“Please. Call me Wynda.”
By His Blood, she was smiling again. He swallowed and glanced away.
“I cannae. Ye’re my laird’s daughter.”
“But ye’re a Ross, are ye no’?”
He hesitated, his eyes settling on the hedge where Geraldine perched to enjoy her meal. “I…bear the Ross name, aye. But I swore fealty to yer father. I’m an Oliphant.”
“Of course ye are.” Her fingers tightened around his, moments before she gasped.
From the way she hurriedly dropped his hand, and her flustered movements as she stumbled back, she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it.
‘Tis for the best.
But Pherson, stupid fook that he was, couldn’t help feeling a pang of loss at the realization.
Swallowing, he settled his hands at the small of his back, his fingers wrapping around the daggers he’d always worn on his wide belt. He’d never carried a sword—had never needed to, not with his blades handy—because where he was from, lads like him weren’t taught to fight.
They’d had to learn on their own. By whomever would teach them.
Even if that meant breaking with everything they knew to be right. .
But from this comfortable position, his weight on the balls of his feet, he felt…ready to take whatever the world threw at him. Whatever pain and suffering was left to mete out, he’d meet and deflect from his daughter.
Because Wren was what mattered. And he’d do this for her.
“Milady, I’ve met Brodie McClure. I’ve seen the brace ye made for him—‘twas ye who made it, was it no’?”
Her eyes lit in excitement, and she spun to peer across the distance to Wren, who had struggled to her feet and was hobbling back toward them. “I did make it—well, I designed it, and the smith helped me with the metal parts. I ken the basics of metal-working, but Craig will rarely allow me into his forge, despite being my cousin. Well, to be fair, everyone’s my cousin—I’m blathering again.”
As a blush climbed her throat, he tamped down the urge to smile. “Aye,” he drawled. “Ye are.”
“Well.” She huffed out a sigh and crossed her arms. “I did design Brodie’s brace. Since he’s now my brother-in-law and will be living here at Oliphant Castle, I can make upgrades to the design.” She lifted her chin, a stubborn set to her jaw. “And I’m going to make one for Wren.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head which sent her curls—still disheveled from her fall—flying about her shoulders.
“Nay, dinnae argue with me, Pherson Ross! Ye saved my life today, despite being the cause of my mishap.” Before he could ask what she meant, she hurried on. “I’ll be thanking ye kindly by helping yer daughter walk—mayhap run! I’ll have to measure her leg to be certain, of course, but I think I can do it.”
She was staring at him defiantly, as if she expected him to object. Since it was exactly what he’d been hoping for, he would do naught to discourage her. Instead, he inclined his head.
“Milady, I think ye could do anything ye put yer mind to.”
“I—oh.”
It sounded a bit like a sigh, and her gaze dropped to his chest.
He resisted the urge to squirm under her examination.
When he cleared his throat, her eyes snapped back up and she flushed prettily again.
“And, while I’m designing the brace for her…” She looked uncomfortable, but didn’t back down. “Would ye mind verra much if I taught her some letters? I willnae if ye dinnae think it for the best, but she seems like a smart lassie, and nae offense is meant to yer upbringing, but I think any bairn can be taught to read, and—“
He cut her off with a curt nod and gruff, “Aye,” his throat thick with emotion. “That would be acceptable.”
She blew out a breath and offered him a grateful smile, and he warned his stupid heart not to clench longingly again.
She’s just trying to help Wren.