Page 4 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
Davina kept a tight hold on Everard’s sleeve. “Ye mustnae leave me here. I’m in danger. There are people chasing me…” She trailed off, an expression of horror coming over her face.
“Lass, I cannae take ye with me. I’m soon tae be sailing across the sea tae the Isle of Barra. I’ve given Widow Lachlan enough coin tae care fer ye until ye feel well enough. Who are yer kin? They’ll be searching fer ye.”
Davina was shaking her head fiercely. “I dinnae remember it all, but I ken there are men who wish me ill. I think I may have been running from them when I entered the water.” She looked up, her eyes beseeching him. “The water terrifies me, yet I ken if I went into the waves, whoever was hunting me must have made me even more afeared.”
The situation was becoming more and more difficult for Everard. He was fully aware of the turning tide and the need for their birlinn to be sailing before long. But there was something in the lass’s desperation that touched his heart. She clearly feared for her life and all his protective impulses were shoutingat him to take care of her. Leaving her there to meet an uncertain fate did not sit well with him, his honor wouldn’t let him leave a lass in need. He glanced over at Hugo who was frowning at him, signaling with a movement of his head that they should be on their way.
“Can ye think hard, Davina. Trawl through yer mind. Where were ye when ye entered the water? Who were the men pursuing ye? Think on it.”
Davina sat up in the bed clutching the covers about her. She took in a deep breath, shaking her head. “Where am I now, me laird? Mayhap if I ken where ye found me it might bring back a memory.”
“Ye’re in Fionnphort. It’s a small village on the Isle of Mull. There are few people who live here, mostly fisherfolk. It lies across the water from the Isle of Iona.”
She listened intently to Everard’s words. He could see her mind working as she rolled her eyes, straining to remember. When he came at last to the mention of Iona she startled, gasping, her hand flying to her mouth.
“D’ye recall something of Mull and Iona?”
She nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis Iona. I recall the nuns…” She moaned again. “I was meant tae take me vows.”
“Ye’re tae become a nun?” Everard blinked. Helping a novice to run from taking her vows at the abbey on Iona was the last thing he wanted to be involved with. He needed to get to the bottom of this puzzle. “Was it the nuns at the convent ye were running from?”
“I recall something now.” She buried her face in her hands, as if whatever she recalled was causing pain. When she looked up, her eyes were desperate, pleading. “I wasnae at the nunnery of me own free will. It felt like I was a prisoner.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as the memories came roaring back. “I cannae recall all of it, but there was one… Maria… I’m certain she was sent tae Iona by the devil, tae torture the likes of me.”
She reached for Everard’s hand, imploring him. “I cannae go back. If I had ended me days in a watery grave as I thought was me fate, it would be better than returning tae the nunnery. And me punishment.” She sniffed, but the tears kept on flowing. “Please, I beg ye tae take me wi’ ye. If ye leave me here and they come fer me, me death will be on yer hands.”
In her agitation she tossed back the covers and threw her legs to the floor, trying to lever herself upright with her hands on the side of the bed.
By all the holy saints!“Lass where d’ye think ye’re going?” Everard glimpsed bare white skin, pink-tipped breasts and a dark triangle between her thighs before her hands shot up to cover herself as best, she could.
She uttered a loud, embarrassed, wail and flung herself back under the covers, her face blushing bright red. “I forgot I was nae dressed.” She moaned wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
Everard couldn’t help the little quirk of amusement on his lips at the moment of unexpected pleasure. She looked delicious, her eyes wide, her bright chestnut hair flying across her shoulders and down her back. His blood ran hot at the sight of her and he felt a tell-tale twitch in his groin even as he silently admonished himself for his unseemly lust.
The lass was an innocent. Anovice,fer God’s sake! Her shock at her own nakedness was real enough and, he was certain, she had no idea of the picture of female beauty she presented to him.
The situation was saved from further awkwardness by Widow Lachlan bustling into the room. Draped over her arm was an assortment of various items of clothing. She held up first a petticoat, then stockings, a long-sleeved shirt with laces at the front, a deep-blue linen kirtle, a woolen cloak, boots, a scarf, a knitted cap and other items which Everard did not recognize.
The Widow looked Davina up and down. “Ye’re tall but I reckon these will fit ye well enough. Give or take an inch or two. Ye’re thin, so ye’ve nae need of stays.”
Davina looked at the clothing in bewilderment. He guessed that from her time in the nunnery she’d dressed in nothing but the plain habit worn by nuns. A rough-woven all in one garment that covered them from head to toe along with assorted veils andcoverings. Now, confronted with all these different items, she would scarcely ken where to start.
The good widow turned to Everard. “If ye leave us, I’ll help the lass tae don these garments so she’ll be ready tae travel wi’ ye.”
Everard got to his feet and strode through the door where Hugo was waiting.
“Well?”
Everard groaned, tussling his fingers through his long dark hair. “Mayhap it will dae nae harm tae let the lass accompany us. At least she’ll be safe from whatever harm she fears. When she’s properly well, we can find her kinfolk and take her home.”
Hugo nodded. “Bring her wi’ us if ye must. But we’ve nae time tae waste if we’re tae catch the tide.”
They were chatting about the plans, when the door to the bedchamber was flung open and Widow Lachlan emerged holding Davina’s hand.
Davina took Everard’s breath away. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, her hair had been combed and flowed down her back in thick chestnut waves and she gazed at him with amber-colored eyes fringed with dark lashes that started a mysterious pounding in his heart. She was a rare beauty, indeed.
After thanking the widow and compensating her for her trouble and for the clothing, they set off for the mooring, two of Everard’s men accompanying them.
Everard tucked Davina’s arm in his, enabling her to lean on him and be supported as she gained sufficient strength to keep pace with them.
