Page 4 of The Laird's Wicked Game
However, her comment made his face relax a little. A moment later, Maclean smiled once more, and then—to her surprise—he started to sing.
“The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest,
Of ocean’s gems ’tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow’ring mountains.”
And then the rest of the men accompanying them, Jack Maclean included, joined in. Verse after verse, they sang, extolling the virtues of their beautiful island, the resonant boom of their voices echoing through the warm afternoon air. Kylie’s skin prickled as she listened, for there was nothing more stirring than hearing someone’s love for their home in song.
“That was lovely,” she said when the singing ended, before she flashed him a grin. “And ye have a fine voice indeed.”
She shouldn’t flatter him, yet couldn’t help it. The laird’s deep voice had touched her.
Maclean gave an embarrassed laugh, his gaze flicking to her before it slid away. She noted the faint blush that rose to his cheekbones, and his response intrigued her. Was he not used to receiving compliments?
“Aye, well … it’s easy to sing about this isle,” he replied his tone gruff now, his attention firmly upon his horse’s ears. “WeMuilichhave a fierce love for our home … and would lay down our lives to defend it.”
Kylie didn’t doubt the man. There was a strength to him that was grounded as deep as the mighty mountains of this isle. Rae Maclean came from a line of chieftains who belonged to Mull as much as every clump of heather, blade of grass, and twisted oak that grew here.
Nonetheless, he didn’t appear as comfortable with her as he’d been when they’d met at Moy, or as at ease with himself either. His mood was more subdued than she recalled, his gaze often shadowed.
Catching the wayward direction of her thoughts, for she shouldn’t be scrutinizing the man so, she pulled herself up. She then cleared her throat. “Have ye had any more troubles with the Ghost Raiders over the summer?”
The laird cast her another sidelong look. “No … but that’s only because there isn’t much fog for them to shroud themselves in this time of year.” His features tightened then, a deep groove etching between his dark-auburn brows. “But rest assured, the bastards will be back as soon as the weather turns.”
A chill skated down Kylie’s spine at these words. The pirates, who disguised themselves in black hooded cloaks and horned sheep skull masks, had terrified the folk of Mull for nearly three years now. “I take it the clan-chief never apprehended their leader?”
Maclean shook his head, his mouth thinning. “MacBeth disappeared like a wraith. Loch is still searching for him though.”
It was now her turn to frown. She didn’t like the thought of that villain—or the pirates he led—still being at large. The attack at Moy Castle the past Bealtunn still haunted her sometimes. “Fortunately, I hear Dounarwyse is well defended,” she murmured.
“Aye … it has a sturdy curtain wall and a position that’s hard to lay siege to.” Maclean’s focus returned to the path that stretched out before them, his brow still furrowed. “But I must remain vigilant … a laird can never let down his guard. I will defend my broch, and my lands, until my last breath.”
Kylie found herself studying his profile. His face was even more forbidding now, and she was sorry she’d brought up the Ghost Raiders.
She tore her attention from him then, focusing on her surroundings instead in an attempt to regain her equilibrium. She admired the rocky coastline and the rolling meadows that swept west to where a high sculpted ridge rose against the horizon, its deep corries highlighted in the sun. “That mountain ridge,” she asked, keen to steer their conversation to a more neutral subject. “What’s its name?”
“That’s Dùn da Ghaoithe …Fort of the Two Winds,” he replied. “From the top, ye can see the sea in nearly every direction.”
“I’d like to see such a view,” she admitted.
Maclean’s mouth quirked, yet he still didn’t look her way. Was she imagining it, or did he avoid her gaze? “Then we shall organize an excursion before summer’s end.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” she answered swiftly, anxiety fluttering up. “I’m sure ye are too busy to—”
“Even a laird must take a break now and then, Lady Grant,” he replied with a shake of his head. “We can take my sons with us and make a day of it … neither of them has climbed Dùn da Ghaoithe.”
Another pause followed then, while Kylie chided herself for asking him about the mountain. He’d think her pushy now, despite that she’d merely been making conversation.
“Would ye tell me a little of yer sons?” she asked finally, deciding it was best to focus on the reason she was here.
Maclean gave a soft snort. All the same, his gaze remained on the path ahead. “They’re both a bit wild. Ailean has reached his sixth summer and Lyle his fourth … but don’t let their tender ages fool ye. The pair can be wee devils. Ailean, especially, reminds me of Jack at the same age. Willful.” He grimaced then. “I haven’t paid them much attention of late … and the lads often do as they please.”
Her chest tightened at this admission. In truth, despite her bold offer, she’d had little to do with bairns over the years, having had none of her own. His sons were still of a tender age though. Surely, they couldn’t be too much trouble?
“So, ye wish me to teach them their numbers and letters?”