Page 50 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
Breathing the peat-smoke of her fireplace, she caught the fleeting musky, sweaty man-scent of his body that had filled her nostrils as he’d held her. Dozing, she could almost feel the firm but gentle touch of his hand as he’d cupped her chin. Her sleepy mind reeled her once again into the depths of his dark gaze, seemingly reaching into her very soul.
Feather leaped onto her lap, jolting her to wakefulness.
What am I daeing, sitting here dreaming like the foolish lass I am? ‘Tis certain I wanted the laird’s kiss and it turned out tae be more than I’d ever dreamed.
She shook her head as if to dispel the unseemly thoughts.
And now I want it again.
Arising from her drowsy reverie, she took the jug of water on the table near the door and filled the large bowl beside it. After stripping naked, she took a rough cloth, soaked it and soaped up with the bar of rosewater-scented soap beside the bowl. She slowly washed herself all over, relishing the sensation of the coarse fabric sliding over her skin. Once she’d dried herself on the linen towels, she donned the same velvet robe she’d worn after she’d rid herself of mud, and settled down with the brush and ivory-toothed comb to fashion her hair.
After brushing it until it shone, she took the hair from around her face and plaited it into tiny braids, leaving wisps to float around her face. She wound the braids about her head, allowing the remainder of her auburn curls to flow free.
If only she had the ear bobs she craved from the market. She sighed. That would have to wait. Then she lifted the bonny new gown that Jonnet had finished only today, and carefully pulled it over her head. She fastened the ribbons tying the front of the bodice and tucked the lace along the neckline of the gown. Despite her best efforts, although it was more modest, the delicate lace did not provide a full covering and part of her rounded breasts were still visible.
Her throat constricted as she glimpsed herself in the looking glass. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were sparkling. Her lips seemed swollen in the shadowy light. Had the kissing changed her? Would they all be able to discern when they looked at her that she’d been with the laird? That he’d held her and thrust his tongue between her lips and that she’d reveled in it all?
After slipping on her leather boots, she flung on her cloak and fastened it. Then she woke the sleeping Feather and placed her, protesting, in her little rush basket.
After snuffing the candles, she walked out the door, closing the latch firmly behind her, and with a pounding heart, made her way along the path, heading toward the solar.
Holding her breath she rapped on the door.
Aileen’s voice called, “Enter.”
Davina opened the door and went in, expecting to see the laird and his brother before the fire, but it was only Aileen who greeted her.
“Come in, Davina.” Aileen rose and took both her hands. “I am so pleased ye can join us fer supper. I’m afraid the men are still in the laird’s study. They have much tae discuss.”
It was clear that Aileen did not intend to reveal what the important matter concerned, so Davina did not ask. She took off her cloak and draped it on the back of her chair, opened the lid of the basket so that Feather could jump out, and took her seat beside Aileen.
She did her best to hide her disappointment that the Everard had not yet graced them with his presence.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
He had told himself it was nothing more than a playful wager. Lighthearted, an amusement. A careless kiss that would be no more than a brushing of lips. Truth be told, he’d given it little thought. After all, the last thing he’d considered was that Davina would come close to besting him. It was a game, nothing more. He’d assumed he would simply win the best of five arrows and generously pass her the purse so she could entertain herself at the fair.
It had even crossed his mind that she’d be unable to hit the target at all.
He had been totally and convincingly mistaken. First, he’d sadly underestimated the lass’s skill which was, as it turned out, equal to his, and he prided himself on his archery. But more important was the devastation the kiss had wrought on his belief in his control over himself.Dammit, if not for Dunbar’s interruption, he’d been in imminent danger of losing all self-restraint.
He owed Davina the most heartfelt apology.
It was no fault of hers that he found her intoxicating and impossible to resist and that he was certain he’d been bewitched.
Making an effort to put his shameful behavior from his mind, he wrestled his thoughts to the unexpected meeting to take place with his brother. It was an unspoken agreement between them that neither would disturb the other without prior arrangement. Unless, of course, there were dire circumstances.
Maxwell was setting foot on the slipway as Everard approached and he was surprised to see another man, a stranger, in the boat. Aileen was already standing on the dock as he walked up. They greeted each other with a brief touching of hands and he slapped Maxwell’s shoulder as his brother alighted from his boat.
Maxwell turned to the other man. “This is Angus MacIver, from Scalpay. He was one of me crewmen fer some years, but now he’s crofting on his own isle. I sent a message tae him tae find out what he could of our man MacKinnon from Pabhay.”
On hearing this Everard looked at the man with renewed interest. The Island of Scalpay was close to the small island of Pabhay, so it made good sense to assign him the task of enquiring about Dùghall MacKinnon.
“Good day t’ye, Master MacIver. I trust ye’ve some news fer me?”
The short, sturdy man nodded. “Aye, indeed, me laird, I have.”
“Ye are welcome at Castle Kiessimul and welcome tae share some ale or whisky as ye please.”
