Page 42 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
Rory swallowed. “I dinnae understand?—”
“Is someone dying? Do they need medicine?”
“Nae that I am aware of, M’Laird.”
Evander clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed on Rory, whose eyes darted between him and the hammer he held in his hand. “And is someone going to die in the next twenty minutes?”
“I dinnae think so.”
“So yecanfetch the fruits. Inform the maids that I need some fruits for Thistle.”
A resigned sigh escaped Rory’s lips, and he nodded.
Soon, the sun beat back down on Evander as his man-at-arms made his way out of the courtyard and back into the castle. He continued to work, driving nails into the planks with more vigor than he had done before.
He needed to get this finished before the sun reached its peak, as he had some people he needed to visit in the village.
Rory returned barely ten minutes later, a small basket filled with fruits in his hand. He handed it to Evander, who began slowly feeding the goat after dropping the hammer to his side.
Part of him wondered if Keira had ever expected this. Had she ever imagined a world where he began to take care of the goat she had sent to his room in order to anger him?
“What was it ye wanted to talk to me about?”
“Aye, I just received word from our people. They mentioned that they may arrive here sooner than scheduled.”
Evander paused and watched the goat nibble on the berries in his hand. “And how soon is ‘sooner than scheduled?’”
“Very soon, M’Laird. Yer sister will arrive with her son tomorrow. Others will come right behind a few days after, at the very most.”
Evander nodded. “That is wonderful news, is it nae?”
“Aye. It is.”
He had thought the transition from his destroyed castle to this one would take longer than necessary, but if they were ready to relocate to Blythe Castle, he needed to celebrate that. Which meant he could start organizing the cèilidh immediately.
“How soon can ye send word? I need invitations sent out as soon as possible, as I shall be hosting a cèilidh by the end of the week.”
“A cèilidh,” Rory echoed—not a question, but merely a statement.
“Aye. I’ll need to send word to me friends. Duncan, Hector, Arthur, and Gerald. Oh, and Marcus as well.”
“I shall send them as soon as possible, M’Laird.”
“Good. We cannae afford to waste any more time. Are ye going to send a carriage for Shona and Tommy?”
“I already did, M’Laird. The footman should return with them by tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“I shall go get started on the invitations,” Rory declared, before turning around.
Evander watched him walk away, leaving him once again to the home he was building for the goat.
He resumed his work, thoughts of Keira slowly creeping into his mind despite him trying his best to push them away one hammer swing at a time. The thoughts were stronger, more insistent. He was not surprised. Shewasthat kind of woman anyway.
A while later, as the sun rays grew stronger, he finally hammered the last nail. He watched Thistle walk into his new home and studied the roof and wooden walls. It was perfect.
He rose to his feet and walked back to the castle, wiping the sweat from his brow as he did. His eyes caught Keira in the Great Hall, talking with one of the councilmen—a man with glistening red hair.
