Page 17 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
She took another sip of the fine French wine she’d been served. Something else she was quite unused to. It made her head spin and caused her to feel a little giddy.
Hardly taking notice of what was being said between the others, she registered something being said about another trip Maxwell and Aileen were planning, before a wave of tiredness washed over her. She yawned, placing a hand delicately over her mouth.
Everard looked up. “Och lass. Ye must be tired out. Ye are still nae completely well from yer… er… travail.” She was grateful he did not mention drowning or seasickness or her terror of the sea, in front of the others. “Ye need yer rest.”
Aileen got to her feet at once. “Come Davina, I shall walk ye back tae yer cottage and see ye have all ye need.”
Davina rose and bobbed a curtsy to Maxwell and to Everard.
“I thank ye fer a most pleasant evening. And…” she gave a cheeky smile to the laird, “… especially fer those delectable honey-walnuts.”
Both men said their goodnights as she and Aileen walked out.
As the door to the solar closed behind them, Davina had the distinct impression she caught Maxwell’s voice mentioning her name.
Maxwell stood and put another log on the fire, stoking the coals.
“Mistress Davina is a charming young lady, is she nae?”
Everard grunted. He had a bad feeling his brother was on the brink of merging into territory that he was not comfortable discussing.
Maxwell gave him a knowing look, one eyebrow cocked. “And she’s a great beauty too.” He paused, keeping his eyes on his brother. “But I daresay ye’ve noticed all of this already, me laird.”
Another grunt.
“Mayhap I’m wrong, but I thought I discerned ye looking at her with a special interest this evening.”
Everard pshawed loudly. “Indeed. Ye are wrong, braither. I’ve had nay thoughts of the lass other than it is me duty tae keep her safe.”
Maxwell continued airily, a slight smile of disbelief on his face. “’Tis good tae hear, braither. Ye well ken ‘tis past time fer ye tae wed. I’m younger, yet I am wed now. Surely ye are thinking of siring an heir, a wee lad who’ll grow tae take yer place as laird one of these days.”
“I’ve nay consideration of being wed. So, ye may ask yer questions, but me answer will always be the same. As ye are well aware, the customs of Highland hospitality insist that I treat the lass well and look tae her safety. I intend paying nay more attention tae Mistress Davina than tae any other guest under me roof.”
“’Tis wise of ye. We ken naught of her background. When ye wed, ye’ll need tae be thinking of joining wi’ another clan that will bring advantage tae the MacNeils.”
Everard chortled. “As ye’ve done, binding us tae the MacAlpin pirate Clan.”
“Well, may ye laugh,” Maxwell said crossly. “But ye already ken me marriage tae Aileen has brought the Clan great advantage wi’ the privateers as our allies.”
“Hm. Mayhap ye’re right.” Everard stood and gave the fire an unnecessary poke. “I ken ye and Aileen are happy, but that’s nae reason tae inflict anyone else wi’ the idea of marriage.”
Maxwell offered a grin. “I swear I’ll say nay more on the subject if it makes ye growl.” He raised his cup. “I fancy a wee dram of that fine whisky ye’ve hidden away in yer cupboard.”
Relieved that his brother had been diverted from the subject of Davina, Everard crossed to the carved oak sideboard, brought down the decanter of whisky and took it back to the table. He poured a dram into each cup and passed one to Maxwell.
He raised his cup. “Slàinte mhath, braither. Tae the good health of ye and yer lovely bride.”
“Slàinte mhath,” his brother responded with a grin.
Everard sipped the amber liquid, enjoying the burn as he swallowed and the spreading warmth that followed. He had no intention of letting his brother know just how much he was tormented by thoughts of Davina.
It was not only his protective impulse and his concern for her vulnerable plight that had captured him.
He was enchanted by the quick smile that danced on her lips and the dimple in her cheek that sometimes appeared when she was amused. When his gaze met her golden eyes with their long, dark lashes, a desperate need to take her in his arms took hold of him. Then there was the urge for his fingers to trace her soft smooth skin, for his lips to caress the tempting arch of her neck, and to cover her plush lips with his mouth.
All of these, combined with the husky sound of her voice, her delicate wildflower scent and, now and then, a soft giggle, set his pulse racing and started up that damned twitch in his groin whenever he was with her.
As if all that wasn’t bedeviling enough, thoughts of Davina had begun keeping him awake at night tossing under his covers, stirring his blood, hardening his manhood.
