Page 24 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

H e dozed, her rose fragrance intoxicating his senses and her hair tickling his nose.

When she finally stirred, he was awake in a trice. He stood, stretched, yawned, stoked the fire and placed another log on the hearth.

He held out a hand. “Come lass. Ye’ll sleep more comfortably in me bed.”

She shook her head. “Nay. I’m nae longer ill, I’m well enough fer me own cottage. I thank ye, but I fear the wagging tongues of the gossips, and I’m nae ready tae face them yet.”

Dammit. The idea of keeping her close, was lost along with the smoke up the chimney. He nodded, doing his best to hide his disappointment. Of course, she should go back to her cottage. It was only right.

The trouble was, he wouldn’t sleep a wink for worrying about her. And for longing to have her beside him.

He huffed, and reached for his cloak. By the time he’d shoved his feet into his boots and tied the laces, she was wrapped in her cloak, standing at the door, Feather’s little basket in her hands.

“I thank ye fer all yer concern, Everard. Ye have been so kind and I am indebted tae ye once again. I can only hope that ne’er again are ye required tae rescue me from drowning.” She offered a cheeky grin.

“I pray each day that rescuing ye will ne’er again be required.”

She turned to go, but he placed his hand on the latch. “May I have a kiss fer me troubles before ye are gone?”

Without another word she lowered Feather’s basket to the floor and turned up her face, eyes closed.

He swung her into his arms and took her mouth into a long and leisurely kiss. She sighed into his mouth as he pressed her close against him, her soft curves yielding to his hardness in a way that set his pulse racing.

“I shall miss yer warm sweetness beside me,” he managed, as they pulled apart to attend to the small matter of drawing in a breath.

“And I shall miss ye.’

Leveling her glance at him, she met his eyes. He saw the sparkle there and his heart leapt.

“I have business in the village on the morrow. Will ye come wi’ me? I ken ye have business of yer own. Ear bobs? Ribbons?”

Laughing, she nodded. “Ye’re right. I will accompany ye, I have a purse tae spend.”

“Ye’ll nae be afraid tae cross the bay?” With his newfound understanding of her aversion to water in its many forms, he had to ask. To say nothing of how the last attempt on her life made by MacKinnon may have left her even more terrified than before.

She shook her head, offering a shy smile. “Now I ken why I have had such a fear, I believe it will help me tae overcome it. Aileen was showing me how tae sail the bay. Mayhap if I accompany ye, ye could give me another lesson.”

He bowed from the waist. “Happy tae give ye yer second sailing lesson, melady. And happier still tae keep ye close, where we can safeguard ye. Aileen and Maxwell will be there and I shall leave ye with them while I entertain me business.”

She threw him a curious glance, but he was not yet ready to speak of the business he had with the tinker. That would depend on what news the lad brought him.

They walked together to her cottage, Everard holding Feather’s basket. His senses were thrumming at her nearness and he would have wished nothing more than for her to spend the night in his bed. But she spoke wisely. He didn’t wish the servants to spread gossip. A shadow encircled his heart as he thought of the gossip reaching the ears of Murchadh MacKinnon.

He handed her his candle as they entered the cottage and with it, she lit the wick of another small candle by her bed. Taking her in his arms, he dropped little kisses in her hair and one on the tip of her nose.

“Sleep tight, little enchantress.” He reluctantly released her from his embrace

He was about to turn and take his leave when, to his delighted surprise, she stood on tiptoe and, as he dipped his head, managed to land a playful kiss on the tip of his nose.

“And ye also, me laird.”

His heart was full as he walked across the courtyard and entered the keep. He understood now the depths of sadness and pain she’d endured and determined to do all that was in his power to see to it that her life, from now on, was filled with naught but sunshine.

Despite his wish for sunshine, the clouds had gathered and the morrow dawned in grey light, with a smirr quite settled in – the very rain that slowly dampened every bit of one’s being. This was a poor day to attend the market, but Everard was not diverted from his plan to visit the tinker, Jacob.

He found Davina in the Infirmary preparing a list of the herbs and salves Broderick wished her to procure. She swiveled as Everard stepped through the door and her face lit with a smile. He felt his own smile creasing his face. He only had eyes for Davina and he’d almost forgotten Broderick’s presence when the lad cleared his throat.

“Me laird, I’d be much obliged if ye could stretch yer purse tae purchase the items on Mistress Davina’s list.”

Everard nodded. “Of course, lad, I see ye’ve little remaining on yer shelf.”

“I am much obliged, as I’ve nay a surfeit of goods tae trade wi’. He grinned, “Mayhap when next he visits, I’ll have a jar or two and a packet of tisanes tae trade.”

With her cloak fastened, Davina hastened after Everard, shutting the door before Feather could scamper after them.

Davina looked around with a soulful expression on her sweet features. “I dinnae like leaving her.”

Everard laughed. “She’ll dae well. Broderick and Ailis will see tae her.”

Once they’d arrived at his small boat, Davina insisted on untying the mooring rope. Stepping in she wobbled, clutching his sleeve, but her satisfied smirk did not falter. As they were pushing out, Maxwell and Aileen came blustering down the slipway to follow them across the bay.

Reaching the shore, Everard plied his oars so that the flat-bottomed craft was almost on the sandy shore before he lowered them. They were close enough for Davina to leap over the side without wetting her boots.

He hauled the boat onto the beach and Davina insisted on tying the knot to moor them to the post. Everard breathed a sigh of relieve at her bonny humor and the sparkle in her eyes. He’d been afeared she might not be able to face up to the trip across the water after what she’d been through only days before.

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I am proud of yer bravery lass.”

She met his gaze, her green-gold eyes holding steady. “I thank ye, me laird. Now that I understand where me fear started, I can face it. Before I thought it was a weakness in me. Some imp that had entered me soul and made me afeared.”

He snaked an arm around her waist, drawing her close. “I understand,” he said gently. “Dinnae be afeared again. Ye’re courageous and strong.”

Maxwell and Aileen appeared beside them, having already moored their boat. They were both grinning, eyebrows raised, directing their gaze to the way Everard was holding Davina.

As they walked along the path to the village, he took her arm and placed it in the crook of his elbow, so that they proceeded like any high-born lad and his lady.

As they entered the crowded fair, he looked around warily for any folk not going about the business of the fair. It seemed everyone from across the island and beyond had gathered, despite the weather, to browse and purchase, or to trade livestock and produce. They passed tables groaning with pots of jams, pickles, and preserves, or tranches of bacon and hams, dried fish, bundles of seaweed. The air was filled with the cackling of chickens, pigs squealing, the lowing of cattle, as the farmers bought and sold and traded.

Finally, they came upon the tinker, his wee donkey standing patiently back, beside the small cart where Jacob had set up his wares.

Davina clapped her hands and took out the soft purse she’d won. Everard had made sure it was filled with sufficient coin for her to purchase whatever took her fancy. Although, he suspected her hankerings would be modest enough. His pleasure was in seeing the delight in her eyes as she studied the wares before her and kept the tinker busy as she went over Healer Broderick’s list.

Aileen waited as Davina held up each item for inspection, nodding with approval or shaking her head until the final choices were made. Maxwell stood by, his arms folded, his gaze searching the faces of the folk milling around. He was ever watchful for any sign of the MacKinnon plaid, or any strangers among the purposeful crowd.

Everard waited until Davina had finally settled on the combs and ear bobs she’d been hoping for, and a handful of ribbons of different colors.

After she’d made her purchases and filled her basket with the herbs and other items for the infirmary, she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Take care, lass.”

She smiled. “I will be safe, in good company, awaiting ye in the tavern, while ye engage wi’ yer business.” As she strolled away, arm-in-arm with Aileen, and Maxwell a step behind, Everard experienced a moment’s panic. He shook his head to dispel the creeping fear. His brother would not allow any harm to come to the precious lass.

Jacob-the-Tinker closed the lid on his handcart and stepped away to a private space beneath the spreading branches of a nearby tree.

“Have ye news?” Everard could scarcely contain his impatience. After all that had taken place with MacKinnon and his men, and following Davina’s revelations of her father’s murderous rage, he was desperate to find out if Jacob had gleaned anything further from the Priory.

Jacob looked around as if fearful of being overhead.

“What is it, lad?”

“What I learned is only fer yer ears, me laird. The nun who told me the tale was sore afraid of what she’d done. She said it was a story she’d held inside fer nine years, and it was burning a hole in her soul.”

“And she feared God’s wrath?”

Jacob snorted. “Nay. She feared the Prioress and the second in command at Iona. They had kept the secrets and forbidden her tae speak what she kent.”

Everard huffed. “Ye have me word that I’ll nae reveal where I learned the story. I’ve nae interest in causing trouble fer a wee nun. I simply wish tae hear it.” He glared at the man. “Out with it!”

Jacob began his tale.

“It seems that the night the child ye enquired after was brought to the Prioress, it was dark and late. At first the nun thought the child had already passed and was brought fer some holy ministrations.”

“But she lived.”

“Aye. The nuns nursed her back tae health.”

“But who was the lad who had brought her?”

“He was the son of the Laird MacKinnon of Mull. A lad named Tòrr. He was the child’s half-braither.”

Everard could not contain a gasp. “ Half-braither ?”

“Aye. According tae the lad, they shared a mother, but the laird was nay the father tae the wee lass.”

Everard scratched his head. The story was beginning to fall into place.

“The lass was tae be kept hidden from the laird’s wrath, never tae be told of her true parentage.”

Of course, this was why the MacKinnon had such a deep hatred for the wee lass. She was a constant reminder of his wife’s infidelity. Her very existence meant that his cuckolding was an ever-present torment, one that he could never erase while the child remained alive.

Everard reeled at this discovery.

Tying this news to what he’d learned from MacIver’s visit to Pabhay brought him to one looming possibility.

Murchadh Mackinnon had married the lass who loved his cousin Dùghall. Could it be that Everard’s earlier suspicion was correct? That Davina was the lost daughter Dùghall had been searching for?

He took a deep breath, pondering this. He needed time to let it all fall into place so he could decide on a plan. What he would not do, was tell this story to Davina.

Jacob looked at him questioningly.

Everard took out the purse and counted out the coins he’d promised, plus two more as a reward for Jacob’s success. “I thank ye and I am obliged fer yer discretion. Nay one save ye and meself will ken any of this tale.”

He left the tinker and made his way through the village, his eyes raking the crowd unsure of who it was he sought but, somehow, certain he’d ken the man if he saw him. He entered the tavern where the others were waiting. The landlord placed a tankard of ale before him.

Maxwell regarded him with a puzzled expression.

“What is it, braither?” His voice was low enough that Davina and Aileen who were going over the contents Davina’s basked, were unable to hear. “Ye’re as white as a salted cod. Did ye receive bad news?”

“I cannae say if ‘tis bad news or nae. I’ve learned some of Davina’s story, which I’ll tell ye in good time.”

Maxwell nodded, clearly aware that whatever news Everard had received, was not for Davina’s ears.

“One thing I am certain of,” Everard muttered. “We must find Dùghall Mackinnon without delay.”

“Ah.” Maxwell gave a knowing nod. “I’ll go now and ask our taverner tae keep his eye out fer the man.”

Everard raised his tankard and took a long draft. “He can spread the word among the villagers. If anyone sees him, he’s tae send him at once tae Kiessimul.”

Davina turned from Aileen and smiled at him. “Ye’re very serious me laird, did ye receive bad news from yer business?”

Captured by the sparkle in her eyes and the pink flush in her cheeks he returned her smile. She brushed back a wayward strand of auburn hair from her forehead and, suddenly, all he could think of was those enchanting lips on his.

“Nay, Mistress Davina. On the contrary, I received news that has set me pondering.”

In fact, the news he’d received had settled his intention to make Davina MacKinnon his. Only when she was the bride of the MacNeil could he be certain she would never fall into the clutches of the evil man who she believed was her father.