The Price

“Callum, this is Margaret Sinclair, your new charge.”

Maggie never, ever, thought she would be someone’s charge. Yet here she—and it—were.

She looked up, finally, and met his gaze. Her first reaction a relief. He appeared to be in his late twenties, or early thirties. So far, he’d aged nicely, even for the times, like the fifteenth century, such as these. A scar ran from his left temple to his hairline. It did nothing to detract from his looks.

In fact, it added to his appeal.

This man had severe good looks. She was surprised he wasn’t already married again. Realizing she’d been staring, Maggie felt heat creep to her cheeks. Somehow, though, she knew deep down it didn’t matter.

His eyes, were a deep shade of blue, filled with nothing but warmth. He felt familiar to her. Odd as it may be, she knew him without knowing him—she could only describe it as such.

Maggie’s mind was strumming a million miles a minute, so much so, her head was literally buzzing. Leaving the safety of Sister Cateline and the Abbey was terrifying.

She felt like a little girl again being shuttled to the Michaels. They’d been a lovely family. But it had been so new and scary. Here, the Abbey was all she’d known. It had become familiar and safe. Still, Maggie knew she had to trust her intuition. She knew on some level it was going to be okay.

He spoke then. “Are you the Sister my aunt first described? Or simply Miss Sinclair?” His voice was deep, yet his brogue and Scots Gaelic easy to understand.

She’d had well over a year of language immersion to learn a few new dialects. Thankfully, there was no anger in his question or hidden reprimand, and Maggie answered him honestly. At least in this, she would start out on the right foot.

“I’m not a nun, Laird O’Roarke, but took refuge with the Sisters of Brackish Abbey. Your aunt’s been very kind to me. I’ve grown more than fond of her, and will miss her greatly.” A wave of sadness rushed over her and tears filled her eyes. Laird O’Roarke’s features softened.

“You may call me, Callum,” he said. “I can assure you, my aunt is always welcome. It won’t be long before you’ll see her again.”

His compassion was almost her undoing. She bowed her head in acquiescence, which allowed her to get ahold of herself. “Thank you, for your kindness. And I, sir, prefer Maggie.