Page 12 of Marry the Highland Villain
She’s terrified enough; I dinnae want to scare her to death afore I wed her—or at all.
Except, she doesnae appear so very frightened anymore. It seems that speakin’ to Emily did her some good. Unless it was the milk.
For all that she’d watched him with uncertain, wary eyes earlier, now she sat next to him with no sign of hesitation.
“Good evening, My Laird…”
Her voice was low and sweet, and Conall swallowed hard before answering her.
“Call me Conall,” he said gruffly. “If ye are to be my bride, then ye might as well call me by my given name.”
She blushed. “Very well. Conall.”
The way she spoke his name—she had a slightly odd accent, as if her speech had been influenced by more than just Highland clans—made his stomach clench again. It was hesitant, shy, but almost teasing at the same time.
Very few people called him by his given name, and the difference between her clear, hesitant voice and Oliver’s sullen snarl or Emily’s soothing gentleness was… pleasant.
A servant offered her some wine, and the lass—Brigid, he recalled her name after a moment of consideration—smiled politely and nodded. As she reached for her glass, Conall noted the bandage around her arm.
“Emily saw to yer wrists, then,” he commented, grasping at a topic of conversation. “I trust ye’re feelin’ better now?”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on her plate. “Aye. ‘Twas only some bruising and a few sore spots. With salve and bandages, ye’ll never even ken I was injured by the time we’re wed.”
“It’s nae whether I ken, but whether ye do that matters.”
Conall studied the lass. She was far prettier than he’d realized at first. He’d not taken the time to notice much about her appearance earlier, aside from her confusion and fear, and the way the dress looked on her when she’d arrived in the hall had done her no favors. Now that he had the opportunity to see her up close—and in much better circumstances—he could see she was a lovely-looking lass. Aside from her striking eyes and hair, she had lightly tanned skin that glowed with health, soft, full lips in a round face, and generous curves.
She looks fair, like the fertility goddess she shares a name with.
Long practice enabled him to keep the thought from his face, but it didn’t stop the heat that settled into his groin once more—the first hint of desire, or anything other than the weariness, anger, and wariness he’d felt since Devon’s death. The sensation, inspired as it was by the granddaughter of his enemy, was almost enough to make him fumble with his tankard like a callow youth.
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as supper was served.
Brigid sat quietly until the food arrived, and then, to his surprise, she spoke directly to him. “Conall… I confess I dinnae ken much about Clan MacKane.”
“And?”
“I should like to ken more. Seein’ as I’m to become part of the clan after we wed.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Conall watched as she hesitated before taking a single slice of bread, a single slice of roast, and a spoonful of vegetables, almost as if she were afraid to take more than her fair share—or perhaps she was simply unused to eating her fill.
“I dinnae ken if ye are aware, but my sisters and I… our father raised us outside the clans. If I’m to be yer betrothed, and eventually yer wife, then there’s much I need to learn.”
“Ye can learn it as well after the wedding as before.”
“I ken. But I would like to start learnin’ now. I like to be prepared.” She hesitated over the potatoes, then chose the smallest one she could reach. “For example, how many people are in yer clan?”
“A fair few. I dinnae ken the exact number.”
Conall began filling his plate, refusing to meet her eyes.
MacKane was not a small clan by any means, and it was a fairly well-off one. In fact, Conall had a very good idea how many people lived on MacKane lands—as Laird, it was his business to know such things. However, he was hardly going to give the kinof his enemy information she might somehow use against him—not before he’d bound her to him.
She might be pretty, but that doesnae mean I can trust her.
“And ye are well-defended? My father always stressed the importance of a well-defended keep or castle. He said ye could tell much about a clan from its defenses.”
“Aye. We’re well defended within the walls,” Conall replied carefully. He’d not have her venturing forth whenever she liked. “Ye dinnae need to fear pirates or bandits.”
