“So why do you have such a lovely garden? Was it your mother’s?”

“’Twas my wife’s.”

Gwyneth’s smile faded. “Oh, pray pardon. I shouldn’t have intruded. I’m sure you want time alone.”

“Nay, I’d like it if you stayed. Truly.”

Leitha, if you’re out there anywhere, looking down on us…this is Gwyneth. You would’ve liked her, I think. She saved my life.

“Did she like roses, too?” Gwyneth asked, standing a few feet away.

“Aye, she loved them. She’d wanted that particular rose to grow here. I sent one of the servants to the Lowlands to get it, but Leitha died before he returned. The servants planted the rose in the garden, then rooted another to plant by her grave at the kirk.”

Gwyneth blinked quickly against the moisture that gathered in her eyes. “Oh. That’s so romantic.”

He shook his head, denying any emotion. “Nay, I don’t have a romantic bone in my body. ’Tis only what she would’ve wanted.”

Gwyneth glanced away and brushed a finger against her eyes.

Her response touched him. She felt his loss. He didn’t know what to do with that realization, but he would like to hold her in his arms. Comfort her. Comfort himself.

“The servants attend to the garden,” Alasdair said to distract himself from her. “Continuing Leitha’s work.” Some of the female servants knew how much it meant to him. But he would not have the men of his clan know. He was a warrior and a chief, and should not give flowers or women’s feelings a second thought.

Nor, if he were wise, could he let another woman inside his heart. It would be too painful when she left him alone. The same had happened to his father. Alasdair’s mother had died when he was a child, and his father had spent the rest of his life alone. Such loss painted a dismal picture.

“Tessie told me yours and Leitha’s was a love match.” Emotions apparently under control, Gwyneth sat on the other stone bench, opposite him, and cast a shy but curious glance his way.

Too many keen-edged feelings stewed inside him, and not wanting Gwyneth to see them, he dropped his gaze to the carved falcon’s head on the wooden handle of his cane. “Aye, I did grow to love her. We met at a banquet one night at the home of a friend in the Lowlands.”

“Did you offer for her hand right away?”

“The next day.”

“Sounds like a romantic legend.”

He shrugged, dismissing such sentiment. “In truth, ’twas for practical reasons. I needed a wife and an heir. The romance didn’t last long. She died giving birth to our son a year later. And the wee bairn with her.”

Gwyneth came forward, sat on the stone beside him and clasped his hand in hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and filled with sympathy.

“I should be getting over it by now.” He stared at his large hand in Gwyneth’s small, cool ones, then turned one of hers over and brushed the palm. Her hands were not like Leitha’s. Gwyneth’s were near rough and calloused as his own. Work worn. It wasn’t right. She was a lady, and she should have a lady’s smooth hands. Despite this, he hungered for her touch upon his deprived skin. Stroking, caressing, coaxing this simmering ember to life within him.

When he thought of kissing her hand the way Lachlan had, something within him riveted and burned with a flickering heat. Aye, he should—he would love to—but he feared he couldn’t stop with her hand.

She closed her fingers and pulled away. “Nonsense. We never forget the pain of losing those we love.”

His fingers ached with her desertion. He had not realized how lonely and deprived he was until that moment.

“You ken the pain of loss, too, for you lost your husband.” The murdering bastard. Had she loved him? In truth, it shouldn’t matter, but Alasdair wanted to learn more of their association.

“Yes, I know something of loss.” Gwyneth stood and paced toward the bed of herbs a few yards away. Her action was nothing less than what he’d expected.

“What about you and Shaw? Was that a love match as well?”

“Heavens, no.” She shook her head. “Not at all. My cousin arranged the whole thing.”

Tension he hadn’t realized he’d been feeling released him. His shoulders relaxed. “Why would you, an English lady, marry a course Highlander, and one who isn’t a chieftain at that?” He had to know. But would she answer? She hadn’t admitted to being a member of the aristocracy, but he knew from her manner and speech she had to be.

A long tense moment of silence followed. “Well, ’tis a long story, and I wouldn’t want to bore you.” She faced him. “I would ask another favor of you, Laird MacGrath.”

“Alasdair, please,” he corrected, loath to admit that he wanted to hear his name from her lips.

“Alasdair, I know you will grow tired of providing food and shelter for me and my son before long.”

How could she say such a thing? “Nay, you are both welcome to stay here as long as you like. I have the room, and you both eat like wee birds.”

“I thank you, but I do not wish to impose. I’ve been thinking I would like a position as a governess or tutor for some wealthy family in the Lowlands or in England. I thought perhaps you might know of someone who could use my services. I would need to take Rory with me, of course. I have no references, but if you could provide some sort of character reference or letter of recommendation, I would be deeply indebted to you.”

He wished he could employ Gwyneth. If his son had lived, he would’ve one day needed a governess. Aside from that, he didn’t want Gwyneth and Rory to leave. In such a short time, he’d grown fond of the lad. As for Gwyneth, he could not yet begin to fathom the impact she was having on his life. She’d saved his life, helped him heal. That was only the beginning. But now…seeing her never failed to shine more light into his day. In the most crowded of rooms, the great hall, his gaze always found her, singled her out as if she were the only person in the room.

“Would you be willing to help me find a position?” She pulled him from his musings.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Another idea came to him. “I ken ’tis beneath you, but I have need of someone to oversee and organize the maid servants, now that Weems is gone. I’d pay you well, of course. Would you be willing to help out in that way in the meantime?”

“I’d be glad to.” Her sincere and direct gaze lit on his for a moment then slid away. “But it would only be temporary until you find someone else, because I would prefer a governess position away from the Highlands.”

“I understand.” But he didn’t have to like it. “I’ll send some letters out.”

“You will?” She seemed much too pleased.

“You’re surprised that I would help?”

Her gaze drifted to the flowers. “You are a kind man. Not like my cousin Donald.”

“You asked for his help, and he refused, didn’t he?”

“Indeed.”

What a bastard the MacIrwin was. “Well, I don’t ken your family’s situation. Mayhap he had a reason to want to keep you on his lands.”

She frowned and jammed her fists onto her hips. “That’s it. My father.”

“And who would he be?” Alasdair was glad for the opportunity to ask.

“’Tis of no importance.”

“Is it now? Somehow I doubt that. I suspect your father is someone of much import.”

Gwyneth shrugged. “I would wager—had I anything to wager—that my father is paying Donald to keep me.”

“Why would he?”

“I’d rather not say, but I’m sure Donald would’ve wanted something for his trouble. Oh, men!” She thumped her foot against the stone-paved ground and turned away. “I detest every last one of them.”

Alasdair snorted. “’Tis saddened I am to hear that you detest me, as well.”

She halted by the rock wall and sent him a sheepish glance. “I didn’t mean you.”

“And what am I, then? A wee hare?”

In the glow of sunset, her blush deepened. “Hardly.” A stiff, refreshing breeze off the loch pulled strands of hair from the knot at the back of her head.