Page 31 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
Her head was spinning from it all and when she came to a small bench along the path, she lowered her basket and sat down. She was fanning herself with her hand, not used to such warm sun on her face, when she was approached by a kind-looking older man. He was tall and slim, his hair and beard grey, although there was a youthfulness in the way he stood, shoulders straight, his head high.
“Are ye well, m’dear? Ye seem a little out of sorts.” He spoke in a refined voice, similar to Everard’s, and his clothes, although worn, were of fine quality. Yet, the sight of his plaid and itscolors of soft brown and earthy green sparked a hazy sense of recollection. The thought was fleeting and she paid it no heed. The man’s words were kindly.
“Thank ye, fer yer kindness. I am just a trifle overwhelmed by all the goods on display.”
“Would ye care tae join me? I am on me way tae the tavern tae purchase some ale. I would welcome some company.”
She glanced over at Everard who was strolling along the path away from the market, in deep conversation with the tinker. He’d hardly miss her if she stopped for a cup of ale. To reassure herself, she observed the crowd. Surely naught could befall her surrounded by so many folk. Many people were entering the tavern. Besides, she was thirsty.
“I would be grateful fer a cup of ale.”
The tavern was close by and the man held the door for her to enter. There were only two seats remaining, near the doorway. The place was buzzing with peasants, farmers, fishermen, and here and there, a finely dressed lady or man.
She squeezed into the seat at the small table and the man seated himself in the chair, his long legs angled toward the door.
“Forgive me rudeness, mistress. Me name is Dùghall MacKinnon and I am from the Island of Pabhay.”
There, again, was that hazy, fleeting, moment of recollection, but it was gone before it could form itself into a memory. Yet the sensation was sufficient to arouse Davina’s curiosity.
“Have I met ye before?”
Dùghall MacKinnon shook his head. “Nay. I’ve never laid eyes on yer pretty countenance before today.” An almost wistful expression passed over his face. “More’s the pity.”
Davina considered this last remark to be rather odd, but before she could question his meaning, the landlord bustled up with two cups of ale for them, and lodged a bow to Davina’s companion before turning on his heel.
So, I am correct in thinking him a man of substance.
“Dare I ask yer name, lass?”
“I am Mistress Davina. Beyond that I cannae say, so ye will need be content with calling me Davina.
He lifted his ale. “Tae Mistress Davina. Slàinte Mhath.”
She smiled and lifted her cup. “Tae ye, Dùghall MacKinnon.”
As she spoke the words, a feeling coursed through her veins. She felt safe with this man, yet for all she knew he couldn’t betrusted. Despite being surrounded by the milling throng at the market, she felt a sudden chill and rose to her feet.
“I should nae have strayed out of sight of me… er… companion. He’ll be concerned fer me if he cannae find me.”
Dùghall rose, shaking his head. “I dinnae wish tae cause any concern, lass. Let me accompany ye tae find yer companion.”
Collecting her basket from under the chair, she was suddenly fearful, wishing to avoid a confrontation between Dùghall MacKinnon and Everard. “I thank ye fer the ale, but I must go.” With that she dashed out of the tavern. She’d only gone a few steps when she came face-to-face with Everard, his face like thunder.
“Where have ye been lass? I asked ye nae tae stray from sight.”
“Forgive me, me laird. Me head was awhirl from the hot sun and all the busy goings-on and a kindly gentleman offered tae buy me an ale.”
Everard groaned loudly, running his long fingers through his already untidy hair. “By all the saints, lass. Have ye nae sense? Did ye nae think of the danger ye might be in from a strange man?”
She pshawed at that, her eyes flashing.Daes he believe me a fool?
“Of course I thought of the possibility of danger. But I kent ye were close by and I was surrounded by folk who I am certain would nae allow harm tae come tae a lass in their midst.” She huffed indignantly. “Besides, the man seemed like someone of noble birth. Nothing like the rough lads who hunted me on the Isle of Mull.”
Everard growled. “And what was the name of this nobleman ye met at the market in Barra?”
“His name was Dùghall MacKinnon, he comes from the Island of Pabhay. I ken it seems odd, now that ye mention it, fer a nobleman tae be passing by the market in such a tiny place, yet he seemed nay threat.”
Everard seized her arm. “I dinnae ken anyone of that name.” He looked down, and their eyes met. She saw nothing but concern in his eyes. No anger or cruelty, but genuine caring.
