He looked up and she was gone. His gut shouted to go after her, but his soon-to-be family by marriage was demanding his attention. Making inquiries about things he’d rather not discuss with MacDonalds, impending marriage or not.
Why the hell had he agreed to this?
Eoin studied the lad his little pest longed to call husband. Kenneth was young—only nine and ten, but the lad was braw. Matched him in height. His muscle was leaner, but given a few years to fill out the lad would match his bulk as well.
The emotion on the MacDonald heir’s face might highlight his youth, but it stirred something in Eoin. Not for his sister, but for…Ashlyn.
Her dark eyes, pleading and sincere for Fiona’s marriage, had cinched it for him—or at least convinced him what his sibling wanted was genuine.
The lad had done the rest, declaring first he’d wanted to call him brother. Kenneth MacDonald had only said what he’d thought Eoin wanted to hear.
He’d been wrong. The most important part of his speech had been how he’d ended it—confessing his love for Fiona.
Eoin grunted and narrowed his eyes. “I’ll kill ye if ye doona take care a’ her. Keep her happy.”
“Aye, my laird,” the lad replied without missing a beat.
“I’ll be happy, brother.” His sister’s face lit up.
He’d never seen her so happy. Her eyes shone for the redheaded lad. She was hanging on his arm, too.
His gut ached. Again, his Ashlyn’s absence took front and center. The bright room was dim without her. Cold, too.
Where had she gone? Why had she gone?
She’d been the reason he’d relented. She had to know that.
“Jamie is my head steward, I’m sure he can answer yer concerns,” he told Laird MacDonald and gestured to his cousin, who’d been hovering nearby.
The man bowed to the laird, and new conversation was born.
Eoin excused himself and whirled away. Needed to get to his Ashlyn.
His grandfather’s weathered hand appeared on his forearm. “Let her go, lad. Tha lass looked as if she needed a minute.”
“Why?”
“Let us go ta my room an’ talk. The need fer yer presence here, ‘tis done.”
He nodded, and threw one last look to his sister. Fiona was still glowing at the lad’s side, hanging on his arm while he and his father talked to their cousin. His gut tightened. Eoin was giving her away. But he believed the lad’s feelings and intentions were sincere.
“All is well here. ‘Tis settled,” Angus remarked, following his gaze.
He was still angry at his grandfather for the ambush. He was Laird MacLeod, not Angus, but seeing his little pest so joyful had softened his ire, if only a bit.
Eoin followed the elderly man to his rooms and took the seat by the hearth, opposite the rocking chair, when bid. Words tumbled out without delay. “I made a vow, I’d return her ta her time.”
“Aye, she tol’ me.”
As if compelled, the truth fell from his lips. “I canna let her go, Grandfa.” He wanted to avoid that shrewd blue gaze, but his eyes found Angus’ of their own accord.
“Then doona.” The man rocked forward in his chair, his tone casual, belying his expression.
“She willna stay…”
“I know.”
He jolted. “Ye know?”
Angus nodded. “I doona think yer fate ‘tis ta remain here fer tha rest a’ yer days.”
He swallowed. Wanted to demand so much about this sudden revelation, but nothing would come out of his mouth. Eoin fidgeted and stared at the man who’d raised him.
“I knew when ye were wee, Eoin-lad. The Stones doona jus’ call ta ye. They sing in yer blood. ‘Tis why ye belonged travelin’ all this time. Ye can settle, knowin’ yer supposed ta be in tha future. Mayhap ‘tis why ye met tha witch in tha first place. She taught ye of things ye needed ta know. ‘Tis fate, too.”
“My magic—”
“‘Tis stronger than my own when it comes ta tha Faery Stones.”
Shock rolled over him and he blinked. Pitched his body forward in the chair. His shoulders, his back, even his thighs were clenched to the point of pain, and he couldn’t keep his leg from jumping. “I’m tha laird. I’ve a duty ta my clan.”
“There are many MacLeods, lad, but only one lass tha’ calls ta yer heart.”
Emotion clogged in his throat and Eoin had to look away before he could meet his grandfather’s eyes again. He couldn’t make sense of the chaos swirling in his head.
Could he even consider what his grandfather was declaring?
He’d have to name an heir. Angus was two and ninety. Although he was hale, they didn’t know how many years he had left, and Eoin couldn’t place the burden of the clan on his shoulders yet again.
“Grandfa—”
“Ye need no’ ta worry, lad. Go ta tha future wit’ yer lass. Live yer life by her side. Sweet Ashlyn doesna wan’ ta let ye go, either.”
He jumped. “Did she say so? Ta ye?” The questions had a demanding edge that made the old man chuckle.
“Nay, foolish lad. ‘Tis no secret how she looks a’ ye. Or how ye look a’ her.”
Warmth flushed to his toes. He couldn’t confirm or deny his feelings. His heart picked up speed and he hoped—prayed—with his whole being, his soul, Angus spoke the truth. “She hasna said,” he whispered.
“Have ye?”
Eoin shook his head on instinct, even though this was the last subject he’d ever thought he’d discuss with the elderly man. It was bad enough when Angus was too perceptive. Confessing…feelings…made him feel like an errant lad being admonished.
His grandfather tsked like a nagging woman. “Then yer both foolish.”
He let the chide slide, desperate for a distraction. “I need ta sit fer tha’ paintin’.”
“Aye, a’ fore ye go, ye do. Call fer an artist on tha morrow. Looks like tha work a’ Sulwen MacInnes. At leas’ he’s here on Skye.”
“An’ tha Flag?”
“‘Twill call ta a new guardian if an’ when ‘tis necessary.”
“I’ll have ta name an heir.”
“Aye, ye will.” Angus reclined in his chair only to rock forward again, the curved wooden tines giving a creak as he had an answer for Eoin’s every concern.
That had irritated him since he was wee, but at the same time, he loved the man for the ability. His grandfather had calmed him. I should thank him.
“Fiona…” His voice failed him again. He’d miss his little pest if he were to proceed with this madness.
If Ashlyn would even have him.
“Will be taken care of, as always.” His grandfather smiled softly. “She’s ta be wed now, ta tha man of her choice. Kenneth MacDonald will be good ta tha lassie. He loves her, an’ she loves him. They should be tagether. Like ye and Ashlyn-lass.”
“Grandfa—”
Angus planted his feet to the floor and leaned forward, making a grab for his forearm. “I know, Eoin-lad. I know.” He squeezed, and his smile widened. “My Lila came ta me. Ye need ta go ta yer Ashlyn, an’ know yer family, yer clan, will be hale, because yer where…when…yer supposed ta be.”
Eoin didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. The lump in his throat didn’t dissipate, no matter how many times he swallowed against it.
He had a lot to think about.