Free Angel of Skye by May McGoldrick Page B

clasp.
    Fiona was the first to speak.
    “You have an unexpected guest, m’lady prioress,” she said in a low voice. “I believe this is Lord Macpherson, whom David has spoken so much of.”
    “Of course,” the prioress responded, excitedly springing from the chair and reaching her hand out to the man towering before her. “Lord Macpherson, welcome. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you at last.”
    Alec bowed at the waist and took the tiny hand of the nun. After kissing the ring of the Order that she wore on her left hand, he allowed himself to be led into the room.
    “Thank you, m’lady prioress,” he said with a smile. “The pleasure is mine. I have been remiss in not coming to see you sooner.”
    “David has told me how busy you’ve been since your arrival,” she answered, smiling back at him.
    “Still, that is no excuse,” Alec responded apologetically. “And please forgive my dropping in without sending word ahead.”
    “You never need to worry about that, Lord Alec,” she said. “Think of us here as old family friends.”
    “Aye,” Alec said. “My father always speaks of you with the highest regard. He told me before I left Benmore Castle that I should convey his best wishes.”
    “He is a fine man, your father.”
    “He says that he first met you many years ago...when you were children.”
    “That’s true. The Highland gatherings years ago were wonderful times for children. And after that, Alexander always visited when he came to Skye, but I have not seen him for years. Is he doing well?”
    “Very well, prioress. He does not travel much anymore, though he and my mother are rather impatient to be grandparents.”
    “Alexander Macpherson a grandfather. That presents a very pleasant image in my mind.” Her smile faded a bit as she shifted uncomfortably where she stood. “So, Lord Alec, any plans that way?”
    “Nay, prioress,” Alec responded, smiling at her unabashed question. “I believe you would have a better chance, though, asking that of my brothers Ambrose and John.”
    Fiona stood seemingly forgotten in the background, and though she had covered her torn shoulder with a shawl lying across the prioress’ worktable, she wondered how she might slip out of the room without attracting any attention. But at the same time, she found herself unaccountably drawn to these bits of information she was gathering about Lord Macpherson.
    Alec noticed that, in spite of the prioress’ speed in rising from the chair, the older woman was favoring one leg as she stood. Leading her back to the fire, he sat her in the chair, picking up the dropped towels. They were still warm.
    Fiona rushed to his side, trying to take the towels without ever raising her eyes to his, but Alec held on tight. She looked up, scowling into his smiling eyes, and tugged hard as Alec loosened his grip. Fiona nearly fell over backward. He smiled.
    “You can see I am getting old, Lord Alec,” the prioress said, pretending not to have seen the exchange, and stretching her leg toward the fire.
    Fiona was thankful that prioress had not noticed the foolishness displayed by the handsome laird. She replaced the towels over the nun’s knee, and Alec stood beside the open hearth watching her.
    “It cannot be your age, prioress,” he responded kindly, forcing his attention back to the older woman. “It is most assuredly the dampness of this island weather.”
    The prioress looked at him gratefully, taken with his courtesy and consideration.
    Wordlessly, Fiona brought over a chair—one which she knew was in desperate need of repair—for the laird beside the prioress. Perhaps, she thought wryly, his weight will be too much for this. The image of him sitting among the splintered wreckage would be precious.
    “Will you sit, Lord Alec?” the older woman asked. “We have much to talk about.”
    Alec looked over at Fiona, who was standing quietly behind the prioress. Striding across the floor, he effortlessly snatched up the larger