they were headed.
He chuckled in response, and she could feel his laughter vibrate throughout his body. “No, lass. Those are but wee hills separating the border Scots from the central Scots.”
Laurel looked at the huge rocks jutting into the sky. Wee hills?
“The highlands are the most grand lands of Scotland. They tower over the rest. Only the strongest can survive there.”
Laurel could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke of his northern high country.
“Tomorrow, we will be well into the valley of the central Scots. In the morning, as we crest the hills, you may be able to see several lochs to the west.” Laurel smiled, remembering that was how her grandfather had referred to lakes or bodies of water.
“The valley stretches from the southwest to the northeast along the mountain line, cutting across the center of Scotland to separate her highlands from her border regions.”
“How long will we be in the valley?” she inquired.
“We shall be out of the valley by day after tomorrow. Watch the terrain. It will change as we get closer.”
Laurel had already noticed that the red sandstone and limestone that were characteristic of her homeland and the border lands were changing. As they rode on, the red sandstone remained, but it was now sprinkled with an unusual dense, dark-gray, fine-grained rock that was peppered with holes. She remembered her grandfather explaining its features were caused by the cooling of melted rock. Even now, it was difficult for Laurel to conceive rock so hot that it melted and then changed form after it cooled.
After their noon break, they proceeded north entering Clyde valley, which cut across the southern middle of Scotland. It was a beautiful combination of riverine and gorgeous ash and elm woodlands that were extensively covered with lush ground flora. Laurel had never seen the like.
She could feel Conor relax some and knew they must be in friendly territory once again. It was amazing how he was able to tell just by his surroundings exactly where he was in relation to his friends and enemies. After riding with him all day yesterday and now today, she could sense when they were on friendly land and able to speak.
“Clyde said that all the McTiernays were traveling home with the exception of Colin. Who is he? Will he be returning soon?”
“Colin is the second McTiernay and, in answer to your other question, no, he will be staying with his new wife’s family, helping out with their guard and eventually becoming their laird.”
“Isn’t it unusual for a husband to assume the role of laird in a clan?”
“Sometimes. But, in this case, Deirdre Dunstan was the eldest of Dunstan’s children—all girls.”
“Similar to the McTiernays—all boys,” Laurel said and smiled, looking ahead.
“Similar, but no. Without boys to become laird, someone must fight for the title. In Dunstan’s case, his clan is small but strong. If Colin becomes laird, the alliance among our clans will be near unbreakable.”
“Because you are brothers,” she tried to understand.
“Because Colin is strong, skilled, capable and most important, trustworthy.”
“Ah, he will be loyal.”
“He is my brother.” Laurel silently shook her head, amused at his circular logic.
They rode a little further, and Laurel gathered her nerve to ask a personal question.
“Why haven’t you married?”
Conor unconsciously raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I have no reason to search for a good match.”
“A good match?” Laurel asked, confused.
“I have no need to marry. I have alliances with the clans I want to be united with. My brothers will continue the McTiernay line and as for physical…well, that requires no contract of commitment.”
They rode on, each absorbed in private thoughts. Laurel had enjoyed the conversation with him up until hearing his opinion on the three reasons why men marry women. He thought a man and a woman only married due to some external need. What about love, affection, and friendship?
Conor sensed her stiffen in reaction to what he had said, but she did not contradict him. Maybe she understood and agreed with him. But, then again, a lady usually wanted babies, a family and companionship. And these things were not possible without marriage. He was not sure how he felt about such things himself, now that he had met her. The concept of marriage was still not pleasant, but the idea of having a family with Laurel sounded surprisingly appealing.
Chapter Three
That night, Conor made camp in a very small clearing that was not located near a water source. Laurel was surprised by his decision, knowing they had recently passed several larger areas with streams nearby. She thought about asking why he chose this place to make camp, but sensed that she would not get an answer.
Later, after they shared their meal, the brothers began their nightly jovial conversation, littered with familial rivalry and torment. Laurel listened to their camaraderie and was saddened that she and her brother Ainsley had never been close or shared this type of sibling bond.
Besides her mother, she could only recall true affection for one other person—her grandfather. The big Scotsman had told her stories, taught her how to ride horseback, and had proclaimed her the loveliest Scottish lass who had ever been. She knew he had been biased, but it was one of her most cherished memories.
It was strange that she could not remember her father with as much affection. While her mother was alive, he was attentive and warm. But she always knew that her father had wanted another son and not a daughter. She could not erase his words of disappointment that her mother had not born him another heir. Ainsley was his firstborn, a son produced from his first wife who had died shortly after his birth. It had been an arranged marriage, her mother had told her. But she and Laurel’s father had married for love despite all the obstacles between them—mainly Laurel’s grandfather, who was against his daughter’s marriage to an Englishman.
Laurel understood her grandfather’s confusion. After spending time in both Scotland and England, it was hard to understand why her mother chose to live in a cold, harsh world far from the laughter and singing that filled her grandfather’s home. When her mother died, her father remarried again, but never sired another heir. He began running his life the way he ran his home—coldly, rigidly and emotionally detached from anyone who would show him warmth. He was never harsh or severe to his children, just distant.
For several years after her mother’s death, he allowed Laurel to continue visiting her grandfather during the warmer months of the year. But, as she got older, permission to meet with her Scottish relatives diminished until it was no more. Twice, she was to be married to a neighboring baron and, twice, the baron died before the wedding took place. The first died in battle, the second from old age.
It wasn’t until her father’s death that Laurel felt the weight of her bleak future lessen. Her brother was disinclined to give her a dowry and find her a husband. He consistently let her know that she was either too tall, too slender or too clever with her tongue to interest any man. But when Ainsley secured his own
