Page 20 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
He gave a brief, approving nod. “Then ye must call me Marcus. Come, sit. Ye must be starving, and we have a great deal to talk about.”
* * *
Ava woke up in the finest bed she’d ever slept in. She was alone, of course. Their arrangement was very specific on that, and even if theyhadwished to sleep together, Callum’s eagle-eyed aunt Moira would never have permitted it.
Ava had been shown to a new room—a guest room—which was larger than her entire healer’s hut back in Clan MacCarthy. It was at least twice as large as the room she rented back home. She had once shared that room with her friend, a runaway English lady who’d since married a Scottish laird. Things had been quiet and lonely since Paisley had left.
She was about to consider rolling out of bed and finding something to wear when a sharp rap sounded at the door. Flinching, Ava jerked awake, holding the sheets up beneath her chin.
Surely it wouldn’t be Callum, would it?
“Who is it?” she managed, hoping she didn’t sound too drowsy.
“It’s Moira, love,” came a familiar voice. “Callum’s aunt. I came to give ye a wee tour of the Keep, since he’s busy with clan business and likely willnae be around. Are ye up and dressed?”
It wasn’t yet eight o’clock by Ava’s reckoning. Muffling a curse under her breath, she threw back the covers and bounced out of bed.
“Just a moment, Moira!” she called back, frantically looking around for last night’s gown.
She remembered, vaguely, that Callum had promised her new gowns. That was kind of him, but then, it wasn’t really about her. It was all about what sherepresented—his betrothed.
The dinner with his family had gone well after the initial hiccup. Callum and Ava had sat close together, their shoulders touching, and Callum made sure to brush his hand against hers whenever one of them reached for anything.
The contact sent tingles across her skin every time. It was almost like torture.
Flinging open the wardrobe, Ava spotted an unfamiliar gown, finer than anything she’d ever owned, in a pretty shade of dusty rose.
That would have to do.
And then, of course, there was the kiss. Ava had lain awake for some time, thinking it over. She’d never been kissed like that. Never had a kiss—or any touch at all—that made her feel so… sotinglyand dizzy.
She came to the conclusion that she was, as usual, overthinking it.
A kiss is just a kiss.
She stumbled around the room, trying to slide into the unforgiving gown.
Ye ken what men are like, Ava. He finds ye attractive, which is entirely natural. He’s keen nae to get carried away because he doesnae want to scare ye off, or worse yet, get caught and have to marry ye at once. It means nothing.
Once she’d decided that, Ava felt notbetter—not at all—but at least she knew what to expect. Dealing with men who were attracted to her face and form was something she was used to doing.
If there was a twinge of disappointment in the knowledge that Callum only cared about the way she looked, it was better not acknowledged.
Finally buttoned and laced into her new gown, Ava hauled open the door, breathless and red-faced.
Moira waited outside, her hands folded, a serene smile on her face.
“Ready,” Ava gasped.
* * *
“… the Great Hall, of course, is probably used more than any other room in the Keep,” Moira continued, quite lost in her own narration.
Ava nodded politely, managing to look attentive and interested. She’d long since lost track of all the rooms Moira had taken her through and the history of each. It was clear that Moira took great pride in Keep McAdair and had taken pains to memorize its history.
Only, there was somuchhistory. Every wretched tapestry had a story behind it, and every little item seemed to be an heirloom.
And this was only the ground floor. There were cellars and the maze of servants’ halls and rooms below and countless guest rooms, and so on above them, spiraling all the way up to the Keep roof, where soldiers patrolled every minute of every day, keeping a close eye on the surrounding landscape.
