Page 22 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
Maxwell reached a hand to shake his brother’s. “I believe this scheme will be successful and the problem between the privateers, the MacNeils and the Laird MacDougall will be laid tae rest.”
Shaking his brother’s hand, Everard was still far from satisfied. “A lot rests on the shoulders of one man. Hugo is placing himself in great danger. I can only pray he succeeds.”
Aileen reached a hand to squeeze her brother-in-law’s forearm. “Never fear. Hugo is crafty and kens the French language. Hewill achieve the outcome we wish fer and return tae bonny Scotland before long.”
“I’ll be off wi’ the tide also.” Everard’s confidence was growing. Hugo was a skilled warrior and an experienced and wise negotiator. If anyone could succeed at such a delicate task, it was him. “Me work here is done, thanks tae yer father’s wisdom and Hugo’s courage.”
With the wind in his hair, the tang of salt in the air, and the birlinn heading north, Everard’s spirits rose. He was looking forward to returning to Kiessimul.
Already he felt Hugo’s absence keenly. Yet, it was true. He’d come to rely less and less on his counsel over the years. Now, he had found himself turning more to his brother than to his advisor, who had become his friend and confidant. Hugo was no longer the only one he relied on for advice.
His skills would be far better occupied in resolving the difficult issue surrounding the MacDougall’s looted cargo. In the end, they had come up with a satisfactory resolution to what had seemed an intractable problem. He could only pray that Hugo was successful in his mission to France. And even more, that he remained safe.
As they drew closer to Barra, Everard’s thoughts turned to Mistress Davina. Apart from his distracting vision of her auburncurls, her creamy skin and the feminine curves evident beneath her kirtle, his chief concern was what would become of her.
He was happy for her to remain at Kiessimul as long as it pleased her. And that might be for as long as her memories remained a mystery. He was most anxious to find out who she was and what possible allegiances might flow from her identity.
In the Highlands, identity was of the utmost importance. Without understanding who a lad or a lass may be, there was no knowledge of whether they were potentially a friend or a foe. The clashes between the clans – for one reason or another – led, in many cases, to generations-long enmity, for which there was little hope of ever achieving a reconciliation.
Darkness was falling as his birlinn pulled into the slipway and Ranald Dunbar hastened to greet him. It was good to set foot on the island again, yet he only listened with one ear as the Gockman droned on with details of who had tied up at the moorings during Everard’s absence, and who was sailing.
This was important information which was generally of great interest, yet tonight he struggled with impatience, eager to hasten into the castle and make sure his little novice was well and safe. He mentally scolded himself. This fascination with Davina that caused his belly to clench and his manhood to react whenever he allowed his thoughts to dwell on her, was pure foolishness. The lass was an innocent, and his lustful desires shamed him.
Despite roundly admonishing himself as he passed through the arched entry to the courtyard, he experienced a niggle of anticipation at the promise of catching sight of her again.
Bidding goodnight to Dunbar, he took the steps to the keep two at a time and headed for the great hall. He was famished, not having had a morsel since breaking his fast that morning at Canna. Keen as he was to sail on the tide, he’d foregone dining with the others after their meeting. Instead, he’d surprised them with his haste to be gone.
He was greeted by Mildred as he entered the feasting hall. She bobbed a quick curtsey.
“Good evening, me laird. Ailis has prepared yer supper and the maids will serve ye without delay.” She looked around. “Is Hugo MacRae wi’ ye? We were expecting yer braither, his wife, and Hugo as well.”
Taking his seat at the head of the vast and empty table, Everard shook his head.
“Nay. Aileen and me braither will spend a few more days on the Isle of Canna. Aileen wishes tae be wi’ her Da, and Hugo has departed fer the Isle of Man.”
Mildred threw him a puzzled look.
Everard cursed himself for saying too much. Hugo’s mission must be kept as secretive as possible, yet it was necessary to make sense of his absence.
“He has kin he wishes tae visit.”
Mildred nodded. He could only hope this satisfied her curiosity and would not start tongues wagging with speculation about Hugo’s absence.
He looked around, hopeful of catching sight of Davina.
“Has Mistress Davina already dined?”
“Mistress Davina dines wi’ Broderick and meself at noon-time. She works hard in the infirmary and takes tae her bed early so she can rise before the sun.”
Everard hauled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping to conceal his disappointment from Mildred as he subsided into his chair.
It had not occurred to him that Davina would have taken on the role of a servant at Kiessimul. He found the idea was not to his liking.
The scullery maids served his dinner. A delicate broth of leeks and onion followed by a fish pie. He was certain the meal would have tasted better if Davina had been beside him with her shysmiles, her sunny laughter and the delicate scent of wildflowers that always seemed to be around her.
He had to content himself with the knowledge that tomorrow he would seek out her company.
CHAPTER TEN
