Page 28 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
“The laird did that… forme?”
“Aye! Said ye were a special guest of the laird’s and that they should be right ‘shamed. And boy were they all. I’ve never heard the men so silent during a meal ‘fore.”
Amara pressed her hand to her mouth, a strange flutter rising in her chest as Nina continued. “He insisted on tastin’ everything on the tray himself. Said if he got sick, Cook’d answer for it.”
She hadn’t expected that or even dared to imagine that he’d care so much, let alone act on it so fiercely. But before she could say more, a sudden banging rattled the door causing both women to startle.
“Lady Amara?” came a male voice, young yet familiar.
Nina opened it carefully, and William poked his head in, his dark hair tousled, and his eyes filled with a heavy guilt. “Ye well, lass?”
Amara stood slowly. “I am.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said at once. “I should’ve been doon there. Should’ve stopped those lads. I willnae let it happen again.”
Amara managed a soft smile. “Thank ye, William. That means more than ye ken.” Her eyes caught a glimpse of his newly bandaged arm, and she let herself grin. “Take care of that arm.”
He grinned with her and nodded as he backed out of the doorway. “Sleep well, me lady.”
When the door closed again, Nina let out a low whistle. “He’s certainly been raked o’er the coals too, I reckon.”
“Och, seems all too much.”
“Nay, wasnae enough, if ye ask me. Ye arenae expected to be made of stone, but ye certainly poised yerself to look it tonight,” Nina said proudly as she gathered a fresh night shift from the chest at the foot of the bed.
“Also, why did ye call him ‘William’? We call him ‘Billy’.”
“Oh! Only, he was always correctin’ Myles and Rhy — the laird on our trip.”
Nina chuckled, “Oh, aye, his maither named him William, butherehe’s kent as ‘Billy’.”
“Well, I’ll keep calling him William until he corrects me. Seems only proper, as a stranger in this clan. Nay need to make enemies too soon.”
Nina smiled and shrugged as she helped Amara undress, working carefully through the ties at the back of her gown. The velvet pooled to the floor, replaced by the soft linen shift. Amara moved like a ghost through the motions, her mind already floating back to the food waiting across the room.
When the maid finally bid her goodnight and the door clicked softly shut, Amara practically lunged for the tray.
The first bite of stew was molten and rich. She barely swallowed it before taking another, then another. The oatcakes were golden and buttery, and the honey nearly brought tears to her eyes. The tart, still faintly warm, crumbled perfectly on her tongue.
Her greedy stomach growled again, unsatiated.
She sat cross-legged on the rug by the hearth, eating like she hadn’t in days. Like she’d been starved not just from food but of warmth, of kindness, of being seen until not a single morsel was left on the tray.
He tasted the food himself,she thought as she scooped up the last bite.He broke a chair…
It was foolish to dwell on. Dangerous. But still, she let herself feel it. Leaning her back against the seat of the armchair, she letthe warmth of the quiet fire encourage her thoughts. The hope. Just for a little while anyway.
A delightful scent of porridge and peat smoke drifted in before the knock even landed.
Amara groaned loudly, her eyes barely opening against the dull gray morning light. Her limbs felt heavy.
She was still on the ground, bed untouched, basically cuddling up the tray as if to protect it from being taken.
The door creaked open.
“Time to rise, me lady,” Nina called out gently. “The laird wished for ye to come and break our fast together — oh!”
Amara buried her face under her arms, but remained lying on the ground.
