Page 62 of Laird of Flint
Ashamed, she sobered at once.
Carenza only half-believed the story of Samhain. But for her father, of all the rites celebrated at Dunlop, this was the most significant. A time when the veil between the worlds was nearly transparent. A time for somber reflection. For regret and remembrance. For mourning and forgiveness. The time when he felt closest to Carenza’s departed mother.
Clasping her hands and lowering her head, she ignored the bats and peered guiltily into the flames, which danced manically now, as if to leap free of the confines of the bonfire.
Nothing was going to bring her mother back. Why did her father foolishly insist on tormenting himself with renewed grief and false hope?
Still, it had been rude of her to find levity in a moment when he was suffering in despair.
Burdened by remorse, she murmured to Hew, “I must see to my father.”
She left Hew’s side and came up behind the laird. She slipped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze.
He closed his eyes. By the orange light of the roaring bonfire, she saw a tear seep out, rolling down his cheek and into his beard.
They stood there in silence a long while as the wild wind urged the fire higher.
Eventually, he sniffed back his anguish and gave her hand a pat.
“So what do ye think o’ this knight o’ Rivenloch?” he murmured.
She spoke cautiously. “He’s…a good man.”
“I think your mother would have liked him.”
She tensed, but managed to reply, “My mother would have said no one was as good as my father.”
He smiled, but was not deterred. “Ye could do worse. Rivenloch is one o’ the oldest and most respected clans in Scotland. Sir Hew is wealthy and powerful. Strong o’ body and clever o’ mind. Marryin’ him, ye would want for naught.”
“I told ye before, Da, he’s bound for the church.”
“’Twasn’t brotherly reverence I saw in his eyes when he looked at ye at supper tonight.”
“Da!”
“And ’tisn’t virtuous piety I see in yours when ye look at him.”
She gasped, glancing about to see if anyone else had heard his frank words. Then she spoke between clenched teeth. “Be cautious, Father, lest ye draw the evil spirits near tonight.”
He leaned toward her and whispered, “Those are bats.”
She sighed. Ofcoursehe realized they were bats. He might believe he could commune with his dead wife on Samhain. But he was as driven by truth as she was.
“Anyway,” she said, “I’m sure the monastery is keeping him busy with…” Whatdidmonks do all day? “Prayin’ and chantin’ and…and takin’ vows o’ silence.”
He made no comment on her obvious contradiction. “Ye won’t discourage him, though, will ye?”
“From the church?” she asked, intentionally misunderstanding him. “O’ course not.” She crossed herself for good measure.
“From pursuin’ ye.”
“Ye’ve seen me, Da.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’ve been nothing but gracious and welcomin’.”
That he couldn’t argue with. Mostly because he hadn’t seen her threatening to let the man fall into a crevasse to his death.
He tried once more to convince her. “He really would make a good match, Carenza. And ye know how I am about these things.”
He might be intuitive about others. But about her? He was as blind as the bats circling over the bonfire. She no more belonged with a wild and reckless warrior than a kitten belonged with a hound.
