Page 41 of Taken By the Heartless Highlander
“I dinnae think she likes the stew,” Daisy said, taking a thick slice of bread to the dark brown gravy and dipping it in with obvious relish. “Do ye think I can have her bowl?” she asked hopefully.
Where has she gone so fast and so suddenly?Noah thought.And why do I have a desire to follow her and demand that she come back?
* * *
Keira left the dining hall as quietly as she could, feeling a strange guilt that she could not shake.
I should be happy that he has welcomed me family,she scolded herself;I shouldnae be yearnin’ for more time with him to see our Daisy come out of her shell.
Keira had never seen Daisy speak so boldly before and certainly never to anyone she viewed as above her station. Initially she had worried that MacAllen might talk down to Daisy or grow bored with her small talk, but he had been all polite interest—even teasing her a little.
Keira had wanted to stay to continue the discussion, enjoying watching him allow her siblings into his life—and that was when she decided to leave. They should not grow used to him; none of them should.
“Oh, Miss Keira, ye are finished already?”
She looked up in surprise as the same maid who had delivered Lucas’s note to her appeared at the head of the corridor. She had a jug of steaming water in her hand.
“Yes, I wasnae especially hungry. Be about yer business, all is well.”
The maid approached, smiling warmly at her. “I was just fetchin’ the last of yer bath water, miss. Would ye like to take it now?”
Keira could not think of anything she would like more, and she smiled gratefully.
“I would, thank ye… er, I dinnae ken yer name,” she said as the girl joined her to walk to her room.
“Fenella, Miss Keira,” she said with a broad smile, and Keira returned it. The girl could not be much older than Daisy and Scott.
As they entered her bedroom, Keira was delighted at the sight of the hot bath that awaited her, the water gently steaming. She could smell lavender pervading the air and watched as Fenella poured the final jug into it, almost filling the bath to the brim.
She was a lovely-looking girl with a friendly round face and dark brown eyes. Her hair was dark brown to match, and she had freckles across her nose, just like Keira.
“Shall I help ye?” Fenella asked, looking up at her enquiringly.
Keira nodded. “Thank ye,” she said, feeling strange to be treated like a lady by the servants.
She was grateful to dispense with the itchy shawl she had brought from the cottage and the borrowed dress she still wore.
“I must return this,” she said, removing the gown as Fenella folded it carefully for her. “Although I dinnae have anythin' to wear besides that,” she added.
“Oh, I can lend ye a dress if ye need one, miss,” Fenella said. She had a dimple in her left cheek that made an appearance every time she smiled and a crooked front tooth that gave her an endearing look.
“Och, I wouldnae wish to put ye out,” Keira said hurriedly as she stepped into the heat of the bath, sighing as she sank beneath the scented water.
“Not at all, miss; I shall collect it and leave it for ye.”
The girl dutifully fetched a cloth and helped Keira wash her back, making sure her hair remained pinned above her neck and did not dangle in the water.
Taking advantage of the plentiful hot water, Keira scrubbed her fingers, trying to remove the green staining that MacAllen had commented upon.
She should, by rights, not be embarrassed about the state of her nails, but she didn’t like the fact that he had mentioned it. Perhaps he did not think she was clean.
The memory of his lips meeting hers and his tongue driving into her mouth came to mind. Nay, clearly he thinks I’m clean enough for him, she thought with a strange swell of pride in her chest.
She was lost in her memories again; his strong hands encircling her waist, the heat in his eyes as he had devoured her, crushing her in his arms in the most exquisite embrace.
She felt arousal wash through her and hurriedly shook herself, mortified to have let her thoughts wander with Fenella right beside her.
“Tell me,” Keira said impulsively, “what sort of a man is Laird MacAllen?”
