Page 64 of The Laird's Masked Passion
The village turned toward him.
“What was lost here will be replaced. Tomorrow, I will send riders.”
The silence that followed was not disbelief. Relief, grief, loyalty, all bound together, all looking at him as if he could stand between them and every darkness that crossed the border.
He would… and God help the men who tried to prove otherwise.
When they reached the courtyard, Colin dismounted and lifted Elspeth down. She did not object.
His hands lingered only long enough to steady her. “Elspeth.”
She looked away. “I am well.”
“I didnae ask.”
“Ye were about tae.”
His gaze searched her face with that unnerving patience he sometimes possessed, the sort that made her feel less observed than read. Elspeth stepped back before he could find too much.
“I wish tae speak with ye,” she whispered.
His brows drew together. “Now?”
“Aye. Before ye disappear intae yer study and begin frightening maps.”
His mouth almost moved. “Maps are difficult tae frighten.”
“Nae fer ye.”
That earned something close to a smile, but it vanished quickly. The weight of the day pressed upon them both.
He led her inside to a smaller chamber near the kitchens. It was warmer there, smelling of bread, beeswax, and the faint bitterness of herbs. Elspeth took off her gloves and looked down at the soot darkening the fingertips.
“I want tae arrange a feast,” she told him.
Colin stared at her. Of all replies, silence was perhaps the least encouraging.
“A small one,” she added quickly. “Fer the village people. Nae some grand display with jewels and peacocks and men pretending poetry excuses bad manners.”
“Peacocks?”
“I am speaking generally.”
“I gathered that.”
She folded her hands before her. “It could be fer the wedding, if people require a reason that sounds happy. The laird has married. His lady has come. That is what they may call it.”
His expression remained unreadable. “And what wouldyecall it?”
Elspeth’s throat tightened. She looked toward the window, where the last of the afternoon light lay gray against the glass. “They are frightened.”
“Aye.”
“And grieving.”
“Aye.”
“And now they must think of winter, and food, and whether more fires will come, and whether men can cross yer borders whenever they please.” She swallowed. “A feast willnae fix any of that. But people need something that isnae fear.”
