Page 58 of Highland Seduction

“There,” he said, pointing to two empty wooden boxes against a building. “We will sit and wait there with a clear view of the ship.” Tor took her hand. “Are ye ready to be reunited with Ian?”

“Aye,” she said. “And ye, with yer clanswoman?”

“More than ye know. I’ve many questions to ask of that whelp Ian and suspect we will be surprised by his story.”

“Do ye truly believe they are married?”

“I do,” he said as they sat. “Three Shaw and MacRob weddings.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “With luck, there will be no more now that Ian and Marta are found.”

“The king must listen to reason,” Ainsley said, attempting to get comfortable.

“I believe he will.” Tor smiled at her. “Ours will likely be the last of our clans’ unions for some time.”

Ainsley thought of her sister, and of Royce, and agreed. “Aye. Hopefully ’twill be enough to quell this feud.”

“Our marriages”—he cranked his neck—“and them being alive.” Tor pointed. “Look, Ainsley. Do ye see them?”

Ainsley’s heart raced at the possibility. She followed Tor’s pointed finger into the distance. Marta and Ian.

Chapter 34

He knew not what Ian looked like, but the woman had Marta’s hair color and was of the right height.

But as they drew closer, Tor realized it was not them.

“Nay,” Ainsley said beside him. “’Tis no’ Marta and Ian.”

“Nay, ’tis no’,” he agreed.

The couple moved away, and as the sun rose, he and Ainsley watched as two and then five and then eight passengers boarded the Faucon Dieu. Some fishing vessels had left port already, and little by little, the docks sprang more to life. If Ainsley had thought them alive before, now they truly were in the center of it all.

“McGreghere,” Ainsley exclaimed, jumping from her seat.

Tor stood as well, holding out a hand as the lawyer walked up to them.

“Good morn, my lady,” he said to Ainsley, inclining his head. Then, shaking Tor’s hand, McGreghere looked around them.

“Well?” he asked. “I could no’ stay away knowing ’twas the day.”

“They’ve no’ yet boarded,” Tor said.

“There was a couple earlier.” Ainsley frowned, adjusting her gown. It was the one he’d ordered from the tailor, a lovely shade of green that complimented his wife, as if she needed the compliment. Ainsley could don men’s clothing and still she would be the loveliest woman in all of Scotland.

“Tor.” McGreghere pulled him from his reverie. “If ye’d but stop staring at yer wife, ye might look toward the ship’s passengers.”

For a moment Tor thought perhaps McGreghere had spotted someone, but while indeed two people boarded, neither were Marta. And both with gray hair. Certainly not his missing clanswoman.

“I’d deny it,” Tor said, grinning, “but have been well and truly caught.”

“As ye have.” McGreghere looked between them.

Why did his wife appear guilty?

“Ainsley?”

“I told him,” she blurted. “I told McGreghere everything.”

For his part, McGreghere at least appeared sheepish. “Indeed she did. But as she is a client, I was under no obligation to tell ye.”