Helen nodded with a warm smile. “Och, I am happy to hear it.”
“And how long will you be visiting Mingary, Sir Eoin?” Cate asked.
“A month, mayhap two.” He didn’t want to alarm the poor crofter with the reason for his visit.
The elderly woman placed a wooden bowl of broth with one sliver of onion in front of him. “Do you think those MacDonalds will leave us be?”
Evidently the rumor mill was as alive and healthy in Kilchoan as it was in every other Highland village. Eoin cleared his throat. “I hope so, mistress.”
Helen lifted her wooden spoon. “Sir Aleck sailed this morning to inspect the MacDonald lands in Sleat. Are you aware Alexander MacDonald threatened the king?”
“Aye. ’Tis disgraceful if you ask me.” Mistress Cate tottered over with a bowl for herself and lumbered onto the bench beside Eoin. “Times are changing. The Highlands are now part of Scotland just like Edinburgh or Glasgow or Inverness—No more Lord of the Isles ruling over us.”
Helen dabbed her lips. “Aye, and the young King James has done much to bring us together.”
“Unfortunately the MacDonalds do not see it that way,” Eoin said. “And I suppose Clan Donald has lost the most, though they have no grounds for complaint. Their lands are vast.”
“Too vast if you ask me.” Cate spread her arms wide. “All I need is this cottage and a wee parcel of land to till. Why a man needs a dozen castles is beyond my imagination, even if he is an earl—or a king for that matter.”
The old woman certainly was sharp for her advanced age. Eoin watched Mistress Cate hold forth while Helen listened, thoughtfully eating his abominable broth—it hadn’t a lick of salt, though that commodity was worth its weight in gold.
After Helen had eaten every last drop, she stood. “As always, I want to thank you for your gracious hospitality.”
The old woman rose, wringing her hands. “Must you leave so soon?”
Helen patted Cate’s shoulder. “I’ve many others to see today, but I’ll come around again in a sennight.”
“Will you bring Sir Eoin with you?” She batted her eyelashes at him with her endearing toothless grin.
Helen glanced at Eoin and blushed. His stomach made some sort of irregular jumping motion that must have been caused by the broth. Why on earth would such a question make Helen turn red? But the lady maintained her poise. “I’ll wager Sir Grant will be back from their sortie by then,” she said.
“Well then.” Mistress Cate grasped Eoin’s hand and squeezed. “’Tis not every day a Highland chieftain comes to call.” She then clasped his upper arm. “And by the size of you, you’re a good fighting man as well.”
He bowed. “I do what I can m’lady.”
After picking up her basket, Helen headed for the door. “Hopefully Sir Eoin will return to Glen Orchy without having to wield his sword.”
Eoin wished it would be so, though with every passing day, war became more eminent.
Not long after they resumed their journey down the path, the village children came running, calling Lady Helen’s name. Her visage instantly brightened. “Hello everyone.” She crouched to be on eye-level with the littlest one. They all had a barrage of questions from, where is the bairn, to how old is the bairn, to can you bring Maggie to play with us. Helen answered every question as if it were of the utmost importance. Then she fished in that basket of hers and gave each child a coin before she sent them on their way.
“They adore you,” Eoin said.
“They are all very special to me. I think visiting the village is my favorite part of being lady of the keep.”
Eoin cringed inside. Indeed he was a chieftain with lands, but his clan was armigerous to the Campbells. The MacGregors were governors of Campbell lands, but Eoin had no castle of his own. His clan lived in a village of long houses, which by rights were as functional as a keep. However, though his rooms were spacious, it wasn’t a castle akin to that which Lady Helen had been accustomed her entire life. Truly, she would frown upon such meager living quarters as he possessed in Glen Strae.
Walking through the muddy lane, a beggar hailed them. “Lady Helen, have you a tot of whisky for me today?”
“Nay, Hamish, but I do have a parcel of food for you.” She handed him a leather-wrapped bundle.
He took it and pulled the thong. “I’d be a mite bit happier if you brought me whisky.”
She held up her finger. “Now you know I cannot bring you spirit.”
He grinned pinching a bit of chicken with grimy fingers. “Och, but I can keep asking, m’lady.”
Spending the afternoon with Lady Helen was like watching a saint flit about—one who wasn’t entirely aware of the effect she had on others. Everyone she touched smiled at her with their face aglow. It was as if she’d strolled into the village illuminated by her own ray of sunshine. She handed out tinctures for cough and a salve for a burn, and by afternoon, her basket was nearly empty.
Eoin took note of dark clouds rolling in from the west and pointed. “Are you nearly finished, m’lady? It looks like we could be seeing some rain.”
“Oh my.” She pressed her gloved fingers over her bow-shaped lips. “We’d best be heading back.”
Eoin took Helen’s basket and led her out of the village and past the turn to Cate’s cottage. They’d nearly traveled a mile when a sloppy raindrop splashed Eoin’s cheek. “We may have left a bit late.”
She walked briskly beside him. “If we hurry we might make it.”
A streak of lightning fingered across the sky, followed by a thundering clap. In the blink of an eye, the skies opened with a deluge.
“Ack!” Helen lifted her hem and hastened her pace.
The rain came down in sheets and they hadn’t even traveled halfway to the castle. Worse, Mistress Cate’s cottage was a good half-mile back.
Eoin peered left then right—searching for anything that could provide shelter. Nestled against a hill was an old lean-to. Eoin grasped Helen’s elbow. “Come.” He tucked her beneath his arm and held his cloak over her head. “’Tis not much, but it will do until the downpour eases.”
She leaned into him. “I hope this squall doesn’t last long.”
He helped her step over a fallen tree. “The clouds are thick, but I’ve never seen a torrent like this last for more than an hour or so.”
When he led her inside, Helen shivered. “Brr, I’m soaked clean through already.” Her wimple had been pushed from her hair and her mantle draped flush against her shoulders like wet bed linens.
Eoin removed his cloak. Though it had been oiled, it was too wet to be of any use in warming her. He hung it on a nail. “Take off your mantle and I’ll hang it beside mine.”
“I doubt they’ll dry.” She handed him the garment.
“But you’ll catch a chill if you remain wrapped in wet garments.”
She smoothed her hands across her face and over her exposed tresses. “I’m afraid that cannot be helped.”
Eoin’s gaze dipped to her chest. Though wearing a high collared neckline, her wet gown clung to her breasts like a second skin. A twinge of yearning hit him deep in the gut. His gaze dipping lower, her nipples stood erect through the woolen fabric.