Page 72 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
Another low grunt escaped his lips as he finally let go of the axe, staring at the work he had been doing for what must have been at least thirty minutes. His anger had abated significantly, of course, but there was something else he still needed to do. Something to bring it all down to an incredible extent.
He walked away from the logs and headed to the castle. His feet were quick, and he ignored the maids who saluted him as he crossed the stables and headed toward the courtyard.
The sun was fully up now, and the entire field had been cast in a bright yellow light. Not even the clear skies could break his stride, now that he was aware of what he had to do.
Of course, he had known he would do it since the first day, but now it felt like a divine revelation or something. Like something he had to do now to fully dispel, or at the very least, quell the frustration he had been feeling all morning.
The horse ride had helped him a lot, and cutting the logs did exorcise some of his frustration as well. But now it was his turn to do something else. Something way moredrastic.
A few faces from his clan peered at him as he walked. He found Rory by the goat shelter, watching Thistle munch on some berries.
“Come with me,” he barked, his voice sharp and leaving no room for any kind of question or demand for an explanation.
Rory dropped the berries in his hands and followed, just as Evander had asked. They walked in silence for the next few minutes, the castle doors looming ahead.
“I apologize, M’Laird, but where are we going?” Rory eventually asked, after a brief silence had settled between them.
“To break down the borders. Pull out yer blade,” Evander ordered, reaching for the hilt of his sword as they closed in on the castle doors.
25
“Do ye think this dress needs gloves?” Keira felt the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Stella, who started to tighten the laces at the back of her corset, let out a mild laugh. “Nae necessarily, M’Lady,” she answered, amusement lacing her voice.
“I dinnae ken… I feel like I have to wear more than just this dress, for some reason.”
“I believe the dress on its own is fine, M’Lady,” Stella opined. “’Tis nae like ye’re trying to impress Lady Kincaid, is it?”
“Well, nay, but at the same time, I dinnae want her to think me some kind of prude, ye ken.”
Stella tightened the laces at the middle of her corset, and Keira felt her stomach get squished in a rather weird way. “If she thinks ye a prude merely because of yer dress, I believe that is her problem, nae yers.”
“Ach, well, she is a Kincaid. Ye can never be too careful with any of them. For some reason, I feel like I should attend this lunch with Hudson.”
Stella laughed again. “Ye’re a kind woman, M’Lady. I am certain Lady Kincaid will see that and more. Ye dinnae need to worry about how ye look.”
Keira nodded and let her maid continue to tighten the remainder of the laces of her corset. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the brief encounter she’d had with Evander reverberating in her head like some kind of echo.
Had she spoken too much? Did she say something she wasn’t supposed to say and accidentally trigger something inside him? Had she been living off his mercy all these days, and now with her angry words, he would no longer grant her that grace?
She looked out her window, her gaze sweeping across the courtyard, hoping to find him walking around or doing something at the goat shelter. She could only see Rory standing by the fence, walking slowly back and forth, a mild frown on his face.
“Do ye ken why the Laird’s man-at-arms is standing by the fence?”
“Perhaps he is waiting for the Laird,” Stella suggested.
She stepped back momentarily and grabbed a string of white pearls that rested on the vanity.
“He doesnae ken that the Laird is back?” Keira asked.
“Should I inform him? I can send a maid to tell him,” Stella offered, handing her the string of pearls.
“Dinnae worry. He will find out soon enough,” Keira replied, clasping the string around her neck.
Then, she took a deep breath in front of the mirror, absolutely unsure of what to do with her hands. Her dark hair fell around her face in thick curls, and her eyes shone back at her, briefly reflecting the flickering firelight around her.
“Let me go attend the lunch from hell,” she whispered.
