Page 60 of The Laird's Masked Passion

The boy immediately pointed at an older youth by the fence. The youth discovered great interest in a wheelbarrow.

Colin looked back at the boy. “It is true that men attacked a church. It is also true that children shouldnae collect tales of killing like pretty stones.”

The boy lowered his head. “Aye, me laird.”

The rebuke should have made him shrink. Instead, the boy looked chastened but not frightened, as if Colin’s disapproval mattered because his approval did, too. Then Colin reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out a small wrapped sweet.

The boy’s eyes went wide.

“Share it with yer sister,” Colin urged.

“Aye, me laird!”

The children ran off with the treasure between them. Colin dismounted first, then reached for her.

“I can manage,” she told him.

“Nay doubt.” He set his hands at her waist anyway and lifted her down with infuriating ease.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the villagers were watching. There was no rudeness about it, just curiosity.

Colin offered his arm. Elspeth took it. The villagers greeted him as they passed, with reports and requests and quiet familiarity.

“Me Laird, the south fence held through the rain.”

“Good.”

“The mill wheel still catches.”

“I’ll send Dougal.”

“Me son’s cough is better.”

“Keep him from the damp another week.”

Each reply was brief, almost cold, but never careless. He remembered names. He knew whose roof leaked, whose child was ill, whose husband had gone to the northern pasture. Elspeth listened, with astonishment growing in spite of herself.

Colin MacKenzie did not smile. His people loved him anyway.

At the last cottage, the mood changed. A woman stood in the doorway, pale and slender, with one hand resting upon the slight swell beneath her apron. She could not have been much older than Elspeth. Her eyes were red, but dry now, as if tears had become too exhausting to continue.

Catriona.

Colin stopped several paces away, giving her the courtesy of distance.

“Catriona,” he greeted her quietly.

The widow’s mouth trembled. “Me laird.”

“I grieve for Alasdair.”

At that, her composure broke just enough for her hand to lift to her lips. An older woman behind her touched her shoulder. Colin bowed his head, not as a laird before a subject, but as a man before grief.

“He served with honor,” he said. “He didnae fail his post. He didnae fail his clan. His bairn will ken that.”

Catriona’s eyes filled. Elspeth felt her own throat tighten. She’d feared this visit might seem ornamental, a lady’s gesture offered because sorrow looked well when observed by others. But there was nothing ornamental in Colin now. His coldness didn’t vanished, but it became a vessel. It held the moment steady so Catriona did not have to.

Elspeth stepped forward.