Authors: Kathleen Morgan
Tags: #Fiction, #Christian, #Historical, #General, #Romance, #ebook
Woman of Grace (38 page)
With a grin he stooped, picked it up, and offered it back to her. “Have a care, ma’am, or you might be the next thing landing at my feet.”
She could feel the heat flood her face. This was daft, the way she was acting, Claire scolded herself. ’Twasn’t as if she had never met a fine-looking man before. And ’twasn’t as if she had never had a masculine glint of admiration directed at her either.
Claire managed a taut smile. “Ye’re from America, aren’t ye? I can tell by yer accent.”
His gaze never wavered from her face. “Yes, I’m from America. Colorado to be exact. Funny thing is, though, where I come from it’s you who’d be branded with having the accent.”
Claire laughed. Despite the stranger’s attempt at bravado, she could see a deeper glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. Her strange unease dissipated, and she felt confident and in control again.
“Well, ye’re in the Highlands now, my braw lad, and ye’re the foreigner, not I.” She glanced over her shoulder at the old priest. “If ye havena further chores for me, Father, I’ll be on my way now. Ian should be heading home soon. I’ve a fine pot of colcannon simmering and a loaf of bread yet to bake for supper.”
“And havena ye a wee moment more to spare for our new friend, lass?” The gray-haired cleric cocked his head and arched a shaggy brow. “Dinna ye wish to hear what his needs might be?”
If the truth be told, Claire wished she were as fast and far away from the tall American as she could get. As pleasant and well-mannered as he seemed, there was just something about him—something disturbing that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But she couldn’t very well admit that to his face now, could she?
“I didna wish to pry,” she forced herself to reply. “It appears he came to see—”
“Reckon you might as well stay, ma’am,” the stranger cut her off. “In fact, you may be as much help as the padre here. I’m looking for some kinfolk, and I haven’t any idea where to begin.”
Reluctantly, Claire turned back to face him. He was a stranger in their land, after all, and no true Highlander would deny anyone hospitality. “Well, if ye could tell us the names of yer kin, mayhap that would be the best way to begin. ’Twould be nigh impossible, even for a man as knowledgeable as Father MacLaren, to help ye without names.”
The American pulled off his hat and ran a hand roughly through black, wavy hair in dire need of a trim. “That’s just the problem, ma’am. The last kin of mine who lived in Culdee left here in 1825. His name was Sean MacKay, and he was my great-grandfather.”
“That was seventy-three years ago, lad.” The priest’s glance skittered off Claire’s. He scratched his jaw. “’Twill be a challenge to find yer true kin, though if ye be a MacKay, in a sense these hills are filled wi’ yer kin, for these are MacKay lands.”
“I’ve got time,” the American muttered cryptically, with what Claire imagined to be an edge of bitterness. “It’s why I came all this way north from Glasgow.”
“Did ye now?” Father MacLaren grasped his cane and climbed awkwardly down the steps to stand beside Claire. “And who be ye, then?”
“I’m Evan MacKay, son of Conor MacKay, the owner of Culdee Creek Ranch near Colorado Springs, Colorado.” He held out his hand.
“Well, I’ve heard o’ Colorado, but no’ o’ this Colorado Springs.” The priest accepted the American’s proffered hand and gave it a hearty shake before releasing it. “I’m Father MacLaren of St. Columba’s Kirk. And this bonnie lassie,” he added, turning to Claire, “is Claire Sutherland, my wee housekeeper.”
The man named Evan rendered her a quick nod. It wasn’t quick enough, though, Claire realized with a twinge of irritation, to hide a freshened gleam of appreciation.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He shoved his hat back on his head, lifted his face to the sun that was even now dipping toward the distant mountains, then frowned. “Well, as you say, the search for my kin might be a challenge. And it certainly isn’t one I care to take on today.”
“Nay, I’d imagine no’,” the priest agreed amiably. “The morrow will be soon enough. If ye wish, ye can then begin wi’ our church records. Mayhap a wee look into the baptismal and wedding register will provide ye wi’ additional clues to solve yer mystery.”
“I’d be much obliged, Padre.”
Father MacLaren stroked his chin and eyed him speculatively. “Do ye have lodging then, already arranged for the night?”
“No.” Evan MacKay gave a swift shake of his head. “But if you could direct me to an inn or boarding house …”
“There’s no inn, leastwise no’ in Culdee.” The old priest’s brow furrowed in thought. “Indeed, the closest inn’s in Tongue, a good sixty miles north o’ here. He turned to Claire. “Doesna yer landlord have another small croft to let?”
“Aye,” she replied slowly, not liking where the conversation seemed suddenly to be heading. “But the dwelling is shabby indeed, and no fit dwelling for such a fine man as Mr. MacKay.”
“It’s Evan. Please, call me Evan.” He gave a low, husky laugh. “And believe me, Miss Sutherland. I’m not all that fine. I can handle just about anything that provides me with a roof over my head.”
“This isna America, ye know,” Claire protested, not at all pleased with the idea of the tall man residing so near to her. “The wind blows bitter off the sea and when it rains, the chill can sink deep into yer bones.”
Once more, Evan laughed. “And you, pretty lady, haven’t lived through a Colorado winter either. I’d say as bad as your Highland weather might be, it’s no worse in comparison.”
“Ye see, lass?” Father MacLaren offered just a little too eagerly. “’Tis the perfect solution. If Mr. MacKay … Evan … lives nearby, he might even be willin’ to earn a bit o’ his board by helpin’ ye and Ian in the garden plot, and carin’ for Angus’s sheep and chickens. ’Twould take a load from yer shoulders, wouldna it?”
“Aye, I suppose so,” Claire admitted. “Just as long as Angus doesna raise our rent in the doing.”
Kathleen Morgan
has authored numerous novels for the general market and now focuses her writing on inspirational books. She has won many awards for her romance writing, including the 2002 Rose Award for Best Inspirational Romance. If you wish you contact Kathleen, look her up online or write to her at P.O. Box 62365, Colorado Springs, CO 80962.
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