Page 15

“WHAT A SLOW morning,” Kenna muttered. “It looks as if no one needs eggs today.”

Standing next to her aunt, Rose stiffened. Of course, the locals needed eggs. However, they didn’t want to buy them from her .

It was a breezy spring morning. Clouds scudded across a robin’s egg-blue sky, and the smell of blossom sweetened the air.

Two months of cold weather had crawled by since Rose had gone to live with her aunt.

The chill had dragged on for so long, they’d begun to believe spring would never come.

But then it had, in an explosion of color.

Kenna’s fowls had been laying well over the past weeks, and they had plenty of eggs to sell.

Kenna and Ailis often came into Dun Ugadale for the Saturday market, where they sold eggs and, occasionally, furs from the stoats that Ailis trapped.

Kenna had admitted to Rose that they sometimes struggled to sell their wares here, for locals whispered about the two strange women who lived together out in The Red Deer Hills.

However, Rose’s presence at Kenna’s side this morning was the kiss of death.

Rose’s belly tightened. Usually, she let her aunt and Ailis sell the eggs on their own at market, but since Ailis wasn’t feeling well this morning, Rose had accompanied her aunt instead.

That was a mistake. Her presence was chasing folk away.

On the opposite side of the village square, Rose spied a small woman with white-blonde hair wearing a tall cloth hat—Eara had a stall at the market on this fine spring day.

Marking the solemn expression on the alewife’s face, Rose frowned.

Usually, there would be a queue of locals to buy her fine ale.

But not so this morning. Her friend stood alone.

Rose’s jaw tightened. Despite that she now lived a good walk from the village, she still went in four mornings a week to help Eara.

But they would have been blind not to notice the changing mood in the village toward them both. No one greeted Rose as she walked the tangle of streets to the alewife’s bothy, and those who did notice her scowled.

Just a few days earlier, someone had thrown a dead rat over the fence into Eara’s garden. Eara’s cat, Ember, hadn’t been impressed, although the alewife had shrugged the incident off. However, it bothered Rose.

“Eara’s not selling anything either,” she murmured to her aunt. “She’s paying the price for her friendship with me.”

Kenna sighed. “Folk can be as fickle as sheep, lass. Pay them no mind.”

“I don’t … but if they ruin Eara’s livelihood, I shall feel responsible.” She paused, motioning to the surrounding crowd. “Ye know how much influence the MacDonalds have here. And now it seems they’ve scared off the Mackays as well.”

It was true. Apart from two nervous MacAlister women and Eara, they’d had hardly any buyers for their eggs.

Kenna snorted. “Worried they’ll make themselves unpopular too, are they?”

“Aye.” Rose heaved a sigh. “I will speak to Eara later … and tell her I won’t be helping her for a while.” Her aunt frowned, but Rose added. “It’s not forever … just until things settle.”

“Careful, Rose,” Kenna replied softly. “If ye let her, Maisie MacDonald will turn ye into an outcast.”

Considering her aunt’s words, and wondering at Kenna’s treatment at the hands of these people over the years, Rose’s gaze traveled across the crowd to where the woman herself was in a huddle with a group of friends.

Maisie had clearly been hard at work, and Rose wondered if she’d spoken to Father Gregor about her as she’d threatened.

A sickly sensation washed over Rose then. Of course, Maisie had.

As if summoned, a slender, black-robed figure appeared in the crowd, moving briskly through the press of shoppers just a few yards away. Father Gregor greeted the locals with nods before stopping to chat to the MacDonald women for a few moments.

Maisie leaned close, her gaze bright, speaking quickly to him.

A moment later, Father Gregor turned, his dark gaze spearing Rose’s.

Her pulse quickened before she chastised herself. Goose … he doesn’t have any power over ye.

However, her heart started to race when the priest murmured something to Maisie and stepped away. He then cut his way through the milling crowd, skirting around where a man was selling a gaggle of honking geese, toward Rose and Kenna.

“What’s this?” Kenna murmured, seeing him approach. “Does the priest want some eggs?”

“I think not, auntie,” Rose replied, schooling her features into a veiled expression.

An instant later, Father Gregor halted before their stall. His dispassionate gaze surveyed the baskets of eggs sitting on the small trestle table.

“Good morn, Father,” Kenna greeted him brightly. “Care for some eggs?”

He shook his head dismissively, his gaze coming to rest upon Kenna’s companion. “Ye no longer attend the Sunday services, Rose?”

Holding his gaze, she lifted her chin a fraction. “I live quite a distance from the village these days, Father.”

“But that doesn’t stop ye from coming here on other days,” he replied, his tone sharpening. “To work with the alewife .” His mouth puckered then as if he’d just tasted something sour.

Rose stilled. It discomforted her to know that he’d been paying attention to her routine.

“I am merely helping a friend in need, Father,” she said, her own voice cooling, “and learning a valuable skill too.”

His dark brows knitted together. “A good woman finds herself a husband and lets him provide.”

“Sometimes that isn’t possible,” Rose replied. “And sometimes women enjoy having something of their own.”

His jaw tightened. “Ye have been drawing attention to yerself of late … if ye are not careful, ye will gain yerself a reputation.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my niece, Father,” Kenna interjected crisply. “She’s a good-hearted, hardworking lass who has never done anyone wrong.”

Father Gregor favored Kenna with a look of cold disdain before he focused on Rose once more. “Locals have brought to my attention that ye have taken an eagle owl into yer care.”

Rose frowned. “Aye.”

He shook his head gravely, clearly pained to hear her admit this. “Then I counsel ye to set the bird free,” he replied. “Eagle owls are demonic … they are the devil’s helpers. It is unwise to have such a creature under yer roof.”

Rose huffed a sigh, her irritation rising now.

Aye, some folk might believe the bird’s large eyes and tufts of feathers that looked like horns made it look demonic, but she wasn’t so foolish.

She was about to point out to the priest that she didn’t believe such superstition when Father Gregor continued, “I would resume yer visits to the kirk, Rose, if I were ye.” His eyes glinted.

“Call on me whenever ye wish … I will help ye purify yer soul.”

Rose ground her teeth. Aye, she was sure he would.

The priest stepped forward, although the table between him and Rose prevented him from crowding her.

A hungry look flickered across his face then.

He seemed to forget that he and Rose weren’t alone, that Kenna was watching.

“Ye have strayed from the path, lass … but I will put it right. A woman like ye should—”

“Good morning, Father.” A male voice, low and powerful, interrupted the priest mid-sentence.

Their gazes snapped to where a tall, broad-shouldered man with white-blond hair strode toward them.

It was a warm morning, and Kerr Mackay wore a leather vest and braies.

Leather bracers covered his wrists, while sweat gleamed on his bare, muscular upper arms. He looked as if he’d just come from training.

Rose’s heart kicked against her ribs.

They hadn’t set eyes on each other in the two moons since the Mackays had taken her family’s cottage and lands from her and given them to the MacDonalds. Since that fateful day in the barmkin of Dun Ugadale.

In truth, she’d started to regret how harshly she responded to him. Maybe he’d only been trying to help, after all.

“Captain Mackay,” Father Gregor greeted him stiffly.

“Buying some eggs are ye?” Kerr asked, drawing up next to the priest.

Two high spots of color appeared on Father Gregor’s cheeks. “No, I was merely exchanging pleasantries with these women.”

Kenna’s soft snort followed, and the priest’s blush deepened.

“Well, ye should try Kenna’s eggs,” Kerr replied, his expression inscrutable. “Ye won’t find any better elsewhere.”

Father Gregor gave a quick, jerky nod. “Perhaps another time.” He then ducked his head and moved backward. “Captain.”

Then, without sparing Rose or her aunt another glance, the priest walked off.

Kerr watched him go before his gaze shifted to Kenna, who pulled a face. The captain’s brow furrowed. “Was he bothering ye?”

Kenna huffed a sigh. “Not me especially. Father Gregor doesn’t approve of Rose working with the alewife … or her independent ways.”

Rose cut her aunt a quelling look. God’s blood, did Kenna have to be so open? “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “He’s just been listening to petty gossip … that’s all.”

Kerr’s attention shifted to Rose, and his brow furrowed. “Have the MacDonalds been heckling ye?”

“Not really,” she lied, wishing he’d drop the subject. They were attracting a few stares now—something she didn’t need.

“Relations between the MacAlisters and the MacDonalds have never been so strained,” he replied, his frown deepening. “The lads and I had to break up a brawl in the fields yesterday.”

Rose swallowed. Her father and brothers had caused this. Unfortunately, folk had long memories—it would be a while before she was accepted here again.

“Just bang their heads together, Captain,” Kenna muttered. “Maybe that’ll knock some good sense into their thought cages.”

Kerr snorted, his brow smoothing. “I’ve tried, Kenna … unfortunately, they’ve all got thick skulls.” He paused then, focusing on Rose once more. “But if the priest or any of the villagers give ye any bother, ye are to tell me … things can sometimes get out of hand.”

Rose nodded stiffly, guilt tugging at her. She wished he wasn’t always so noble —he sometimes made it hard for her to hate him.

“We will,” Kenna assured him. “Thank ye, Captain.”

Kerr’s mouth lifted, just a fraction, at the corners, in the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll take two dozen of yer eggs then,” he said, reaching for the purse at his belt. “Our kitchen always needs them.”