“Are ye all right, Brodie? Do ye have a pain?” asked Mairi, concern in her eyes.
“Aye, er, I’m fine. Too much meat, I fear.” He stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet. “I need to check on my grandfather. Thank ye for the dance.”
*
“I want ye to meet someone,” Brigid said, pulling Kirstine by the hand. “His family was removed when the lords closed the open pastures for their sheep. He’s back from the coast with his son.”
Kirstine laughed but resisted. Brigid was a close friend and knew her feelings about Brodie. Perhaps she’d seen her brother with another and had the same idea about competition that her own mother had. “What are ye up to? Does he need help or are ye trying to marry me off?”
“Both,” Brigid said with a grin. She waved at the tall, handsome man as he approached.
Liam MacDougal had dark red hair, light green eyes, and a sense of humor. As old as her mother, she guessed. When he smiled and asked her to dance, her reserve fell away. She liked him instantly. He was graceful for his height, and Kirstine enjoyed his company.
“I understand ye’re knowledgeable with plants and herbs. Are ye one I could call when my son gets into mischief?” Liam escorted her away from the dancers as another tune began. He towered over her, but his demeanor was mild. “While I envy his energy, the lad isna the most graceful. He’s already been stitched up more times than I have myself.”
“Aye, myself or my mother. We’re always happy to help.” Then he asked her what she enjoyed most about doctoring.
His expression of sincere interest soon had her chatting easily, and she shared the story of her first patient, a kid goat who’d cut himself on wire. She barely noticed he’d place a refreshment in her hand.
“So you stopped the bleeding, and it adopted ye?” He chuckled and refilled her cup.
“Its mother had died, so I became a surrogate.” Kirstine tried to remember the last time she’d talked about herself at such length.
She turned the conversation back to Liam and his son, and their new home. As they sipped the cool wine, Brodie strolled up like a rooster and introduced himself.
“My sister says ye’re working for us.” He held out his hand. “I’m Brodie, the MacNaughton’s youngest grandson.”
“He’s a good mon, yer grandfather. I appreciate the work,” MacDougal said. “He speaks highly of his grandsons.”
Kirstine saw an unfamiliar gleam in Brodie’s eyes. Almost surly, yet his tone was pleasant. “He’s in the old cottage where ye were born, Brodie. Between the grazing pastures and the castle. Ye’ll run into each other often, I suppose.”
“I helped yer sister with an injured sheep the other day,” MacDougal said. “She has a way with animals. I was impressed.”
“If she had as much finesse with people—”
“I’m right behind ye, brother dear.” Brigid punched Brodie in the shoulder, then turned to the taller man. “How do ye like my friend, Kirsty? I told ye she was a beauty.”
Kirstine closed her eyes as heat flooded her cheeks. She could stomp on Brigid’s foot right now. Brodie made an odd sound, something like a growl.
“We have several lovely widows”—he placed an arm over Kirstine’s shoulders—“closer to yer age.”
She gasped at his rudeness and pushed his arm away. “We’re celebrating Beltane, not betrothals.” Kirstine slapped at Brodie’s hand as he tried to take hers. “Would ye like to dance again, Liam?”
A slow grin curved his lips. “I’d be honored, Miss MacDunn.”
Kirstine bit back the giggle at the glare she knew was burning both their backs.
“I apologize for his remark,” she said as the set began. “Brodie is usually most pleasant. I dinna ken what’s got into him.”
“Jealousy, if I wagered a guess.”
I hope so, whispered the voice in her head. “We have no claim on one another, so it wasna proper for him to give ye that impression.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
When the dance ended, MacDougal returned her to the refreshment table, and she introduced him to her mother. She endured more embarrassment while Ma gushed over the man and invited him for dinner. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mairi whispering to Brodie, his head dropped to listen. He gave the redhead that enigmatic MacNaughton smile—the one that could make any girl swoon—and her stomach dropped.
“He’s just soothing his wounded pride,” said Brigid. “Pretend ye dinna see.”
This night had not gone as planned. Fantasies of her first kiss, clinging to his neck, Brodie’s arms wrapped around her waist…
“Ye feckin’ weasel! I’ll kill ye if ye touch her again!”
The shout rumbled from wood behind Brodie, stunning those nearby into silence. Ross Craigg’s stout form emerged from the trees, dragging Kirstine’s cousin by the collar. Not another clash with Craigg! She gripped Brigid’s hand.
“Da, it was only a kiss. Please, let him go,” a fragile voice pleaded. “We’re betrothed.”
“Not with my permission,” he raged. A strand of his thinning brown hair hung limp over forehead. His splotched face and bulbous nose contorted as the boy struggled beneath the tight grip.
Kirstine’s uncle stormed across the field. “Let go of my son or I’ll give ye a skelping ye’ll no’ survive,” he bellowed, his red beard trembling, fists clenched. Her cousin tried to wrestle away from Craigg’s grasp again but froze at his father’s words. The girl sobbed and wrung her hands, her face tipped and hidden behind a veil of deep brown hair.
“He was groping my daughter, the piece of hog shite!”
“I asked her to marry me,” the boy growled as he wiped blood from his nose. “Get yer stinking hands off me.”
Kirstine held her breath as Craigg raised his other hand to smack her cousin, but her uncle caught the fist in mid-swing. The crack of bone hung in the air, and Craigg crumpled to the ground. Brodie rushed in to catch the unconscious man just before his head hit a rock.
“What the devil are ye thinking, mon?” demanded Calum, marching toward the group. “Ye’re son is in the wood, alone with this lass, and ye punch her father? He’ll want retribution for this.” He made a motion to the fiddler, and the music began again.
“I lost my temper,” muttered Kirstine’s uncle. “He’s had it coming.”
“Aye, and I’m a wee jealous. Every mon in this glen has wanted to do that at one time or another,” Calum admitted. “But he was within his rights this time, and he’ll demand justice for the attack against him.”
“Get something to revive the drunken cow. Quick!” Brodie propped the dead weight against his broad chest and fixed a stern scowl at the young couple. “And this incident is no’ to be repeated.”
Calum accepted a cup from a bystander and tossed it at the limp form.
Craigg spluttered and waved his arms in front of him. Kirstine saw Brodie wink at his grandfather.
“I canna hold ye back much longer, ye sodden hothead. Now promise me ye’ll no’ hurt the lad for accidentally headbutting ye,” Brodie said loud enough for anyone close to hear. “It’s a holiday, and we’ll settle it without violence.”