Page 34 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
Once they’d arrived at the slipway and he’d tied his boat to the mooring, he took her small hand in his large one again and helped her alight. Together they strolled up the slipway and through the castle gate.
Wanting to protect this lass came to him as easily as breathing. She’d become his responsibility in a dangerous world and he’d scarcely given it a second thought.
As they reached the path across the courtyard leading to her cottage, she turned to him and bobbed a curtsy. “I thank ye me laird. Ye’ve been more than kind tae me. I’ve ne’er before had a day of so many delights.” And then with flushed cheeks, she turned on her heel, about to head off along the path leading to her cottage and the infirmary.
“I trust ye will join me fer supper in the solar this night? Ye’ve had little nourishment today.”
Her smile melted his heart. “I shall be most happy tae join ye.”
As she walked away, he called after her, “When ye’ve retrieved yer wee kitten, make sure she comes tae dine wi’ us. I’ve grown quite fond of her wiles.”
She laughed, continuing on her way.
Everard took the steps into the keep two at a time. He’d enjoyed the day, far more than he’d expected, reluctant to admit to himself how much pleasure he derived from Davina’s company. He could only pray that if the tinker was successful in discovering more of her story, it did not involve a clan with sworn enmity between them. There was that slight wince he’d detected whenever Alexander MacDougall’s name was mentioned. But, holy hell, surely, the lass would not prove to have ties with the MacDougalls.
He pushed these thoughts from his mind. There would be time enough when the tinker brought news from Iona.
Running footsteps behind him brought him to a halt. Turning, he saw Ranald Dunbar scurrying through the gate in hot pursuit.
Dunbar waved a hand. “I saw ye tying yer boat, me laird and I wished tae catch ye before ye went in fer yer supper.”
Everard looked up. Whatever was causing Dunbar such a to-do?
He was puffing when he caught up to Everard. “I’ve had word just now from the Isle of Canna.”
Everard pricked his ears. “What is the news?”
“It seems Hugo MacRae made it safely to the Isle of Man. Almost as soon as he arrived, he found passage on a birlinn that was heading tae France after having taken on a cargo of sheep.”
Everard chuckled at the thought of the elegant Hugo among a flock of miserable sheep. Nevertheless, the first part of their plan was progressing well.
“Thank ye Dunbar, that is good news. Although I suspect our Hugo will nae fancy riding like a sheep-herder bound fer France.”
“Mayhap he will soon be there. The news was old.” Dunbar said, his mouth twitching into a grin. “Aye. I daresay once MacRae returns tae us he’ll never hear the end of his sheep-herding foray.”
As he took the stairs leading to his bedchamber he was lost in thought. There was the matter of MacDougall and his agreements with the privateers. He could not afford to lose the percentage allotted to him from their spoils, yet a clash with MacDougall and his allies would not go well. Then there was this mysterious stranger, Dùghall MacKinnon, who had made it his business to entice Davina. Did the man have business on Barra? It was a surprise to him that Maxwell didn’t know the name.
Barra was only one small isle in the group of islands that took on the name of Barra. Strangers whose business was not clear were unheard of. No one came to this far-flung place without a purpose. He needed to find out what the purpose of this Mackinnon’s visit to the island might be.
With an unpleasant sensation arising in his belly as he contemplated the events at the market, he had a bad feeling the man’s purpose involved Davina.
He put those thoughts away as he entered his room and realized how hungry he was. He was looking forward to his supper... and to Davina’s company.
Hot water was brought to the chamber to enable him to wash away the dust from the village. Seized with an unusual urge to attend to his appearance, he combed his hair and donned freshshirt and clean britches and shrugged on his plaid cloak. He fastened the cloak at his neck adding the gold brooch of the MacNeils in a moment of pure vanity. Chuckling to himself he headed down the stairs to the solar, where he helped himself to a dram of whisky and warmed himself by the fire.
He’d not been sipping his dram for many minutes when there was a gentle tap on the door.
“Come.” He got to his feet as Davina entered the room and walked toward him.
He sucked in a bedazzled breath. In the glow of the fire, she was all red and gold. Her hair was brushed over her shoulders in fragrant waves down her back, while the gown she was wearing, of the palest blue, shimmered like silver as she walked. In her hair she wore a garland woven from some of the flowers she’d picked that day.
The scent of wildflowers filled his nostrils in a series of heady breaths. The sight of her sent a delicious, languorous, thrill through him, twirling pleasurably through his belly and coming to rest in his groin. He felt himself harden.
God’s blood what is wrong wi’ me. Behaving like a churlish lad whenever me eyes come tae rest on this lass.
Fortunately, there was a distraction. Davina carried Feather with her in a small woven rush-basket with a lid and, as she placed the basket on the floor, the wee soul popped her headout. Catching sight of Everard, she jumped from the basket and rubbed her tiny head against his leg and began to purr.
Davina laughed. “She is rather forward I’m afraid, me laird.”
