Page 25 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

E vie perched on the bed. Her insides twisted into a tight knot. She didn’t know Hamish that well, but the idea that he was gone was like a knife to her heart.

“Callum, what happened out there?”

His expression was stony as he continued to stare at the wall hangings. He dropped his hand to his side and clenched his jaw, the muscles working there as he decided how to answer.

“We rode out to meet them. There were a dozen of them.”

She quickly did the math. Callum, his father, and his brother were sorely outnumbered and yet they battled them anyway.

“Da with his claymore,” he added. “And Malcolm, too.”

His eyes took on a faraway look as he remembered.

She glanced at his hand, saw the blood and mud still caked there under his nails and warded off a shudder.

Her imagination ran wild with images of him swinging his sword.

She hadn’t any idea what a claymore looked like, but she assumed it was a big-ass sword.

“And you, too?” she asked.

“Aye. We dinnae expect to use them.” He paused, swallowed hard. “We dinnae even have time to dismount before they were on us, swinging their swords and trying to kill us.”

She shivered as a chill crawled through her. She couldn’t bear the thought of Callum dying.

“Da is—was—skilled with a sword. He killed three of them straightaway. And Malcolm, too. He’s good with a sword.”

He paused a moment and then continued on with his story. They were outnumbered, sure, but they held their own. When Rory MacDonald swung his great axe, it connected with his father’s gut, nearly slicing him in two.

“He said that was a warning,” Callum said, turning to look at her. “That he would be back to wipe out the rest of us in time.”

Fire blazed in his bright blue eyes. Fire and anger and hatred. There was a lot of hate between the two clans.

“That great axe is what killed my da.”

She had no reason to disbelieve him, but she did have a question. “How could the great axe of Rory MacDonald be in this image?”

“Mayhap it was passed down to him from his ancestor. The way Da talked, the Shattering happened long ago.”

“How long ago?”

“Centuries. During the dark times.”

She stared at the tapestry. The one of her sister’s image was clearer. She walked to that one, standing close to get a better look at it. Behind her, Callum lit the candles in the room to give it more illumination. He stood behind her, peering over the top of her head at the image.

“Yer sister?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

The shadowy figure was behind her and still had not become clear.

“This wasna here before,” he said.

“No,” she agreed. She glanced to the wall hanging next to the one of her sister.

It was still devoid of an image as were the remaining hangings.

“The images are moving and changing as time goes by. Do you think this is showing what will happen next?” She pointed to the one of Chloe and the shadowy figure.

He said nothing but a hmm deep in his throat.

She felt the rumble of his chest behind her.

It sent a delicious little shiver through her.

It made all her parts stand up and take notice.

As much as she wanted to turn and fall against him, she forced herself to remain in place.

She craned her neck to look up at him. Though she had stood next to him before, she was still amazed at how tall and broad he was.

His gaze was fixed on the wall hangings as he looked at each and every one of them. She wondered then if he still didn’t believe in the prophecy or what he saw there. His hand slipped into his sporran and then he froze.

“The keystone…” His face drained of color. There was an unmistakable panic in his voice. “It was in my sporran when I rode out to face the MacDonalds.”

Hot pinpricks of fear pounded through her. His gaze met hers and she saw the alarm deep in them. Alarm that she also felt within her, shuddering through to the marrow of her bones.

“’Tis gone.”

She kept the foul swear word she wanted to say bottled up. Instead, she bit her bottom lip and sucked in a deep breath through her nose, then expelled it, trying to remain calm.

“It must have fallen out while you were fighting. We need to look for it.”

She darted around him and headed for the door, but he caught her by the hand and pulled her to a stop.

She turned to face him, the fear pounding hard and fast within her now.

That stone was her lifeline to the future—how she was able to return home to see her sister again.

If MacDonald had it, then she was screwed.

“’Tis no use, lass. It’s dark now. We’ll never see it without daylight.”

“But what if—”

“I ken what yer going to say. And I agree. What if they found it? Even if they do have it, there is naught to be done about it now.”

She clenched her jaw to keep from lashing out at him. It wasn’t his fault he lost it. Well, it was, but she didn’t want to blame him. She shoved aside those negative feelings and merely nodded.

“In the morn, we will look for it,” he said, then headed for the door.

“And if we don’t find it, then what? We’ll go after it, won’t we?” she asked. She tried hard to hide the sheer terror that arose in her voice.

He paused to look at her over his shoulder. He said nothing. But the grim expression on his face told her everything she needed to know. If the MacDonalds had it, there was no way to retrieve it.

“We will search in the morn,” he said again, as if that was the final word on the matter.

There was nothing for her to do but watch him go.

Frustration edged through her. She wanted answers now but she wasn’t going to get them.

She turned back to the tapestries, clutching her elbows and peering at her sister’s face.

If that keystone was lost, then what was to become of her? Would she ever get home again?

Heaving a sigh, she climbed onto the bed, curling into a ball, and squeezing her eyes shut. Before long, she was asleep.

*

Sometime during the night, she awoke. Her stomach rumbled from the pain of hunger.

She shoved off the blankets, her feet on the cold stone floor.

There was no fire to warm the chamber and gooseflesh blossomed on her legs and arms. She realized she was still fully dressed.

Roslyn hadn’t come to help her into her nightclothes and at some point, she must have kicked off her shoes.

Thick stockings kept her feet from turning into ice cubes.

A candle blazed in a candleholder near the bed.

She picked it up and headed out of the chamber in her stocking feet, wondering if there was any food to be had.

She found her way to the kitchen. No one was about.

She spied a half-eaten loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth.

Then she recalled the larder and headed down there to grab the wheel of cheese.

When she returned to the kitchen, she placed the cheese and the candleholder on the work table, then rummaged around until she found a knife.

When she was alone, after Chloe had deserted her for her job in Edinburgh, Evie often had late night snacks that consisted of cheese and crackers and sometimes wine.

She was trying to drown her sorrows in snacks and wine.

She didn’t see any wine, although she didn’t need to be drinking in this strange place.

As she cut slices of bread and then cheese, Callum entered the kitchen looking half asleep and rumpled and so handsome she nearly swooned.

He was wearing clean clothes and looked as though he had had a bath to finally wash away the blood and grit of the earlier battle.

Their eyes met and for a moment, they merely stared at each other in silence.

She told herself there was no sense in bringing up the location of the keystone. Now was not the time and she didn’t want to fight about it. She wanted peace and quiet and snacks.

“Och, I dinnae ken ye were here, lass.”

“I was looking for a midnight snack.” She waved toward the bread and cheese. “Want some?”

He ran a hand over his face, his skin bristling against the growth of beard on his cheeks and chin. “Aye.”

She sliced more bread and cheese, portioning it to split between the two of them.

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a flask of something that looked like wine.

So much for not drinking. He poured two cups full and handed her one while she slid his serving of bread and cheese toward him.

They stood there, in the medieval kitchen at the work table, munching on their midnight snacks and drinking wine and saying nothing.

But that was all right with her. It was a comfortable silence.

Not every second had to be filled with someone talking.

Chloe would hate it. She hated prolonged silence. Thinking of her sent a pang of homesickness through her.

“What are ye thinking, lass?” he asked.

She glanced up at him. “How do you know I’m thinking anything?”

“I see it in yer face.”

She flushed hot. There it was. She was never any good at hiding her emotions. She dragged her lower lip through her teeth as hesitation skipped through her.

“I dinnae mean to pry.”

“You didn’t,” she said quickly. “I was thinking of my sister. She’s a chatterbox. I was thinking how much she would dislike the silence and try to come up with something to talk about to fill it.”

“Chatterbox?” He tilted his head to one side in question.

“You know. Someone who likes to talk a lot.” She waved a piece of cheese in the air as if that would explain it.

“Ah,” he said, giving a nod of understanding. There was a long pause, then he said, “I dinnae thank ye.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“For taking care of me before.”

She wasn’t certain, but she thought a bit of pink colored his cheeks, as though he had never had a woman care for him the way she did. She didn’t do much, if anything.

“You mean cleaning your hands?”

“Aye.”

Now it was her turn to flush. She didn’t know why she did it but something inside her made her want to do it.

When he returned to the chamber with that look of grief on his face, she was compelled to do something.

A small kindness that would ease the pain of his loss, though she knew from experience nothing would ever ease the pain of losing a parent to an untimely brutal death.

She fiddled with a piece of bread. “Oh, that wasn’t anything special. I wanted to help.”

“It meant a lot to me.” His gaze pinpointed her with a smoldering look that made her want to squirm.

But she didn’t. She remained standing still, her heart doing a weird thud in her chest she had never experienced before. She reached for the cup of wine and drained it, then ate more cheese and bread to keep from getting totally drunk.

“I’m glad I helped,” she said around a mouthful.

He moved from his side of the table toward her.

Heat washed over her as he neared. She was unsure what he meant to do, so she remained perfectly still as he approached her.

He reached for her hand, taking it in his once again.

Something he was doing more and more and something she was starting to like more and more.

“Ye did more than help.”

“I did?” She blinked up at him, her pulse racing at rapid speed. She was sure he was able to see it pounding.

“Aye, lass. Ye dinnae ask questions or make demands of me. Ye were there for me when I needed ye to be.”

“Well, I…” Her words trailed off. She paused, swallowed hard. “I wanted to be there for you.”

His other hand reached for her, resting on the side of her neck.

His skin was warm and wonderful against hers.

Her head tipped back as she looked up at him.

He towered over her by several inches. She never thought she would like to have a man so much taller than her.

Until now. A breath shuddered out of her as she licked her lips.

His gaze landed there, then back up to hers as he leaned in. Closer. Closer still.

Her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her.

Soft, sweet, short. Way too short. It was nothing more than the brush of lips against hers.

But enough to let her know she wanted more of that.

She resisted pulling him to her and mashing her mouth against his because that wasn’t the ladylike thing to do.

She realized that in the medieval world things were different.

So, she allowed the brush of his mouth against hers.

Then he released her and walked away. Leaving her standing there, alone, in the kitchen with her heart racing and her blood pumping and desire flooding her.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured. She snatched up the remaining cheese and bread and decided to head back to bed.