Page 2 of Unspoken
Evelyn caught her breath. If she lived a hundredyears she would likely never see a man so large again. Shadows obscured hisvisage. She could see naught but impossibly thick, long legs which splayed atthe knees, encased within heavy, tall black boots.
Involuntarily swallowing her surprise, she knewhis relaxed posture was utterly deceptive.
She also knew the Berserker, Roderick MacLauchlan,would die tomorrow.
Chapter Two
“Make ‘Evy do it, Moorland, I’m no’ goin’ near theman!” Abby McFayden made a rude gesture to the innkeeper, and then crossedherself against evil.
Evelyn bristled at Abby’s insolence, knowing that Moorland’sacquiescence followed. If she’d never stumbled upon them in the kitchen thatday, her life would be much easier now. Evelyn suppressed a shudder at thevision of Abby’s legs braced against the counter of the island and Moorland’spants around his ankles.
“There ye are!” Abby’s dirty hazel eyes glitteredwith malevolence. “Be a dear, and take this to the black knight in the corner,would ye?” She yanked away Evelyn’s empty tray and shoved a large bowl of stewinto her hands.
Moorland jerked a finger in her direction. “Anddoona be bothering him with yer senseless chatter. I’ve been told that the manis mute and I doona want you to be angering ‘im. You hear me girl?”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded and turned back to the dinof the common room. Unable to keep her shoulders from sagging, she movedwhisper-quiet, avoiding contact with the rowdy crowd.
The atmosphere felt as grim as the faces circlingthe wooden tables. Clan Donald outnumbered the Stewart’s strength of threethousand more than three fold. As they scowled and talked, men knocked backale with single-minded determination as though fortifying themselves againstthe inevitable. Amidst such pessimism, Robert Stewart and his son, Alexander, didtheir best to recruit whom they could to hold Ross land that spread from Skyeall the way to Inverness.
Creeping along the back wall, Evelyn made her waytowards the large leather chair in whichhesat. Quelling the shiver ofapprehension that coursed down her spine, she squinted at him through thedimness. Perhaps, if she looked hard enough, the intangible element ofunnatural darkness that seemed to emanate from him would reveal its secrets.
She instinctively knew the moment he noticed her.He became more still, if possible. His muscles rigid with a tension that instantlyvibrated in the air between them. Feeling like a rabbit exposed to a hungrypredator, Evelyn froze as unfamiliar awareness washed over her. It pinned herwhere she stood, and stunned her with its intensity.
Vibrant green eyes momentarily glowed with anunnatural light as they regarded her from the shadows.
She swallowed and quickly averted her gaze.‘Tisonly a trick of firelight’, she told herself.
Attempting a casual approach, she couldn’t bringherself to lift her eyes above the table before him. “I’ve brought you supper,milord, if you’re inclined to dine,” she told his knees.
Silence.
She tightened her grip on the bowl to still thetremor that threatened to slosh its contents into his lap.
“I—its Moorland’s specialty of mutton and potatostew.” Why couldn’t her eyes seem to find a place to rest? Table. Largehands. Sword. Thighs the size of boulders. Fireplace! Stew. Yes, thestew.
“It’s quite good, and… important for building yourstrength for the morrow.” She winced, cursing her need to fill the deafening silence.Heaven help her if Moorland was watching.
Evelyn couldn’t stop a startled glance as hisupper torso and face slowly emerged from the shadow of the wall.
He was terrifying.
He was beautiful.
The loose-fitting black tunic did nothing todiminish his shoulders, which were easily twice as broad as hers. Evelynwondered if his skin struggled to contain the sheer mass of him.
Long ebony hair spilled to the middle of hischest, the forward locks pulled away from his face and secured at the back ofhis head.
The glittering green eyes held her captive fromfeatures so powerfully masculine it almost hurt to look at him. A broadforehead and thick, even brows offset a roman nose. The skin of his face andhands tanned to a gleaming bronze, his stark jaw made darker by the threateningshadow of a beard.
Don’t be a fool,she admonished herself,unable to swallow around a dry tongue. Nothing about him is blue. Youshould be safe.
Evelyn’s eyes dropped to his mouth out of habit,waiting for his response in the loud din of the room.
In all of her life she’d never seen suchperfection, such sensual beauty on the face of a man. Tan and lush, his lipstwitched with the slight movement of his jaw.
He gently took the bowl from her hand instead;startling her so much that the stew would have sloshed all over him had he nota firm grip.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, horrified. How couldshe have so quickly forgotten the innkeeper’s warning? Ofcoursehewouldn’t reply.
