Page 32 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
“Right away, M’Laird,” the maid squeaked.
Just as quick as she had come, she had gone, leaving him to his thoughts and Keira’s lingering scent. It was like he could still feel her body in his arms and taste her kiss on his lips.
He walked to the study and looked around it. The firelight flickered as a gust of wind seeped through the window, and the smell of musty old books filled his nostrils.
Whoever the former Laird was, one thing was certain—he had not spent a lot of time in this study. While the maids did everything they could to ensure that his entire quarters, including the study and the bathing chamber, were quaint and clean, he could still tell that the books hadn’t been opened in a while.
He remembered seeing some books by the bedside the day he occupied the room for the first time—the same day Keira had walked in and slept next to him without knowing he was there. It became more obvious, just from the sight of the study, that Keira herself must have been the one reading the books and not the former Laird.
“Ye are a most intriguing woman, are ye nae?” Evander whispered, almost to himself. “Every time I learn something new about ye, it’s like I havenae even begun to scratch the surface.”
It sank deeper inside him; the realization that Keira was a temptation—and a brilliant one at that. One he was going to ensure he conquered one way or another.
The baby goat cried from underneath his bed, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He knelt on the floor and peeked under the bed. The creature’s sharp golden eyes stared back at him, and for a moment, they exchanged a look of understanding, of appreciation.
“We need to find ye a place to sleep, do we nae?” Evander muttered to the goat. “Me quarters can only do so much.”
He rose to his feet, a determined look on his face. He would have to find a place for the goat to stay one way or another. There had to be a place in the garden or the courtyard. Some place that would prevent the goat from getting trampled whenever the horses were let out to graze.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door, and he turned to it. “Rory, is that ye?”
“Aye, M’Laird,” Rory’s voice rang clearly through the wood that separated them.
His man-at-arms walked in, and Evander’s eyes almost immediately fell on the handle of the axe in his hand.
“So ye got me message.”
“Aye. What do ye need the axe for? Perhaps I can help ye with it.”
“Nay. ‘Tis something I must do on me own, I’m afraid.”
Evander reached out his hand and could see the mild hesitation on Rory’s face before he handed him the axe.
“Ye can relax. I dinnae plan to kill anyone. Nae yet anyway,” Evander muttered and grabbed the axe tightly.
Without uttering another word, he walked out of the room, feeling his man-at-arms follow right behind him. Their footsteps were coated in nothing but silence and the occasional bleat from the baby goat under his bed.
“I have discovered that the path leading to the Great Hall is littered with large stones. I cannae let people get injured because of those stones,” Evander began, his voice casual and calm, as if he was reciting from a pamphlet.
“But the inhabitants of this castle have lived this way for quite a while. I dinnae think it has ever affected them.”
Evander smirked. “Nae now. But it will.”
Their footsteps echoed off the stone as they made their way to the path leading to the Great Hall. Soon, they got there, and Evander gently kicked at one of the stones—a huge red clump jutting sharply from the floor.
“One would think it had been placed there deliberately.”
“Ye dinnae think Lady Blythe would do that to ye, do ye?” Rory asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Nay. She wouldnae do that. If she wanted to hurt me, she would make certain that it affected me and me alone. This affects her clansfolk as well, so I would assume she didnae see it in the first place.”
Rory nodded.
Evander swung the axe down. The impact of the blade on the stone made it shift. He swung again and again until, one after the other, the stones began to shift out of place. Rory watched from a distance as his master worked.
“Are ye certain ye dinnae want me to take over? I can do the rest by meself,” Rory offered.
