Page 18 of The Guardian
“What are ye all upset about?” Payton asked, slanting his eyes at her as he lifted an oatcake to his mouth.
Sìleas pressed her lips together.
“Come, Sìleas, you’re so furious it’s making your hair curl.”
“Your son is an idiot,” she blurted out—and regretted it as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“Which of my idiot sons are ye referring to?” Payton asked.
“I’ll not hear ye say another word against Niall, and ye know it,” she said. “It’s time ye stopped blaming him for doing what he had to do.”
“So it’s Ian, is it?” Payton said.
“I fail to see why this is the first thing to amuse ye in weeks,” she snapped. Despite her annoyance, Sìleas was pleased to see a glimmer of his old self.
“What’s Ian done to get on your wrong side so soon?”
She couldn’t tell him that Ian had not seen fit to acknowledge her or their marriage—she had her pride—so she shared Ian’s latest offense.
“He’s no notion of what must be done with the crops and livestock,” she said, folding her arms. It was Ian’s responsibility now, and he would just have to learn.
“I raised Ian to be a warrior, not a farmer, lass. He has more important things to attend to,” Payton said, his expression turning stern. “I told him how that devil took Knock Castle.”
Sìleas said nothing, knowing that the loss of her castle was a festering wound to Payton’s pride—and to the whole clan. Her step-da had bided his time for five years, then struck in the wake of Flodden when the MacDonalds were weak.
Payton set his plate on the tray and sank back on the pillows, looking pale.
“If it’s any comfort to ye, I expect the Knock Castle ghost is haunting my step-da,” she said, giving him a wink. “I doubt the Green Lady has let Murdoc have a single good night’s sleep.”
“ ’Tis a shame your ghost doesn’t carry a dirk,” Payton said in a tired voice.
“Shall I tell ye how she warned me to leave that day?” she asked.
“Aye, lass.” Payton closed his eyes as she began and was asleep before she was halfway through the old story. It hurt her to see the great man so weakened.
The hands resting on the bedcovers were marked by battle scars that told a tale of their own. Yet she remembered how gently those big hands had encompassed hers the morning Payton had found her and Ian sleeping in the wood. Without waking him, Sìleas lifted the hand closest to her and held it.
Payton was getting stronger every day. She could leave soon. With Ian here, he would do just fine without her. They all would.
But she feared that when she left she would be like Payton, always missing a part of her that was gone.
CHAPTER 6
Ian stood in the doorway watching Sìleas. This was the new Sìleas again, all clean and combed in a moss-green gown—and so lovely he had to remind himself to breathe. She must have bathed in the tub in the kitchen, for her cheeks were pink and a damp curl was stuck to the side of her face.
He was surprised his father would let her hold his hand as if he were a child, until he realized his da was asleep. Though he was careful not to make a sound, she sensed his presence and turned. Today her eyes were the same dark mossy green as her gown, but touched with dew from tears that welled in her eyes.
“My mother said to tell ye dinner is ready,” he said in a hushed voice. “Are ye all right?”
Sìleas nodded and picked up the tray as she got up. When Ian stepped aside to let her pass, she said, “He’s not a well man. Ye shouldn’t have kept him up so late.”
Apparently, Sìleas had kindness in her heart for every member of his family but him.
“My father wanted to talk,” Ian said, “and I think it did him good.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said with a sigh. “But have a care with him.”
Ian followed the provocative sway of her hips until she disappeared into the kitchen.
