Page 13 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
Her breath hitched at his words.
5
Ahusband?
Keira felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Did he really say he would find her a husband?
“Ye ken all about me, do ye nae?”
Evander cocked his head. “I dinnae understand.”
Keira refused to say anything further. She didn’t want to voice the numerous thoughts racing through her mind to this man—who, for all intents and purposes, was still a stranger to her, no matter how hard he tried to make her castle his.
He was assertive, the kind of man to remain rooted in his convictions. The last thing anyone would ever try to do was sway Evander Sloan, and she was beginning to see that rather quickly.
Letting the sound of his men’s footsteps drown her thoughts, she turned around and walked away, not sparing him a backward glance.
Evander watched her retreating figure for a moment, trying hard to keep an eye on her. But he couldn’t. Not for long.
He was brought back to the present by the grunts of the men carrying some of his things into the castle.
There were not a lot of things he was able to recover as his castle burned to the ground. They were able to save the horses, most of the animals that lingered around the courtyard, some of his study items—which he had transferred to a shed by the fence when the fire had reached his room—and just a few other things he did not see himself needing. But the look on Lady Blythe’s face made everything worth it.
“Oi!” he called to one of the men carrying what looked like a specially designed table into the castle—although he was doing it recklessly. “Did ye nae learn to carry a proper table in yer village? Ye lift from the bottom.”
The man, who couldn’t be older than five-and-twenty, looked up at him, a nervous expression on his face. “The bottom is charred, M’Laird.”
“Find something or someone to aid ye, then. That table holds a lot of importance. I would hate to see it perish. Or ye with it.”
Evander could tell that his words sent a shiver down the man’s spine because he unclasped his hands from the top and walked away, his eyes peeled for someone to help him, as was ordered.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lady Blythe making her way out of the courtyard and away from the large fence that surrounded the castle.
Where was she going? She had no place to go, that much was obvious. Or was she conning him? Did she have a plan to get him thrown away before he could even settle in?
He dismissed those thoughts almost as soon as they had come.
If there was anything he had learned so far about Keira Elliot—he knew her name thanks to his man-at-arms—it was that she remained firm and steady in what she believed in.
She had sounded incredibly sincere as well, so if there truly was anything she was hiding from him, one way or another, he would find out.
He let himself wonder again where she could possibly be going as she disappeared into the distance. Was she heading to speak with her servants?
From the distance, she looked rather ethereal. Her dress fluttered gently in the breeze, and the sun illuminated the parts that further accentuated her curves.
“M’Laird?” Rory’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.
Evander turned around. His man-at-arms stood before him, his arms wrapped around a giant, recognizable trunk. His own. At least the only trunk he was able to save from the fire before the castle got razed to the ground.
“Where is this going?”
Rory shifted his weight from one foot to another. “I was going to ask ye that. I talked to the maids, and they said that Lady Blythe had indeed prepared a spare room. Would ye be open to?—”
“A spare room?” Evander cut him off, furrowing his brow.
“Aye, M’Laird.”
“Rory, a spare room is usually reserved for visitors or people who dinnae plan to stay long in a castle, am I right?”
