Page 30 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
She turned her head to take in the row of whitewashed houses visible on the shore. It seemed a great distance away, but as Everard hauled up the sail, she found her attention diverted to the rippling muscles on his mighty arms. His hair was caught by the breeze and she observed his chiseled profile and the elegant curve of his neck as he looked up, his strong legs bracing on the timber floor.
It was quite a discovery to make. The pleasure of observing the Laird MacNeil quite overrode her fear of being on the water.
Keeping her eyes on his back as he plied the oars, she hardly realized they had already reached the sandy shore. It was slightly apart from the village, edged with grasses and colorful wildflowers.
Everard stepped out of the boat and reached for her. Placing his hands around her waist, he lifted her onto the sand a few feet away, then turned to pull the flat-bottomed craft further up the beach.
“This is wonderful,” Davina twirled, charmed by the myriad flowers woven among the grasses on the path. Yellow buttercups, white daisies, the soft pink drift of yarrow and the blue harebells.
Everard chuckled. “Come lass, there’s much more tae see.”
Crestfallen, Davina hung her head. “I’m sorry, me laird.”
He shook his head. “Nae need tae apologize. Ye’ve aught tae apologize fer.”
Stepping along the path, she sighed deeply. In the convent she’d been told so many times to say sorry for any imagined slight, usually paired with a sharp sting from Dame Maria’s small whip. Now ‘sorry’ came easily, with little thought. No one had ever told her there was no need, until the laird, just now. She smiled. The sun was shining, and the water gleamed silver and blue, and she had managed to cross the bay.
There was not far to walk as the village clung to the shore in a series of cheerful, whitewashed, stone fishermen’s and crofters’ cottages. They soon reached the center of the village where the market was already in full swing. It was impossible for Davina to keep her enthusiasm from bursting forth in delighted little oohs and ahs that seemed to cause Everard to chuckle.
“Ye may find me pleasure amusing, me laird, but this is such a rare treat fer me. Ye must remember that the nuns at Iona would never be allowed the joy of such earthly pleasures.”
“Forgive me. I am nae laughing at ye but enjoying the markets through yer eyes. I’ve kent this all me life and now I see it anew wi’ fresh eyes.”
She smiled at the idea as she looked around, taking in the jumble of sights and sounds. Farmers with pigs and chickens for sale, their wives with arrays of woolen knitted goods, scarves, and hats, warm socks and fingerless mittens. Others had set up their wares on tables piled high with carrots and turnips. Jars of golden honey sat alongside bowls of apples and pears, dried apricots and raisins.
And then there was the tinker. Davina had never laid eyes on such a fellow and she had to stop herself from rudely staring at him.
He was a youngish man, although it was difficult to tell his age because his face was wrinkled, but his hair gleamed a dark brown. Clad in a green knitted jacket that covered his britches and reached all the way to his grey leather boots, he was sprightly, not groaning like a grey-hair. His goods were laid out, temptingly, in a small timber handcart. He called to the people passing by: “Medicines fer what ails ye. Herbs and oils tae flavor yer cooking. Ribbons and bows, bolts of fabrics fer the ladies.”
He glanced up at Everard who was studying him with interest. “Can I help ye, me lord? I have good sharp tools here, scissors and the like.” He turned to Davina. “Mayhap yer lady would care fer some ribbons, fer that pretty hair of hers.”
Davina felt her cheeks burning, but she was growing used to compliments and she managed to smile in response to his flattery.
“D’ye wish tae buy any of the tinker’s goods?” Everard enquired.
She shook her head. “I… I dinnae have coin tae pay.”
“If there’s aught ye would care fer, I will buy it fer ye.”
“Oh, nay.” She was taken aback by Everard’s offer. “I couldnae accept any further kindness from ye, me laird.”
“Nonsense. It would give me great pleasure tae set yer bonny eyes sparkling. New ribbons? Fabric fer a new gown?”
She shook her head. “I would care fer a selection of his herbs and some of the salves and one or two of those,” she said, pointing to several small glass bottles of potions. “Oh, and a new steel needle and some thread fer Seamstress Jonnet.
“Is there nae aught else ye wish fer? Something fer yerself?”
She shook her head, although she couldn’t resist a longing glance at the ribbons and bolts of fabric.
“Well, that may be. But I wish tae see ye bedecked in ribbons and mayhap a new gown.” He turned to the tinker and within a few moments several packets had been filled with assorted ribbons, and the man was cutting a length of green wool fabric.”
“Hush,” Everard raised a hand as she went to speak. “This is a treat fer meself. I shall enjoy the sight of ye in yer new gown and the dancing ribbons woven through yer braids.”
Davina’s cheeks were burning. Totally lost for words, she could hardly breathe. She could only look on in astonishment as the fabric was packaged and tied with string. Gifts. For her. She could scarce believe it. Casting her mind back, she had no memory of ever having received even the smallest gift before today.
Everard passed the collection of parcels to Davina. “Mayhap ye could carry these in yer basket while ye investigate a little further, but please stay within me sight. If can ye excuse me now, I have some business I need tae discuss wi’ Jacob here, our tinker-man.”
She understood there was something private the laird wished to discuss, so she nodded, smiling, and wandered further along the row of tables and handcarts where many goods were displayed: rough wool for spinning, spun wool for knitting, hand knitted garments, pottery mugs and jugs, bowls and platters, along with all the assorted farm produce.
