Page 21

E vander stormed into his room, slamming the door shut behind him with no regard as to who could have heard him or not.

What was supposed to be a good time with Keira had suddenly transformed into something unexplainable.

Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Something that tugged greatly at his heartstrings more than it should.

That was the last thing he had expected when he had stormed into her room. He only wanted to confront her about the tapestries, but somehow he managed to come out with even more heartache and the fact that the woman he had admired for a while would not be his.

He sat on one of the chairs in his room, sleep evading him. Why? Why did she manage to keep him awake with these confessions and thoughts about the reality they needed to face?

He looked out his window. The moon was beginning to disappear, which meant in a few moments, it would be dawn. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in thoughts like this. He couldn’t do it. Not here, and not now. He had a cèilidh to plan.

But why wouldn’t thoughts of Keira cease tormenting him? Why was he still thinking about her? What had she managed to do to him in the few days they had gotten closer? Why did the mere thought of a man being with her send him into such a blind rage, when that had always been the plan?

He had promised her that he would help her find a husband.

And he had planned to fulfill that promise at the time he made it.

So what changed in just a few weeks? Why couldn’t he sleep without thinking about her, and what would happen to him if she eventually got married to someone else?

To a man who would definitely not deserve her or know how to properly appreciate a woman like her.

His feet tapped gently on the floor as memories of the past few hours flashed through his mind, warring with the emotions already roiling inside him.

He could still taste her on her lips, feel her around his fingers, how soft and utterly soaked she had been. He could feel the way he had grabbed her, his hands roaming over her body, unable to get enough no matter how hard he tried. He could feel how hard she had made him then—and even now.

This was not supposed to happen. It was not how the plan was supposed to go, but somehow he had found himself in this situation, and he would have to deal with it.

He looked down at his trousers and the bulge that strained against it. He could leave his room now and head back to her. He could take her once again—perhaps that would quell his desire.

Was that what he needed? Another night with her to properly get her out of his system? Maybe if he did, the thought of her marrying another man would not disturb him quite this much.

A groan escaped his lips as he rose from the chair and headed into the bathing chamber, where fresh, cold water waited for him in the tub.

For now, he would submerge himself in the water.

He would think about something else, like the cèilidh and how to get to the root of the matter and find the culprit who had burned his castle.

He would do anything else except think about her, or the night they just had and how he desperately wished they could have it again.

Maybe if he went all the way with her the next time, he would be able to get rid of his pent-up frustration and the tension he felt in his stomach every time he thought of her with another man.

He sank into the bath, the cold water enveloping him and managing to relieve some of the tension that had built up in him since he left her room. A certain part of his body, however, needed more time to cool down, and he blamed Keira for it.

He blamed her for everything. For being so irresistible that he couldn’t help his attraction toward her, for being so snarky and firm in her stances that he couldn’t help but be more drawn to her with every word that escaped her mouth.

Now, he was left with thoughts and a severe dilemma about what he was supposed to do.

“Damn ye, Keira,” he whispered to himself, his voice slightly shaking from the coldness of the water.

He remained in the bath for longer than he had intended, and when he finally was calm enough to step out, the day had broken, and thin bolts of the morning light spread across the night sky.

He could see the morning mist that covered his side of the window as he slipped into his clothes once again.

But then her scent, which had clung to his clothes, filled his nostrils and he was right back to where he had started—unfounded anger, a growing tension that gnawed at every part of his body, and a painful throb between his legs that he couldn’t exactly relieve.

If a cold bath wouldn’t solve the frustration that continued to build up inside him, perhaps a ride through the woods might do it.

He grabbed his sword and finished pulling on his clothes—a white shirt and a pair of leather trousers—and stepped out of his room, the smell of damp earth filling his nostrils as he walked.

Most of the maids and stable boys were already awake, and some gave him the same look they had given him the previous day.

The tapestries still hung from the ceiling, and he had to push some of them away before he got to the door at the end of the passageway. He pushed it open, the morning wind hitting his face.

The faint morning light had grown a bit brighter, casting the entire courtyard into a dim blue hue. His steps quickened as he made his way across the courtyard and toward the stables, stopping for a few moments to check the shelter he had built for Thistle.

He walked to the shelter and kneeled by the entrance, watching the goat bleat softly. He pulled out some stems from nearby shrubs and slipped them in front of the goat, a forlorn look on his face as he watched the creature tuck in.

“Ye dinnae have to worry about anything, do ye? All ye care about is food and sleep,” he mumbled to himself.

As he rose to his feet a while later and made his way back to the courtyard, he began to realize that this was the first time he had acknowledged the burden he had to carry.

He’d never had an issue with finding a wife. The thought had always escaped him. He slept with women, but not once had it ever occurred to him that he would fall in love. He was a soldier, and it meant there was never going to be a happy ending to that story.

Was this what it felt like to be torn between love and duty?

He walked into the stables, acknowledging the stable boys who greeted him with curt nods. He walked toward one of the horses, a white mare. He grabbed the reins and turned to the closest stable boy.

“Has she been fed?”

The stable boy nodded.

Evander pulled the reins, drawing the horse out.

He ignored the puzzled looks from the others as he led the horse out of the stables, feeling the cool morning air on his face once again.

Without hesitation, he climbed on the horse and flicked the reins as hard as he could.

The horse began to move, slowly at first, and then he flicked the reins again.

“M’Laird,” he could hear Rory call from beside him.

He didn’t know when his man-at-arms had arrived, but it was the last thing he had to think about, as he was already moving.

“M’Laird,” Rory called again as he rode across the courtyard and toward the fence.

“I am certain whatever it is can wait till I return, Rory,” Evander called back, his voice fading into the breeze.

Without waiting for a response, he rode out of the courtyard and straight into the woods, the cold morning mist gathering across his face in droplets.