“Weel, if it isna Brodie MacNaughton.” Mrs. MacDunn, a plump woman of average height hailed him from the open window with a tight smile. The shutter slammed shut, and she met him at the door. A white kertch covered her flour streaked, dark brown hair. She adjusted the worn brown shawl pulled over her striped green and tan gown.
“Kirstine, ye have a visitor,” she called to her daughter, wiping wet dough from her hands on her apron. “So, ye’ve returned home, I see.”
Her tone was polite but lacked warmth. Brodie got along well with Mr. MacDunn, but something had changed Mrs. MacDunn’s attitude toward him several years ago. Around the time Kirstine turned seventeen. It wasn’t his fault that her daughter had turned down two suitors. Sure, Kirsty had asked his opinion. Sure, he had made it known that neither man was good enough for her. But she’d been a grown woman of eighteen, then nineteen, and made up her own mind.
Kirstine peeked over the loft, then scrambled down the ladder, her skirt in one hand. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, Ma.” She grabbed Brodie’s hand and pulled him back outside. “She’s in a foul mood today. We’re best away from the cottage.”
As Kirsty pulled him along, that strange stirring in his belly returned. He tried to quell it, recognized it as the early signs of a new romantic involvement. This was his best friend. And he needed her. If they went down that path together, he might lose one of the people most important to him. Women seemed to come and go in his life, but Kirsty was his constant support, his rock.
She threaded her fingers through his as they ambled down the lane. The touch of her skin sent a warm jolt through him… excitement and disquiet at the same time. Not a good combination.
Chapter Two
Altering Aspirations
Merciful heavens! How she had missed him. Earlier that day when he’d pulled her from the ground, Kirstine had wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth. She hadn’t, of course. Yet… Brodie had turned a spill from a pony into a moment of passion. The first between them.
Kirstine had recognized the moment he’d realized it, sensed the shock when he reached out and fingered her hair. His touch made her skin dance. She’d held her breath, her insides quaking, as new sensations rippled through her body. Then the eejit pony had snorted, and the hunger in Brodie’s dark blue eyes faded. So, she’d ran to calm her own pounding heart.
“What did ye want to talk about?” She settled into their usual comfortable pace with fingers entwined and arms swinging between them. “It sounds important.”
Kirstine wore a champagne walking dress with apricot trim and a sash that she’d sewn herself. An old London fashion magazine, La Belle Assemblée, had been passed around between the local girls. Though the sketch had been several seasons old, it was still much better than the outdated clothes the villagers wore. Her free hand fingered the apricot lace scallops along the collar. Her mother had scoffed at the high waist and lower neckline, declaring the English fashions had no place for working folks. Good sturdy clothes were fine enough unless there was a service or a cèilidh. There hadn’t been a sizeable gathering since Hogmanay, and those New Year festivities had been months ago. Kirstine was ready for some amusement.
“I stopped at the Thistle on my way home from Edinburgh,” he began, swinging her arm back then forward, “and ran into Lachlan on his way to Glasgow.”
“That’s for the best. Ross Craigg has been muttering to anyone who will listen since his dispute with my uncle over some sheep. Craigg paid for some lambies, but disease swept through last month, and half of them died. Uncle tried to pay Craigg back, but the mon wanted a prize ewe instead of the coin.” She smirked. “Your grandfather accepted my uncle’s cash and gave Craigg some MacNaughton lambs. Now Craigg tells everyone that Lachlan threatened his hide if he didna accept the terms offered by the MacNaughton.”
“That mon could argue with a mute. I’d wager he was found in the woods and adopted into that clan. It’s beyond comprehension that he comes from the same blood as Lissie.” Brodie pulled her off the path and over to a clearing. They had a view of the mountains in front of them, a jagged skyline of brown and greens capped with white. “Lissie and Ian have a part in what I want to talk about.”
He unclasped his plaid and spread it on the ground. Kirstine sat down and hugged her knees. Brodie stretched out next to her, propped on his elbow, his head in his palm. Her gaze trailed down his body from the linen shirt open at the neck, down the muscular thighs, to the thick calves. He was a fine-looking man who, she realized, was oddly quiet.
His fingers traced the bold lines on the plaid, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Kirstine wanted to push that thick, black curl from his forehead and comfort him. She sensed the urgency in his silence.
“Come out with it,” she urged quietly. Her chin rested on her knees, but she turned her head to keep an eye on him. “Ye always feel better when ye think out loud.”
“Aye, if I’m with ye when I do it. Others just try to tell me how they would solve the problem.” He sighed. “My brother, Lachlan, doesna feel he is the right choice for chief when Grandda steps down. He’s of the opinion I would be a better candidate.”
She nodded and waited.
“He has no patience and hates to placate grown men who bicker with one another. I argued against it. He was no’ considering of the serious issues the chief deals with and the leadership the MacNaughton provides.” Brodie sat up, both arms behind him now, his head thrown back. “Grandda willna like it.”
“What are yer feelings? Would ye welcome the responsibility?”
He was silent for a long while. “Aye, I believe I would. I have the temperament to deal with people fairly.”
“So do I,” she said simply. Brodie needed to come to his own conclusions.
“How do I convince Grandda? Lachlan has tried to talk to him, and he willna listen. Says he just needs more time to learn the ways of negotiation.” Brodie chuckled. “Lachlan has a knack for trade negotiations, not diplomacy. I’ve never seen a mon enjoy haggling more than my brother. He’s the MacNaughton that should run the mill. Ian should be home with his wife.”
“Haggling and negotiating are different things, and yer grandfather kens it. He’ll come around.”
“Ye think so?”
“Aye, ye’re clever at solving problems, always have been. Ye can be impartial, and everyone likes ye.” Kirstine leaned back on her elbows, side by side with him now, their faces turned up to the sky. Fluffy bits of white hung in the pale blue, rearranged into vague shapes, and floated away. The sunshine warmed her skin, and a soft breeze flipped up the hem of her skirt. “What does this have to do with Ian and Lissie?”
“Ye ken the supervisor at the mill quit. Ian must stay until a replacement is found, and that has no’ been going well. Lachlan wants to share the duties in Glasgow. Give Ian more time to spend here with Lissie and start his family.”
“And?”
“Grandda has agreed to that much for now. Lachlan expects me to persuade the MacNaughton to let him stay at the mill. I’m afraid I’d have to enlist the help of the faeries to work that kind of magic.”