Page 58 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
She swallowed. Even the mere thought wouldn’t let her rest. Her eyes drifted to the window again. If she relaxed her head just a little and let it rest against the wooden headboard of her bed, she would be able to see the brightest part of the moon. And if she leaned back a bit further, she would be able to see nocturnal birds flying across it, floating in the cold night sky with no regard for the weather or the darkness.
Part of her wished she would reincarnate into a bird in her next life, free from instigation and worries. She could justbefor the sake of being alone. Perhaps it was the mere fact that she had been deep in thought for what seemed to be the better part of the night.
She had been rejected from her clan because her cousin just would not have her around anymore. Then, she got married to a laird who died on their wedding night right before consummating their marriage. Now, she was in bed with the man who had threatened to take her castle. The man who wouldn’t hesitate to throw her out if he had to.
Her eyes turned away from the window to him again. To the way his chest rose and fell slowly and the gentle snores that almost sounded like purrs escaping his lips.
Now, he was organizing a cèilidh for her, where she was supposed to find a husband. That should not be too hard for herto do, should it? If she wasn’t beginning to entertain the notion that she was cursed, none of this would be happening in the first place.
She thought back to the series of unfortunate events that had brought them together. His castle burning, her councilmen handing overhercastle to him, and her growing resentment by the day.
Resentment.
Was that truly what she felt for him now, after everything that had happened? She could almost feel his lips on her, like it was happening all over again. His fingers and the way her walls had accommodated them.
She was certain he would have taken her if he wanted to. But for some reason, he didn’t, and that did not exactly make her comfortable.
A low, whooshing sound broke her chain of thoughts and made her jerk her head up. A bird had flown into the room. A pigeon, from what she could see in the dim moonlight.
Her body stiffened, and for the briefest of seconds, she wondered if she needed to wake Evander.
Ach, ‘tis just a bird.
She mumbled, almost like she was forcefully reassuring herself. The pigeon landed on the table closest to her door and looked around the room, its head bobbing up and down. It waddled closer to the moonlight, and she could see it clearly. Its feathers were white and black, and each color shone brightly in the illuminated space it stood in.
Keira slowly brought the covers closer to her chest and watched as the bird continued to inspect the room, as if searching for where its next meal would come from. Then, it stopped the instant its eyes landed on her.
They held each other’s gazes for the longest moment, and Keira started to wonder—ridiculous though it was—whether the bird was trying to tell her something. Something she couldn’t particularly understand.
For the briefest of moments, it did feel like she shared something with the bird. Something undeniable and clear.
Evander stirred in his sleep, a low groan escaping his lips as he kicked around underneath the covers. The movement startled the pigeon, and before Keira could understand what was happening, it had leaped off the table and flown out of the window.
What was even happening?
The question echoed over and over in her head, but she knew it would take more time for her to get through the day than to decide to answer that question for herself.
And so she shook off her reverie and climbed out of bed. The movement finally pulled Evander out of his slumber. She could tell the exact moment he woke up, even though his face was hidden beneath the shadows, but his gentle snores had stopped.
Her feet padded across the floor as she made her way to the bathing chamber. Her deliberately slow and cautiously quiet footsteps halted when Evander called out, “Do ye need me to leave?”
She turned on her heel to look at him. His face was still cloaked in shadow, but she could see movement.
“We dinnae want people to get the wrong idea, do we?”
A scoff escaped her lips. The wrong idea. And what exactly would be the wrong idea here? The Laird and the widow caught naked in bed together? Yes, that certainly was the wrong idea.
Evander sat up and climbed out of bed as well. She watched him approach her, naked from the waist up. Her eyes flicked down to his trousers, which hung loosely on his hips, and the lines that traveled from his navel to the mound beneath his waistband.
“Here,” he muttered, snapping her out of her momentary reverie.
Keira watched as he picked up her dress from the floor and handed it to her.
“I can lace it for ye if ye like. I dinnae?—”
“I can wear me own dress, thank ye very much,” she cut him off, her voice harsher than she had intended.
Evander only nodded and watched her snatch the dress from his hand. She swiftly slipped it over her head, still feeling his eyes on her. The cold in the room had dissipated, and all she could feel and focus on was the heat in the back of her neck.
