Page 73 of Desiring the Highland Laird
They stood there in awkward silence, the wind whipping around them as she decided what to say next.
“I ken ye heard Malcolm—”
“You don’t have to explain,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his arm.
He glanced down at her hand and then did something that surprised her. He placed his over hers, gave a light squeeze, then released her. She dropped her hand to her side, her heart doing a funny thud in her chest.
“He’s angry,” she said into the silence, both peering down at the graves.
“Aye,” he said.
“And so are you,” she added.
He cut her a glance, his head tipping down to meet her gaze. There was a moment between them where he seemed to want to object, but then gave a quick nod in agreement.
“Aye,” he whispered.
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“Ye have done it, lass.” He smiled down at her, lighting a fire deep inside her. “Yer here, are ye no?”
“I am.” And she wouldn’t have it any other way. She turned her attention to the grave. One freshly dug. The other two mounds covered in grass. No headstone marking them.
“I’m sorry about your mother and sister, too,” she said.
“My mam died birthing Jamie,” he said. “Abigail died last winter, succumbing to her sickness.”
A pang of sorrow went through her, but she said nothing. She had never lost a sibling to death, but she imagined it would be as horrible a losing her parents.
“Ye told me once yer parents passed,” he said, surprising her. She merely nodded. “I’m sorry for yer loss, too, lass.”
Their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, an unspoken understanding flowed between them. She felt the weight of it, like a tangible presence in the air. Her heart swelled, a mixture of love and sorrow tightening her chest, making it hard to breathe. The room seemed to fall away, leaving the two of them standing there, shrouded in their shared grief—his sadness reflected in the deep lines of his face, hers a quiet ache beneath her skin.
“It was a long time ago, but thank you,” she finally said. She was proud her voice didn’t wobble with the unshed tears stinging the backs of her eyes.
His gaze lifted, bright blue eyes sweeping over the landscape as if drinking it in. The churchyard lay eerily still, the silence so heavy it pressed against her ears. The soft swish of the wind stirred the air, cool and faintly carrying the scent of damp earth and weathered stone. In the distance, the abbey loomed, its towering gothic arches standing in solemn defiance against the sky. Shadows stretched long and dark across the cemetery, their edges sharp, like the touch of old memories too close for comfort. The place felt ancient, as if it had seen more than either of them ever could.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked, surprising her.
Despite her coldness, she nodded, not wanting to pass up a moment to be with him, especially since it seemed to please him.
They started down the well-worn path, their footsteps soft against the packed earth. The ground felt uneven beneath her shoes, each step in sync with his. She sensed the quiet longing in his posture, the way his shoulders were slightly slumped, as if he craved the comfort of another presence but not the weight of conversation. So, she stayed silent, letting the air between them hum with unspoken understanding.
As they passed rows of graves, she glanced at the headstones—some weathered and cracked, names barely visible, others left unmarked, swallowed by time. The faint scent of damp moss and old flowers lingered in the cool breeze, and for a moment, it felt as though the past was walking alongside them.
“My brother thinks we should take action against them. That we should retaliate,” he said, as if more to himself than her.
“And what do you think?”
He tipped his head down to look at her. “Retaliation will cause more strife.”
“And you wish to avoid that,” she said.
He nodded.
She didn’t know much about what was going on between the two clans, but she wanted to show him she empathized. She understood he did not want to cause more strife between the two clans with an ongoing war.
“On the morrow, I will ride out to meet with Ian MacLeod,” he said, his gaze fixed on some distant object.
