Page 66 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
Something told her that Lesley was not ready to hear any of that, and if she was being frank with herself, she was not ready to share any of it, either.
“I am quite worried about ye, Keira. Perhaps ye have been a widow for quite a long time and it is beginning to affect ye for the worse. I hear there’s a cèilidh this week. Perhaps ye can change that. Ye should put all dastardly thoughts about the Laird behind ye.”
“I dinnae plan to attend the cèilidh,” Keira declared as Lesley poured the contents of the mortar into a clean cup and handed it to her.
“What?” Lesley asked, watching her friend down the willow bark in one sip.
“I willnae be at the cèilidh,” Keira repeated.
It was never a question. The event was for Evander and his people. She wasn’t needed.
The cèilidh is for me and me people.
He had made it clear, and as such, she planned to bless them with her absence.
The thought of finding a husband there sounded quite mad now. She was never going to find a husband. Not at the cèilidh, and certainly not from his clan. It was all a pipe dream. Something she had convinced herself of to make herself feel better about the damning fact that she may never find a husband.
But Lesley was right about one thing—the fact that Evander might be the sole cause of her headache. She was also right about the fact that she needed to avoid him. And that was what she intended to do from here on out. The borders might work, but only for a while. She needed to put in the effort.
She needed to stay out of sight. And that was what she planned to do.
Avoid Evander as much as possible.
23
Evander returned only a few hours later, his heart pounding hard in his chest as he made his way through the castle gates and across the courtyard. He cast a glance at the shelter and only found a few maids walking around, tending to the roaming animals. No Keira. Usually, she was out by now, and part of him wondered if she was still in bed.
He rode to the other part of the castle, where her garden lay near the walls. There, he found her bent over the roses, her plain blue silk gown reflecting the sunlight. He jumped off his horse and motioned for one of the stable boys to lead it back to its stall.
“I thought I might find ye here,” he started, watching her pull out some weeds near her flowers, her hands streaked with the dark soil.
“Ye’re welcome, M’Laird,” she responded, her voice sharp and clear. But she didn’t turn to look up at him.
“M’Laird? Is that what ye want us to do now?”
“I dinnae ken what ye’re talking about.”
The curt responses she gave him told him one thing and one thing only—she wasn’t interested in talking to him. That much was obvious.
He racked his brain, wondering what could possibly be the reason.
“Ye dinnae want to ken where I just came back from?” he prodded, shuffling his feet across the soil, waiting for an answer, or at the very least, some kind of reaction.
“Nay, but I suppose ye will tell me anyway.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I went to see some of me men who are currently investigating the cause of the fire in me castle. I went to ask them how much they’d learned about the supposed culprit. I suppose they havenae exactly learned much, nae that it matters now anyway, but they have confirmed that the culprit did come from this clan. Clan Blythe.”
“I see.”
“And I thought that much had already been established, seeing as the man I chased into the woods that night was wearing this clan’s tartan. I’m starting to think they might be useless.”
“Oh, well.”
He shook his head. “Nay. That’s enough.”
Keira, her back still turned to him since he had accosted her, yanked another stem of weed out of the earth. “Enough of what?”
“Whatever this is,” Evander responded, gesturing toward her, signifying her entire demeanor. “And for the love of God, would ye look at me when I’m talking to ye?”
