Page 7 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER SEVEN

D avina was tired. Her back ached after a day tending the garden, and her head ached after tending several folk who had turned up with only the mildest of injuries. A young mother who’d brought her bairn with a tiny scratch on his hand from a kitten, a limping grey-hair whose knee was aching, and an older woman who complained of nightmares.

Going through Broderick’s supplies in the infirmary she’d found an aloe salve for the bairn’s finger, prepared a poultice for the old man’s knee with a suggestion that he find a place in the sun to rest his leg for a while. She gave the stout woman a package of dried passionflower and sent her home with instructions to brew a small amount each night to drink before she went to sleep.

All-in-all, she was quite certain each of them had only visited the infirmary to settle their curiosity about this new helper of Broderick’s.

Nonetheless, almost miraculously, her aches vanished with the unexpected appearance of Laird Everard. It was impossible to keep herself from smiling as he stopped by, enquiring about her day. She was delighted at the idea of joining the others for super.

After he’d departed, she left her herbs in the infirmary and hastened to her own cottage to tidy herself and scrub every trace of soil from under her fingernails. She took off her grubby pinafore, smoothed out the creases in the linen kirtle and tunic, and brushed her hair.

She was reaching for her woolen cloak, when there came a gentle tap on the door. It was Aileen.

“I thought ye may have forgotten where tae find the solar, so I’m here tae show ye the way.”

Davina smiled at the thoughtful gesture. “Thank ye. I am certain I would have been lost. I have yet tae become familiar with all the corridors and passageways of the castle.”

And there was that tiny fluttering inside at the prospect of taking supper in the company of Laird Everard. She puzzled again over whatever that unaccustomed pleasant feeling could mean as she had never felt like that before.

They entered to solar to find Everard and his brother lounging by the fire in two comfortable chairs. They were laughing as she and Aileen strolled in. Somehow, she’d expected Everard to be busy with more important matters. It hadn’t occurred that he might include some moments of leisure in his day.

The two men rose to their feet and bade them good-evening, waiting as Davina and Aileen took their seats in the armchairs beside them.

In the center of the solar was a round timber table covered in a cloth and with spoons and knives laid out. There was a small jug at the center containing a posy of wildflowers and pansies.

Like the other rooms, the air was scented with lavender and a hint of smoky peat from the fire.

The men resumed their conversation as Davina and Aileen took their seats. They started discussing the trade agreements the laird had been negotiating during his time on the Isle of Mull.

Aileen intervened. “Ye are right tae be wary. The MacNeils’ connection with the privateers of the Island of Canna is well kent. After all, it is ye, Everard, who assisted the petition tae King Robert granting their ships’ right-of-way. Dinnae think Alexander MacDougall is unaware of this and doesnae curse ye fer it.”

When hearing the name ‘Alexander MacDougall’, something hazy stirred in her memory, awakening a decidedly unpleasant feeling and causing the breath to hitch in her throat.

Everard was quick to notice her concern.

“What is it lass? Ye’ve turned pale as a wee snowdrop.” He reached over and poured some ale from the jug on the small table beside his chair and offered the cup to Davina. Her hand was trembling as she took hold of the mug.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and sipped the ale before speaking. Everard, Maxwell and Aileen were focused anxiously on her as she struggled to find words.

“I dinnae ken. It was the name of MacDougall. A feeling came over me when I heard the words. It was as if a shadow passed over me heart.” She shuddered. “I ken the name. It came up from some dark depth of me mind when ye spoke it.”

Glancing from Aileen and Maxwell her eyes came to rest on Everard’s face and the concern in his blue eyes.

As she met his gaze a flow of warmth coursed through her. Comfort. Safety. Care.

When he spoke, his voice had lost its brusque tone. “It seems there is a thread between MacDougall and the past ye cannae recall.”

“I believe that is so.” She nodded slowly. “Yet what I ken is that MacDougall is a bad man. If he has somehow touched me past, it is not fer good but fer evil.”

Aileen leaned over and patted Davina’s hand. “Dinnae fret, lass. Mayhap more of yer memory will return and ye will uncover the truth of yer past. But dinnae be afeared. Although we are forced tae negotiate with MacDougall and assume a cordial association with the man, he is nay friend tae me MacAlpin Clan, nor tae the MacNeils. Yer words will stay with us. Laird Everard will continue tae keep ye safe from those who might dae ye harm.”

Everard gaze into the fire. He leaned his elbows on his knees, lost in thought.

After some minutes had passed, he sat back in his chair and turned to Davina. “MacDougall has long held an affinity with the Island of Mull and its clan. I recall that it was on Mull that those two brutes came seeking ye. Mayhap we must pay more attention tae the isle and ensure we keep our wits about us when we next venture there.

Maxwell nodded. “And, of course it is almost spitting distance from the Isle of Iona.”

No one spoke. Davina remained quiet, letting all this newfound information settle into her thoughts. Somewhere, there was a connection between all of that, that might lead her to unlock the memories hidden so deep inside her. The question uppermost in her mind was, Dae I want tae ken?

Their mood lightened as the door opened and a retinue of serving maids trooped in with an array of dishes for their supper. They laid pewter plates on the table and set out bowls and platters of delicacies, the like of which Davina had never tasted or even seen before.

To start there was an assortment of delicate mushroom pastries and noodles with sheep’s cheese. The lentil and barley pudding she found especially delicious. After that she waded through large helpings of a chicken dish followed by a fish pie. But, for her, the sublime treat was the apple pudding.

“Ye’ve an appetite, Mistress Davina,” Everard observed with a smile, offering her a dish of honey-walnut candies. Even though she could hardly manage another mouthful, she found them impossible to resist.

There was wine to drink and a taste of the delicious mead the Laird and his brother brought from the Isle of Vatersay that same day.

As they again took their places by the fire, Davina could hardly summon a word.

“Did ye enjoy yer supper?” Aileen enquired, smiling.

“Aye. ‘Twas more delicious than any I’ve eaten before.” Noting Everard’s and Maxwell’s smiles, it occurred to her that she had most likely made a proper pig of herself with her overriding enjoyment of the feast.

She giggled, caring little for her display of gluttony. Lord knew how long she would be able to remain at the castle and such a rare treat was to be savored to the fullest extent.

“The convent served us only gruel and stale oatbread on most days. Rarely did they serve us meat. Even then, it tended to be little more than a dry and gristly mouthful. And there were never…” she paused to shake her head dolefully. “…any sweets.””

“That explains it.” Everard chuckled softly. “I understand now where yer sweet tooth comes from.”

“Oh? Ye’ve noticed?” The familiar flush heated her cheeks. It was not embarrassment, but rather her realizing that the laird had been taking note of her penchant for sweetmeats. She had no idea how to make sense of this new discovery. He’d been taking notice of her – as if she was someone. It hadn’t occurred he might be paying attention to her, as she was to him. Curious as this was, she was certain her didn’t feel the strange melting inside she experienced whenever he was near.

She cast a glance at him and met his eyes. There was something there she’d never seen in another’s gaze. His blue eyes had darkened to indigo. The darkness in his gaze caused something tightly held inside her to begin what she could only think of as unravelling – a kind of pleasant loosening, as if all of her was turning to liquid.

He was the first to look away.

It was only then Davina saw both Aileen and Maxwell watching what had passed between them. Their faces held rather perplexed expressions.

She took another sip of the fine French wine she’d been served. Something else she was quite unused to. It made her head spin and caused her to feel a little giddy.

Hardly taking notice of what was being said between the others, she registered something being said about another trip Maxwell and Aileen were planning, before a wave of tiredness washed over her. She yawned, placing a hand delicately over her mouth.

Everard looked up. “Och lass. Ye must be tired out. Ye are still nae completely well from yer… er… travail.” She was grateful he did not mention drowning or seasickness or her terror of the sea, in front of the others. “Ye need yer rest.”

Aileen got to her feet at once. “Come Davina, I shall walk ye back tae yer cottage and see ye have all ye need.”

Davina rose and bobbed a curtsy to Maxwell and to Everard.

“I thank ye fer a most pleasant evening. And…” she gave a cheeky smile to the laird, “… especially fer those delectable honey-walnuts.”

Both men said their goodnights as she and Aileen walked out.

As the door to the solar closed behind them, Davina had the distinct impression she caught Maxwell’s voice mentioning her name.

Maxwell stood and put another log on the fire, stoking the coals.

“Mistress Davina is a charming young lady, is she nae?”

Everard grunted. He had a bad feeling his brother was on the brink of merging into territory that he was not comfortable discussing.

Maxwell gave him a knowing look, one eyebrow cocked. “And she’s a great beauty too.” He paused, keeping his eyes on his brother. “But I daresay ye’ve noticed all of this already, me laird.”

Another grunt.

“Mayhap I’m wrong, but I thought I discerned ye looking at her with a special interest this evening.”

Everard pshawed loudly. “Indeed. Ye are wrong, braither. I’ve had nay thoughts of the lass other than it is me duty tae keep her safe.”

Maxwell continued airily, a slight smile of disbelief on his face. “’Tis good tae hear, braither. Ye well ken ‘tis past time fer ye tae wed. I’m younger, yet I am wed now. Surely ye are thinking of siring an heir, a wee lad who’ll grow tae take yer place as laird one of these days.”

“I’ve nay consideration of being wed. So, ye may ask yer questions, but me answer will always be the same. As ye are well aware, the customs of Highland hospitality insist that I treat the lass well and look tae her safety. I intend paying nay more attention tae Mistress Davina than tae any other guest under me roof.”

“’Tis wise of ye. We ken naught of her background. When ye wed, ye’ll need tae be thinking of joining wi’ another clan that will bring advantage tae the MacNeils.”

Everard chortled. “As ye’ve done, binding us tae the MacAlpin pirate Clan.”

“Well, may ye laugh,” Maxwell said crossly. “But ye already ken me marriage tae Aileen has brought the Clan great advantage wi’ the privateers as our allies.”

“Hm. Mayhap ye’re right.” Everard stood and gave the fire an unnecessary poke. “I ken ye and Aileen are happy, but that’s nae reason tae inflict anyone else wi’ the idea of marriage.”

Maxwell offered a grin. “I swear I’ll say nay more on the subject if it makes ye growl.” He raised his cup. “I fancy a wee dram of that fine whisky ye’ve hidden away in yer cupboard.”

Relieved that his brother had been diverted from the subject of Davina, Everard crossed to the carved oak sideboard, brought down the decanter of whisky and took it back to the table. He poured a dram into each cup and passed one to Maxwell.

He raised his cup. “ Slàinte mhath , braither. Tae the good health of ye and yer lovely bride.”

“ Slàinte mhath ,” his brother responded with a grin.

Everard sipped the amber liquid, enjoying the burn as he swallowed and the spreading warmth that followed. He had no intention of letting his brother know just how much he was tormented by thoughts of Davina.

It was not only his protective impulse and his concern for her vulnerable plight that had captured him.

He was enchanted by the quick smile that danced on her lips and the dimple in her cheek that sometimes appeared when she was amused. When his gaze met her golden eyes with their long, dark lashes, a desperate need to take her in his arms took hold of him. Then there was the urge for his fingers to trace her soft smooth skin, for his lips to caress the tempting arch of her neck, and to cover her plush lips with his mouth.

All of these, combined with the husky sound of her voice, her delicate wildflower scent and, now and then, a soft giggle, set his pulse racing and started up that damned twitch in his groin whenever he was with her.

As if all that wasn’t bedeviling enough, thoughts of Davina had begun keeping him awake at night tossing under his covers, stirring his blood, hardening his manhood.

And then, there were the dreams…