Page 24 of Laird of Flint
The laird grinned. “I think we need a larger hall. The Dunlops are a noisy bunch. I said, then ye’re cousin to the great tournament champion, Gellir, are ye not?”
“Aye.” Hew stiffened. He hoped the laird wouldn’t ask him where Gellir was. He’d already said too much.
“He’s got quite the reputation with a sword.” The laird pointedly lowered his gaze. “Though ye seem impressively endowed yourself.”
Hew’s eyes widened with horror. Was his arousal so obvious? Then he realized the laird was looking at the axe he’d planted betwixt his feet.
Expelling a relieved breath, Hew hefted the axe up, holding it so the laird could inspect the handle. “She’s served me well in battle.”
The laird ran his fingers over the carvings. “Vikin’ runes, aye? What does it say?”
“’Tis the Rivenloch motto. Love conquers all.” Hew furrowed his brows. At the moment, he didn’t exactly believe that.
“Curious inscription for a weapon o’ war.”
It wasn’t the first time someone had told Hew that. Nor the first time he’d quipped in reply, “No one forgets the kiss of my axe.”
“No doubt,” the laird agreed, eyeing the sharpened deadly blade.
A few yards away, the lass giggled again. Hew clenched his jaw as he focused on the laird, trying not to look at her. But in his peripheral vision, he saw the green gown weave in and out and finally disappear into the crowd. Now perhaps he could think.
“Supper?” the laird suggested.
Hew silently cursed. His eyes might have been trained on the laird, but his mind had wandered again. What had he missed? “Supper?”
“Aye.” The laird drew close to confide, “I hear they don’t feed a man enough to fill a flea at Kildunan. My cook can make ye a proper meal.”
“’Tis a tempting offer,” Hew said. “But the prior needs to return for the burial on the morrow.”
“Send him back to Kildunan. Ye can stay for supper and return on the morrow if ye like. ’Tisn’t every day we get a renowned warrior at Dunlop. Ye could regale the clan with tales o’ Rivenloch.”
The last thing Hew needed was to be the center of attention. No one was supposed to know he was here.
“I’m grateful for the offer. But I promised the abbot I’d return this eve.”
“Perhaps another time then?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, ye should at least meet my daughter, Carenza.” He began to scour the hall. “Where’s she gone?”
Hew was saved from that unthinkable ordeal when the prior returned with the physician.
As the prior had warned, Peris was as skittish as a dove loosed among hawks. He licked his lips. Darted his shifty eyes. Clasped and unclasped his hands before him.
“Peris,” the prior said, “this is Sir Hew. He wishes to ask ye a few questions.”
“Peris,” Hew said by way of greeting.
The physician’s eyes flitted to Hew’s weapon. He visibly gulped. Hew wondered, if the man was so bothered by the sight of an axe, how he managed to do surgery.
“Sir Hew wants to ask ye about your visits to Kildunan,” the prior said.
The laird was still casting about for his daughter. “I’ll leave ye to your questions then. I’ve got to find out where Carenza’s gone.” With that, he left.
“’Tis loud in here,” Hew told the physician. “Is there someplace we can be alone? Perhaps the wall walk?”
Peris gave the prior a panicked glance, as if he thought Hew intended to push him from the battlements.
