“And that?” he all but shouted, trying to be heard over the noise. “Which ghost is that?”
Well, there was no need to tell him all her family’s dirty little secrets, now was there?
She plastered a smile on her face as the wailing died down to one long note. “Oh, that is nae ghost. ‘Tis the bagpiper. Come along, we’re going to find my father.”
They reached the steps down to the great hall, and she had to reluctantly release Kenneth’s hand so she could lift her skirts. She wasn’t exactly clumsy, but her enthusiasm had gotten her into more than a few scrapes and tumbles over the years, and she’d be mortified to fall face-first down the stairs in front of him.
The broken face itself would be less painful than the embarrassment.
“Ye are the youngest, aye?” Had he dropped the questions about the clan ghosts, and was back to the conversation about her family?
“Aye!”
A sudden thought made her wince. Oh dear, was he comparing their age differences?
“That’s no’ a problem, is it?” she asked him, half-teasing, half-serious.
When he took a moment to answer, her chest tightened in concern. But he seemed to be genuinely considering the question—and her. “I’m no’ yet two score.”
They reached the rush-covered great hall, and she lowered her skirts. “And I’m no’ yet one score.” A few years less than that, to be truthful, but surely that didn’t matter.
He was still studying her. Finally, he shook his head. “Then nay, I dinnae think ‘tis a problem.”
Joy bloomed in her chest, and Leanna didn’t bother to hide it from her smile as she scooped up his hand once more.
“Have ye met my father yet?”
Kenneth had been distracted by Bill the Ass, who was wandering by, but he shook his head wordlessly.
“Well then, there’s Da by the hearth. I ken he’ll want to meet ye,” she said as she tugged him onward.
Her father was a skinny man, clean-shaven, his hair long ago having turned gray thanks to—he claimed—having her as a daughter. Today, he was standing with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bent as he examined the small fire in the hearth, likely made on Mother’s orders. She was sitting as close as possible to the warmth, in one of the high-backed chairs she favored, working on her blasted embroidery.
“Da,” Leanna called, as she hurried Kenneth over to the pair, “this is our visitor.”
“Visitor, aye,” the older man repeated as he turned and offered his hand. “I’m Olaf Oliphant.”
“Laird Oliphant,” Kenneth acknowledged as he grasped the man’s forearm and bowed his head respectfully. “I’m Kenneth…Smith.”
“Smith, aye.” Da eyed the muted blues and yellows of Kenneth’s tartan, as Leanna’s brows rose. Smith? “I’ve no’ heard of that clan.”
“Nay, milord. ‘Tis a…a profession.”
Da nodded. “Profession, aye. So ye’re a smith?”
Leanna almost snorted. He was a warrior!
“Smith is a common English name,” Leanna offered.
A name someone might choose if they were trying to hide their true name.
Apparently, she was right because he winced.
“I meant…Bruce. Kenneth Bruce.”
“Bruce, aye,” Da repeated, in that annoying way of his. “One of the king’s men?”
Kenneth hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, I wasnae born a Bruce.”