Page 11 of Marry the Highland Villain
Emily’s smile dropped, her face suddenly seeming older as it settled into lines of regretful sadness that made Brigid’s heart ache with sympathy.
“Och, nay,” she said, with a small shake of the head. “Conall’s nae so bad, really. ’Tis only that recent events have made him—and my husband, for that matter—a bit more… well, temperamental, I suppose, than they used to be.”
Brigid remembered what the men had said in the Great Hall, and what Conall had said when he proposed to her. “They said I was brought here to settle a blood debt?”
The words came out in a rush, and she bit her lip, hoping the question wouldn’t cause offense.
But Emily simply nodded once, her eyes filled with sorrow.
“Aye,” she said, her expression wistful. “Laird MacKane’s youngest brother, Devon, was killed. Conall an’ Oliver are still in mourning.” She shook her head. “Grief does strange things tofolk. It makes Conall cold and cruel. And it makes Oliver sharp and angry. We’ve all learned to walk softly around them both.”
Dinnae give yer heart, nor the whole of yer trust, to anyone whom all others fear.
Her mother’s rule echoed in her mind, and Brigid swallowed uncomfortably.
Marrying Conall would likely mean risking breaking her mother’s rule. Either that, or she was doomed to a loveless, distrustful marriage, and she didn’t want to think of what sort of life that would be.
Nay matter what I do, I cannae win.
“I… ‘Tis only that I’m… I’ve never…”
Emily smiled softly. “Never fear, Brigid. Conall is gruff, but he’s nae as fearsome as he seems at the moment. Ye have nay need to fear him.”
“Thank ye.”
Brigid wasn’t entirely certain she believed Emily’s reassurance, but it was comforting to hear the words, nonetheless. And Emily, at least, didn’t seem all that frightened of Conall—more like she mourned the recent circumstances and how they had turned both brothers into the men Brigid had just met.
There was no guarantee that Conall would ever become anything other than the man Brigid had seen in the Great Hall—the man who’d killed another so easily and casually for what seemed to her a trivial reason. However, Emily’s warmth and lack of fear gave Brigid some hope to cling to. Her situation might not be as terrifying as it had first seemed.
Hope was good. Hope was all she had. Which meant it had to be enough, for now, to settle her churning stomach and give her strength for whatever was to come.
Emily patted her hand once more, offering further comfort. “Ye’re welcome. An’ ye can come to me if ye have any questions or worries, lass. ‘Tis what I’m here for.” She glanced at the window again. “Now, we’ve enough time to get ye clean clothes and salve afore supper.”
Brigid was surprised to find that, despite the cooling milk in her hands, and the ordeal she’d just been through, she was hungry.
“I… I would appreciate that,” she said, smiling gratefully at the healer as she finished her milk and replaced the mug on the table, before getting shakily to her feet to follow Emily out of the austere sitting room, already feeling slightly better about her circumstances.
Her groom might not be someone she could trust—at least not while he was grieving, apparently—but at least she no longer felt completely alone.
That had to count for something.
CHAPTER 5
By supper time,Conall and Oliver had mended their relationship, as much as it could be mended under their current, deeply painful circumstances. The short session of sparring they’d indulged in after their initial disagreement had cooled Conall’s temper, and the Great Hall had been cleaned while he took out his anger on the training grounds.
He was halfway to his seat at the High Table when the door opened again to reveal Emily and…
Conall stared. The lass he’d sent Emily to take care of had been shy, huddled on the floor in a dirty dress that had the colors of no particular clan. She had looked disheveled and terrified, and once he’d taken leave of her, he’d given her no further thought.
The lass who followed Emily to the High Table and settled into the chair beside him, however, was still shy. But she no longer looked terrified or disheveled. Instead, her hair was braidedback, and she was wearing a dress that seemed to have been lent to her by Emily and a sash made of MacKane tartan.
The dress hugged her shoulders, bosom, and hips like a second skin, just shy of being too tight to be comfortable, and Conall was glad the table hid the way his manhood responded to the unexpected sight of her. The soft fabric accentuated her green eyes and dark, shining locks, but it also caressed the swell of her ample breasts and the curve of her hips, showing every line of her figure in a way that made his mouth go dry.
She’d been pretty enough as a disheveled captive—pretty enough to catch his eye, if not to hold it. Now, though, the thoughts that filled his head and heated his blood at the sight of her in her borrowed MacKane garments had nothing to do with anger, and everything to do with a different kind of passion.
Enough of that. She’d think I want to hunt her like a starvin’ wolf if I keep starin’ at her like that.
Conall forced himself to look away.
