrassment the becoming rosy tint that suddenly washed her cheeks.

“Nay, I’m not wed to Evan,” she all but choked out. “He’s but a friend.”

“Too bad,” Lainie observed matter-of-factly. “Ye’d make a bonnie couple.”

If Claire responded to that blunt statement, Evan didn’t hear. She hurried from the house, Lainie stiffly bringing up the rear. He stared after them for a long moment, then turned back to Donall who sat by the fire watching him.

“Ye care for the lass, dinna ye?”

Evan’s breath caught in his throat. Blast, he thought. The last thing he needed was that kind of information getting back to Claire. She’d bolt and run for sure.

Still, there was no purpose served denying what Evan knew the old man had so easily ascertained. “Yes, I do,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’d be much obliged, though, if you didn’t say anything to her about it.”

“And why all the hudge-mudge?” Donall rose and walked to the water bucket. “A lass was never won by keepin’ yer feelin’s for her a secret.”

“It’s not as simple as it may seem.” Though he had only met the old Scotsman a few minutes ago, Evan felt as if he had known him for years. Funny, he mused, how neither time, distance, nor culture had blurred the sense of family he so quickly felt with this old couple.

“Love’s always simple. ’Tis the people who make it complicated.” Donall struggled to balance himself with one hand on his cane, while he attempted to pour water into the old, porcelain teakettle sitting on the shelf.

Evan strode over. He took the water bucket from his host, quickly filled the teakettle, then wheeled about and headed back to the fire. After removing the iron cook pot from its chain, he hung up the kettle.

“I’m just visiting here,” he began again when Donall once more claimed his seat at the fire. “Sooner or later, I need to head back home to America.”

“So, wed the lass and take her with ye. She’ll not be the first lass who followed her man to another land.”

Evan gave a wry laugh. “Claire’s got a mind of her own. She’s hardly the kind to run after a man.”

“Aye, few Scotswomen are, leastwise not unless they love the man. Ye’ll jist have to win her heart then, willna ye?”

He stared down at the old man in stunned disbelief. “And what makes you think—”

“Och, ye do.”

Nonplussed that Donall had so easily read his mind, Evan switched tack. “Well, then what about Claire? What makes you think she—”

“She has feelin’s for ye, and no mistake.”

That statement drew Evan up short. Even the remotest consideration that Claire might feel something for him filled him with a fierce joy. “I-I don’t know what to say about that,” he muttered awkwardly.

“Ye dinna need to say aught, lad. Ye must jist
do
somethin’ about it!”

He considered Donall’s words for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose I should, shouldn’t I?”

The sound of female voices drifting ever nearer put an abrupt end to their conversation. The topic, however, continued to linger in Evan’s mind the rest of the afternoon as they shared tea and talked, then combined the contents of their lunch basket with the old couple’s meager meal, then talked some more.

By the time the sun began its languorous descent toward the mountains, Evan could see that Donall and Lainie were beginning to tire. He stood, brushed the crumbs from his black serge trousers, and looked to Claire.

“Probably time we were heading back, don’t you think?”

She climbed to her feet. “Och, aye. We’ll have to hurry as it is to reach Culdee before dusk.” Claire smiled down at their host and hostess. “It was a wonderful day, visiting with you. I’d heard of you before from Father MacLaren, and I must say I’m verra sorry never to have visited until today.”

“Dinna fash yerself, lass.” Donall awkwardly pushed to his feet. “’Twas our pleasure to have ye and yer young man in our house. Especially a young man who is also kin.”

Once again a becoming blush stole up Claire’s neck and face. “Er, Evan isn’t my—”

Evan took her by the arm. “I’d like to visit again sometime soon, if that wouldn’t be an imposition. There’s still so much more I want to learn about my Scots family.”

“Ehhhy?” Lainie queried, cupping her right ear. “What did ye say?”

“He said, wife, that he’d like to visit us agin’.” her husband shouted.

Her expression brightened. “Och, aye. Come agin’. We’d find that most pleasin’. “ Her dark-eyed gaze swung to Claire. “And ye, lass. Pray, come with the laddie, will ye? I find yer company most pleasin’ as well.”

Claire smiled and nodded. “If I can, I will.” She stooped and picked up her now empty basket.

“Good-bye for now, then.” Evan turned and, with Claire at his side, headed for the door.

“Fare ye well,” Donall called.

“Until next time,” his wife joined in.

After the darkness of the little croft house and the heavy peat smoke, outside seemed overly bright. The fresh air, however, was a welcome relief. As he walked along, Evan dragged in lungful after lungful of the sweet Highland air.

Everything, he noted with heightened senses, seemed fresh and new. The stark mountains looming behind them. The vibrant hue of the green grass on the hills. The intensely blue sky that was already beginning to soften with shades of lavender, slate, and indigo at its edges.

He found himself most profoundly aware, however, of the woman at his side. She was exquisite; at that particular moment, he couldn’t recall ever having seen a more beautiful woman. She walked with the grace of a deer, her movements smooth, effortless, supple. The sweet nearness of her, as they strolled along, made his heart ache.

If Donall hadn’t so casually pointed out the obvious only a short while ago, the truth would’ve most forcefully struck home now. He was falling in love with Claire Sutherland.

The realization filled Evan with an odd mix of happiness and fear. Happiness that he had surely, and at long last, found the woman of his dreams. And fear that she would—just like Hannah—ultimately spurn him and his love.

He felt fairly certain Claire’s feelings for him were more than those of disinterested friendship. Even Donall had said he could see she cared for him. But could Claire’s affection for him ever grow into love?

Frustration welled in Evan. He had been such a blundering idiot when it had come to Hannah. He had forced the pace of their relationship far too fast and had finally driven her away. Somehow, some way, he must not make the same mistake with Claire. If he had to go slowly with her, then so be it.

Still, it took all Evan’s self-control to contain the almost constant urge to stop right there on the road and take Claire into his arms. It wasn’t in his nature to play games, or to restrain emotions he honestly and deeply felt. But sometimes, Evan reminded himself, a man had to pay a mighty big price if he was to win his heart’s desire.

“You’re certainly quiet,” Claire observed just then, casting him a quizzical glance. “Are you unhappy about your visit with Donall and Lainie?”

Evan shook his head. “No, not at all. They’re good, kind folk. The things they told me about my ancestors made me even prouder to be of Scot’s blood then I already was. I was just mulling over what they’d said. And besides,” he added, shooting her a roguish grin, “I figured you might, after the past three days, be getting a little weary of my company. Didn’t see any sense in talking you to death.”

“Och, I’m not weary of your company.” Claire smiled. “You’re a most entertaining man, you are, Evan MacKay.”

“Am I now?” He laughed, thoroughly disarmed. “Well, I must say you’re the first woman who has ever told me that.”

An impish dimple danced in both her cheeks. “Well, don’t let it go to your head.”

“Not much chance of that. Leastwise, not with a girl like you. You’d be the first to put me firmly back in my place.”

“Aye, that I would,” she concurred. Claire paused then. “The morrow’s Sunday. Would you like to accompany Ian and me to Mass at St. Columba’s?”

Evan considered her offer briefly. He hadn’t been to church since he had left Culdee Creek last August. And, even before that, his religious faith had been little better than lukewarm. But Claire seemed to set a good store on churchgoing, and the opportunity to spend any and every moment he could with her was sufficient incentive to attend church.

“I’d be much obliged,” Evan replied. “Haven’t had much opportunity to keep holy the Sabbath, what with all the traveling I’ve been doing, but I’d be glad to take you up on the offer. What time’s Mass?”

“We like the morning services that begin at eight. Is that too early for you?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m an early riser. That suits me just fine.”

“I’ll call for you a half hour earlier then. That’ll give us time to make the walk to St. Columba’s and say our private prayers before Mass.”

Watching an errant breeze dance in her gloriously shimmering curls, Evan knew exactly what his prayers would be. If God would only give him Claire Sutherland for his wife, he’d promise to serve the Lord the rest of his days. In fact, Evan decided, as he strode along in the ever deepening beauty of the waning day, he might as well get started on those prayers right here and now.