Page 37 of The Iron Earl

“Five.”

“And you’ve been under your stepfather’s care since then? Did she have no other family?”

Evalyn shook her head, her fingers going to her fork. She lifted it, jabbing the tines mindlessly into the crust of the pie.

Lachlan followed her lead, picking up his fork. He ate in silence, studying her with each bite he took, his gaze boring into her.

She didn’t care for it. Didn’t care for telling him anything of herself. The pity she was sure to see if she lifted her eyes to meet his.

But the silence of the table overshadowed the boisterous cacophony bouncing off the fieldstone walls of the dining room. So much silence it was hard to bear.

Evalyn forced what she hoped was a smile on her face and looked up as she lifted a bite of food to her mouth. Her gaze drifted to the window past Lachlan’s head. Sheets of the angry rain that had started an hour ago assaulted the glass.

“How far are we from your estate?”

Lachlan took the second to last bite of his mutton pie, chewing slowly before answering. “Another three days if this rain doesn’t muck up the roads too drastically. I had hoped to be home sooner.”

“The horses looked like they needed a break.” She took a bite of the pie, not able to taste it, though she forced the dry lump down her throat. “Why do you need to get to Vinehill so quickly?”

“There’s a trial in Stirling I need to attend in five days.” He set his fork down on his plate, leaving the last bite of pie. “I had hoped to be home well before it.”

“A trial? Is it someone you know?” She looked down, attempting to cut a fatty piece of mutton with the side of her dull fork.

“It is someone I need to see swinging from the end of a rope.” Lachlan pushed back from the table, standing as he grabbed his tankard of ale and moved away from the table.

Evalyn had barely blinked and he was gone.

Looking up from the mangled piece of stringy meat on her plate, she searched the room. He’d gone straight to the back of the large room, standing and leaning against the bar as he drank from the tankard in his hand, talking to the barmaid that had brought their food. The woman dipped forward, presumably to get something from behind the bar, but more likely to plump up the top swell of her chest. An offering to Lachlan if there ever was one.

She stared at his profile and she realized how handsome he was to not just her—to all members of the opposite sex. Until that moment, he was a key—the key to escaping her stepfather and Mr. Molson. A handsome key, yes, but most importantly, her deliverance.

But watching the barmaid offer herself up so willingly made Evalyn realize just how virile Lachlan was—his face, his body, the whole of him. How he held himself and talked to people, his hazel eyes intent on listening. Intent on understanding. Intent on learning every secret that people held dear.

He’d already pried from her more than enough secrets she held close to her heart.

Evalyn couldn’t look away, waiting with held breath to see Lachlan’s reaction to the creamy bared mounds angled enticingly toward him.

A shadow appeared in front of her.

Without asking, Domnall sat heavy into the chair Lachlan had vacated. “What did ye say to him, lass? Lachlan doesna storm away from women—they usually storm away from him.”

Evalyn pulled her gaze away from the bar to eye Domnall. “Women walk away from him? I doubt that. I doubt women do anything but exactly what he asks of them.”

Domnall chuckled, taking a swig of his ale. “’Tis usually the case, lass. But he doesna possess the charm like some of the men. Gets directly to the point with his propositions, that one.” He pointed with a forefinger flicked out from his tankard toward Lachlan. “And it’s earned him his fair share of goblets of fine sherry tossed in his face.” His eyes twinkled as his look pinned her. “So did ye reverse the roles, lass? Did ye proposition him? Is that why he stormed away?”

She laughed. “No. Nothing of the sort, Domnall. I merely asked him why he has to get back to Vinehill so quickly.”

“Ahh, the trial.” Domnall nodded, leaning forward and setting his thick arms along the edge of the table as his voice lowered. “Aye. That would make him flee. The boy holds that one close to his chest.”

“Boy? He’s not more than ten years younger than you.”

“And that makes him a boy.” Domnall’s mouth stretched wide in a grin. “I do it to rankle the lad. He hates that I’m older and wiser.”

Evalyn chuckled and her look drifted to Lachlan. It looked like he had yet to take the bait of the breasts. Her gaze went back to Domnall. “Lachlan said the trial was for someone he wanted to see hung—what did the man do?”

She jabbed the piece of meat she’d cut away from the fat and plopped it into her mouth as she studied Domnall with hooded eyes. That he’d even come over to her table, offered up what appeared to be normal conversation was welcome, but suspicious.

Anything normal was suspicious. She knew that well.

---