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Page 34 of Her Highlander’s Darkest Temptation (Highlanders of Cadney #14)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T wo days. He could not believe Evelyn had kept him so long in bed.

Donall scowled as he slid his clan sash over his head, then winced at the pressure of it, slight as it was, against his wounded chest. The wound was sealed, cauterized, and Evelyn assured him it was recovering well, but the burns and the cut itself still ached, even with all of Evelyn’s salves.

Evelyn’s and Lydia’s. According to Clan Ranald’s healer, Lydia had a skillful hand at preparing salves, ointments, tinctures and tonics, and her labels were so clear and distinct that her potions were easy to locate amongst the others in the healer’s stock.

Donall wanted to ask Lydia where she’d learned such skills, and who had taught her, however, there was one highly vexing problem.

He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Lydia at all in the past two days.

In fact, he’d rarely had any chance to see her at all.

A part of that could be blamed on Evelyn’s medicines, for the healer had plied him liberally with painkilling and relaxing tonics to keep him from becoming too restless, but he also had the sense that Lydia was…

not avoiding him, precisely, but avoiding any form of solitary conversation with him.

I was feverish, delirious, according tae Evelyn. Mayhap I said or did something? I dinnae think I did but… there’s nay way tae be certain without speakin’ tae her.

Donall finished dressing, then strode out of the healer’s cottage.

The day outside was a comfortable temperature, with the sun shining overhead and a fair breeze blowing through his hair.

To one side, he heard the clatter and crack of the guards practicing.

Donall’s hand itched with the desire to join them, but Evelyn had forbidden any form of swordplay or combat for at least another day or two.

Alex an’ Ewan will manage the warriors without me, an’ make sure everyone is ready fer what may come.

The sound of soft, feminine voices made Donall turn to look in the other direction. Two of the serving maids were working in the herb garden. Donall started to turn away, when the sparkle of sunlight on cinnamon-colored hair made him turn back.

Lydia. She was working in the herb garden alongside Maisie, the two of them speaking softly to one another as they alternated between working and watching the warriors in the training yard.

Donall followed Lydia’s gaze to the warriors to see who she was watching with such focus.

When he realized who had captured her attention, his stomach lurched.

Lydia’s gaze was trained on Alex, watching as Donall’s best friend led the youngest warriors through a series of exercises. The other man’s shirt had been discarded, and Donall could see the way his muscles were flexing as he moved through the steps, even from where he stood.

A hot, violent spike of jealousy stabbed through Donall’s gut, rendering him almost breathless with the force of it. For a single moment, all he wanted to do was challenge Alex.

What in heaven’s name am I thinkin’? ‘Tis folly.

The spike of anger cooled, and Donall wanted to thump his head against a wall in exasperation. He turned away from the training yard and made his way toward the herb garden.

Maisie saw him coming first and curtseyed, as well as she could with a basket in her arms. “Me laird!”

Lydia echoed her movement a moment later. “My laird.”

“Lydia. A word with ye.” Donall gestured, and the maid fell into step beside him. Donall led her around to a secluded area between the outer wall and the stables, then stopped and turned to face her. “I heard ye stayed with me, while I was fevered.”

Lydia blinked, as if startled, but she answered, her voice wary as she spoke. “Aye. I did, my laird.”

“Evelyn tells me I was delirious.”

Lydia swallowed hard. “You were. You spoke in fever dreams, but there was little I could discern of your words.”

The delicate blush on her cheeks suggested that she wasn’t being entirely truthful with him, but Donall had no desire to pursue the subject.

The faint, scattered recollections that haunted him made it easy to guess what he’d dreamed about, and he had no desire to revisit the memories that must have plagued his dreams.

“It daesnae matter.” Donall reached out to caress Lydia’s cheek. “I didnae wish tae trouble ye about that. I simply wanted tae thank ye, fer carin’ fer me.”

Lydia smiled, and the expression made her pale, slightly sun-touched skin seem to glow with an inner radiance. “You are most welcome, my…”

“Donall. Call me Donall.” He stroked a thumb across her cheek.

“I… that would not be proper.” Lydia blinked at him, blue eyes wide and filled with confusion. “I am only a maid…”

“Ye arenae ‘only’ anything, lass, an’ well ye ken it. Besides, are ye nae Evelyn’s student now as well?” Donall cupped her chin with his hand, heat stirring his blood with a longing he was hard pressed to ignore.

“My la-”

“Donall.” He ran a thumb across her cheek and stepped closer. “Tae ye, Lydia, I am Donall.”

Her lips pursed, brow furrowing lightly with uncertainty. “Donall…”

The sound of his name on her lips sent sparks running through his blood, and the sight of her pursed lips beckoned him to action. Before he could consider whether it was a good idea or not, Donall bent and captured her lips with his own.

The taste of Lydia’s mouth was sweet, wine and fresh bread and the faint taste of honey.

Her scent of heather and the herbs of Evelyn’s cottage enveloped him, drawing him to pull her closer.

Her lips were soft as silk against his own, and her warmth reminded him of the comfort of a fire on a winter’s night.

Donall drew back, and sucked in a deep breath, his gaze focused on her wide eyes and the crimson blush staining her cheeks. Lydia looked as if she had no idea how to respond to his gesture, and Donall felt his stomach clench. Perhaps he had made an error. “Lydia…”

“Donall…”

I was too hasty. Tae her, I am her laird, nae anything else. An’ she might nae ken where me thoughts wandered when I was caught in fever dreams, nor what I realized when I heard her voice banishin’ my nightmares. She may nae feel the same way I dae.

Donall forced himself to smile, despite the slight ache that accompanied that idea. “Thank ye for tak’ng such good care o’ me, Lydia.”

Then, before he could do anything more, especially anything he might regret, Donall turned and walked away.

The library was quiet, and Lydia took refuge in the silence.

Normally, she would have been searching out a book to read for the evening, but tonight, her hand merely skimmed the shelves aimlessly.

Her mind was far too preoccupied with her encounter with Laird Ranald earlier in the day to focus on literature.

He’d asked her to call him Donall, just before he’d…

He kissed me. I cannot believe he kissed me.

Lydia lifted one hand to touch her lips pensively.

Her mouth still tingled with the lingering sensation of Donall’s mouth claiming hers.

If she concentrated, she imagined she could even taste the lingering mingling of mead, medicinal herbs, and rich broth that had filled her senses when his lips met hers.

Lydia closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his warmth wrapping around her. The feel of his hand on her chin, and his slightly roughened lips on hers as he kissed her - they were intoxicating.

She’d been too surprised to react before he ended the kiss and took his leave, and she’d almost regretted it.

On the one hand, she knew she needed to be planning her departure, and that entangling herself further with Clan Ranald and its laird was a foolish thing to do.

But there was also the part of her that recalled her own realizations of a few nights before.

She didn’t want to leave. And she didn’t want to part from Donall, or from the friends she’d made.

But even if Donall shares my feelings, the matter of the falsehoods between us…

“Ye look like a lass with a great deal on her mind.” The warm, friendly voice that intruded into her thoughts was a welcome distraction.

“Laird MacEwen.” Lydia smiled. “How are ye this evening?”

“Well enough, an’ happier fer kenning that Donall is on his feet again, even if he’s snappin’ at everyone like a wounded wolf.

” Laird MacEwen gave a wry smile. “He’s never liked bein’ confined in the healer’s cottage, but this time, it seems he’s especially short-tempered.

‘Tis just as well that he’s been in his study taking care o’ reports fer most o’ the day. ”

Lydia felt her heart skip a beat.

He’s been in a bad mood? Was it because of what happened?

She didn’t dare ask for any clarification, for fear of revealing what had happened in the shadows of the stables between herself and Donall. Instead, she gave Laird MacEwen a sympathetic smile and patted his arm. “I am sorry to hear that he has been in a poor mood.”

“’Tis nay fault o’ yers, lass. He’s never happy bein’ rendered unable tae fight.” Alex shook his head. “An’ in any case, I didnae come in here tae regale ye with me troubles. I came tae relieve yers.”

Lydia blushed and looked away. “’Tis nothing, Laird MacEwen.”

Laird MacEwen’s smile widened, a twinkle of humor in his gaze. “Och, lass, ye can call me Alex, or Alexander. I’ve never been one fer formality.”

“Even so, Laird…”

“Alex. I insist.” He winked at her, and Lydia couldn’t help smiling at his roguish expression.

“Ye insist on what?” A low growl made both of them turn as Donall strode into the light of the hearth fire.

One look at Donall’s expression told Lydia exactly what Laird MacEwen had meant when he said Donall was like a wounded wolf. He actually appeared to be on the verge of curling his lip and snarling. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Lydia an’ I were just speakin’ tae each other. The lass seemed troubled, an’ I thought tae offer a friendly ear.” Laird MacEwen stepped forward, his hands held up in a placating manner.

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