Page 48 of Laird of Secrets

“We have another verse to try,” Fiona told the class. “It is called afith-fath.”

“Fith-faths! They are old charms,” Mairi said. “My grandmother and my mother recite them. Why should we learn those in English, if the Southrons do not have such charms?”

“Because they use words that are easy to learn. Listen,” she said, and began in Gaelic:

Fith-fath ni mi ort

Bho chire, bho ruta,

Bho mhise, bho bhuc…

“A fith-fath I make on you,” she translated in English, “from sheep, from ram, from goat, from stag…” She had chosen the ancient household blessing for its common form—lists of animal names and plain nouns simple enough to learn in English. She was counting on her students to find the old verses familiar and easily absorbed.

Glancing up at the ceiling uneasily while the children recited, she wished she knew a blessing charm for a roof. She was not entirely sure if the roof was indeed precarious, or if Ranald and Fergus MacGregor were leading her on in a scheme to scare her away from the old building.

Hearing the thunk of boots on the front step, thinking Ranald and Fergus had returned, she looked up. Dougal MacGregor stood in the doorway, which was open to the fresh air. He folded his arms and leaned against the frame to listen.

Though her heart leaped in her chest to see him again, she calmly finished the verse. Then she reviewed the word list, keenly aware that he was watching.

While the students patiently copied words, she walked toward him. “Mr. MacGregor.”

“Pardon the interruption, Miss MacCarran.” He inclined his head. “I would like a word with you if you have a moment.”

Her heart gave a little flip of excitement and dread, but she merely nodded. “Can you wait until after class?”

“Another day, then,” he said, straightening. “I have some business to tend to.”

“Aye, then,” she murmured, disappointed, and wondering if his business involved more secret treks over the hills. “You can find me here tomorrow.”

“I can find you,” he murmured, “whenever I want. And when you want.”

“Tomorrow,” she suggested. “What do you wish to discuss? Do you need to look at the roof, too?”

“Not that. Another matter.”

She leaned forward. “An illicit one?”

“You,” he said, leaning and nearly whispering, “are far too eager for such.”

“I rather enjoyed myself the other night.” She blushed, smiled a bit.

“Did you now?” He pinched back an amused quirk of the lips. She yearned for more of that from him, wanting his wide, bright smile, his ready laugh. Wanting his strong arms to reach out, draw her close.

Enough. Her cheeks burned. “Did you? Enjoy the other night, I mean?”

“I did not. Watching you walk boldly between gaugers and smugglers? Indeed I did not.”

“I only meant to help. I worried that my brother would have to arrest you.”

“He would have had no choice if Tam had ordered it done. And there would have been a skirmish, with you in the middle. I know you meant to help, and you did. But I did not enjoy it,” he said low. “But I did enjoy the other.”

“The other? Oh!” She gasped, remembering the kiss.

“Aye,” he whispered. “A wee taste of heaven, that was. Did you think so?”

She glanced down, breath quickening, and nodded.

“You should not be standing here with a scoundrel and a smuggler who only wants to kiss you again.” He spoke low, leaned close, breath brushing her cheek. “He would bring no good to your life. Your brother and I agree you would be safer away from here.”