Page 29 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
“Lady Amara! Are ye well?”
With a muffled moan she replied. “Aye, but I daenae wish to eat again for quite some time, Nina.”
“Sweet burnin’ hells, me lady! I thought ye might have taken ill from the food last night. Gave me right scare!”
“Oh!” Amara winced at how inconsiderate she had been for remaining in such a position. “Iamsorry, Nina. I’m feelin’ well, just still very full.”
“Well, ye could easily miss breakin’ fast, but ye would be missin’ yer chance to show those men what it means to hold win without sheddin’ any blood.”
That earned a quiet snort. Nina was ruthless in the most loving way.
Still, Amara forced herself upright and tucked her feet under her night gown. Nina, already bustling around the room, set down a folded shawl beside the armchair and then laid a day dress across the foot of the bed. Amara reached up instinctively, her fingers softly caressing the fibers.
It was a soft, woven tartan. Dark green and navy checked, with thin lines of gold.
“O’Donnell colors,” Nina said matter-of-factly without looking up. “Thought ye might like somethin’ warm for yer shoulders. ‘Tis cold in the hall this early.”
Amara’s breath caught a little in her chest. She wasn’t sure if the knot in her belly was dread or gratitude or something that was much harder to name.
After a pause, she pulled it around her shoulders. The warmth was undeniable.
She dressed quickly, Nina helping with the last ties and smoothing her curls before ushering her toward the door.
The walk to the hall felt longer than the night before. Her slippers were near silent, but her heart thudded every step. The tension in her spine made it hard for her to breathe.
It will be different today.
The hall was quieter than at supper, though still full of voices and movement. Early light streamed through the high windows, casting gold across the tables.
“Well now, daenae ye look bonny this mornin', Lady Amara!”
The voice was unmistakably Myles’s. He stood at the long table with a grin that flirted right up to the edge of impolite.
“That shawl suits ye,” he added, eyes flicking over her. “O’Donnell colors look mighty fine.”
Amara flushed, her fingers tightening slightly on the wool. She felt the heat creep up her neck and instantly her gaze met Rhys’s.
He sat two chairs down, across the table, in a new dark linen tunic. His jaw clenched. He hadn’t touched his porridge.
Amara looked away quickly.
“Myles,” she heard Rhys say, his voice low.
“Aye?” his man answered, still grinning.
“I told ye to follow her, nae flirt with her.”
Myles’s grin faltered only for a split-second before he gave a mock salute with his spoon and turned his attention back to his porridge.
Amara’s pulse was whirling as she took a seat next to William, who nodded his head in greeting with a mouthful of food he was working on. Something about Rhys’s reprimand made her blood boil, like she was worth defending… or like she had been claimed. When she most certainly had not.
Daisy sat beside her father, swinging her feet lightly beneath the bench. She regarded Amara with a cautious, but friendly, sidelong look.
“Morning,” Amara offered gently.
The girl gave a small smile. “Mornin’, miss.”
A serving maid placed a bowl of porridge in front of her, followed by oatcakes, jam, and a small pot of tea.
