Page 27

E vander tossed and turned in his bed, the troubling thoughts in his head growing louder by the second. He was tired. He was done with everything. The borders, the silent treatment. And then she had informed him that she would not be attending the cèilidh anyway.

There was only so much he could take, and Keira was beginning to affect him in more ways than one.

What was the point of the cèilidh if she wouldn’t even be there to see it in the first place? Could he still do anything to change her mind?

Not that he knew of. It had been almost two days since he cut down the tapestries, and Keira hadn’t spoken to him about it yet. She always craftily avoided him one way or another, getting pulled into something at the very last minute whenever he tried to approach her.

The sun wasn’t fully out, but the morning light had spread across the sky, and he could see birds flying over the castle through his window.

He grunted and sat up. He barely had an hour of sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The same thing had happened the previous day and the day before that.

He swung the covers off his body and lowered his feet onto the cold, hard floor. He curled his toes against the floor, feeling a wave of dizziness hit him in the back of his head.

It was false hope, and he knew it because the moment he tried to lay his head back and catch some sleep, thoughts of Keira would creep up on him and he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, no matter how hard he tried. He was quite used to that already.

He rose and staggered toward the bathing chamber, the cold morning air slashing across his bare skin like a blade across a loaf of bread, but he didn’t care. The wind could torture his bare body for all he cared—nothing mattered anymore.

He sank into the filled tub and leaned his head against the edge, closing his eyes and letting the cool water do almost all the work for his frayed nerves.

There were now more people in the castle than usual, most of whom were from his clan. He knew the influx of people did not exactly help matters with Keira, but there was little to nothing he could do about it.

A knock sounded at the door.

Because, why not?

“’Tis me, M’Laird,” Rory called.

Evander sighed and heard the door click and creak open. Rory entered, his footsteps growing louder as he approached the bathing chamber.

“I just received word. The Lairds said they were on their way. I have asked the maids to prepare some of the rooms for them.”

“Aye. That is well noted,” Evander grunted, his voice wavering slightly from the cold water.

Rory shuffled his feet and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword as if there was something more he wanted to say. But whatever it was, Evander didn’t plan to encourage him to say it. Whenever he was ready, he would.

“Is that all, Rory?”

“Aye,” Rory responded and spun on his heel.

“Wait!” Evander called, reaching out his hand in a bid to stop Rory, who was already reaching for the door. His man-at-arms halted and turned back to him. “Inform the healer that I would love to see her.”

“Aye,” Rory muttered as he made his way out of the room, leaving Evander to himself and his racing thoughts once again.

Should he not have torn the tapestries? But that was the only way she would have listened to him, and the last thing he needed was those things hung up while the others arrived.

No. No, he was right to do it. The last he should doubt was that decision. The tapestries had been up long enough.

He stepped out of the bath and walked into his room. A wave of thick cold struck his body as he put on his clothes, staring at himself in the mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. Another knock sounded at the door, and he wasted no time in asking whoever it was to come in.

Lesley entered, her piercing blue eyes practically blasting him with judgment before she moved closer to him.

“M’Laird,” she greeted, bobbing the briefest of curtsies before closing the door behind her. He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down gently.

“Ye asked for me?” She asked in a voice that was almost indifferent.

Evander laughed. “I dinnae think we had a one-on-one talk since I arrived at the castle.”

“I am certain there is a reason for that.”

Evander nodded, and Lesley swallowed, almost like she realized she might have snapped a bit too hard at him.

“I apologize, M’Laird. I didnae mean?—”

“I ken what ye meant. I also ken how devoted ye are to her.”

“She is me best friend.”

“That isnae only yer connection to the castle though, is it? I ken yer braither is one of the men. Hudson…”

“Hudson Smith. He’s the lady’s man-at-arms,” Lesley supplied.

Evander noticed her wince as she pronounced the name, but it had come and gone so quickly that he couldn’t help but wonder if he had imagined it.

“Aye. Hudson Smith. I remember he was one of the men who were sent to appease me. His red hair was immediately noticeable. I remember he very strongly opposed surrendering the castle to me. He was fiercely protective of the lady, too. I’m nae surprised she made him her man-at-arms.”

“Well, he was the man-at-arms of the old Laird too. But we have all grown protective of our Lady over the years. She’s the only one who have ever treated us as human beings, if I must be honest with ye. So aye, it’s natural that me braither didnae agree with surrendering the castle.”

“Of course. I havenae seen him in a while.”

Lesley shifted her weight from one foot to another.

“He doesnae like me, does he?”

“I am afraid ye would have to ask him that yerself, M’Laird. Hudson and I dinnae talk about ye—or anything at all.”

Evander nodded again, folding his arms across his chest as the meek healer stood there, her eyes trained on the floor, the furniture—everything but him. He wondered if he should ask her what she meant, what happened between her and her brother, but almost immediately decided against it.

“I havenae been able to sleep for the past three days,” he said instead in a firm voice, breaking the silence. “I have tried everything, but sleep still evades me.”

“I see,” Lesley murmured. “Is there anything in particular keeping ye up at night?”

Evander scoffed. Where was he even supposed to start? “Uh, nae particularly.”

Lesley eyed him carefully. “Pardon me, M’Laird, if I didnae live in the castle, I would most definitely have believed that. But I do live in the castle, so I most certainly dinnae believe ye.”

Evander swallowed, feeling his heart skip a beat. If he’d been that obvious to everyone about Keira, then the lack of sleep might be the least of his problems. He needed to find an excuse. Say something, anything. Maybe a lie to cover up that fact?

He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, unable to muster whatever words he needed to say to her.

Lesley sighed and moved a little closer. “The cèilidh,” she began.

Evander narrowed his eyes at her.

“I ken how stressful it must be, preparing for the cèilidh. That must be the cause of yer lack of sleep.”

Yes. He would go with that.

He nodded slowly. “Aye. The cèilidh. ‘Tis the reason.”

There was no reason to go deeper than the surface.

Lesley moved closer again. “Are ye suffering from headaches?”

“Aye.”

“’Tis from the lack of sleep. I shall prepare some chamomile tea and bring it over to ye. For now, I would advise that ye relax and take some rest,” she continued.

Evander nodded and watched her closely as she spoke, her words well articulated and clear.

It was clear from her stance that she was the perfect friend for Keira. They were both eloquent and had the same drive. He could tell even from the way she spoke that she was fiercely protective of her friend and incredibly devoted to her as well.

“Have ye spoken to Keira in the past few days?”

Lesley cocked her head. “Aye. She came to the apothecary yesterday.”

“How did she seem?”

Lesley’s brow creased, the look on her face filled with mild intrigue and confusion. “Quite well, if I may say,” she responded.

“Ye ken she doesnae plan to attend the cèilidh, I assume.”

Lesley swallowed. “Aye.”

Evander nodded, absorbing that fact. That was as far as he could go in asking about Keira anyway.

Lesley waited a while for him to speak again, and when she realized he would not say anything anymore, she continued, “The chamomile tea will be ready in a few minutes. However, before then, I would also advise that ye dip a towel in water and place it on yer?—”

A knock suddenly sounded at the door, interrupting her. They both turned to the door and watched it creak open. Rory stepped inside, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” Evander asked.

“Me apologies, M’Laird, but ye ken how I told ye earlier that the Lairds are on their way? One of them arrived a bit too early.”

He stepped to the side, and a tall man walked in, his stance domineering. He looked around the room, and when his good eye landed on Evander, he broke into a smile.

“There ye are, Laird Kincaid . ”

Evander rose from the bed. “Arthur?”

“Ye ken another one?” Arthur drawled.

Evander moved closer to him, and they yanked each other into a giant hug. They slapped each other’s backs as they chuckled. Evander could see Lesley and Rory exchanging confused glances.

“I was informed that ye were in yer quarters, and the maids wanted me to wait for ye. I told them to let me in here,” Arthur grunted when they broke the hug.

“Very persuasively too, I might add,” Rory piped up. Evander almost immediately knew what that meant. “Ye wanted to destroy all the food, did ye nae?”

“Desperate times, me friend.” Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

“I see ye have changed yer eye patch,” Evander noted, gesturing at the leather piece on his friend’s right eye. “Ye do that once a year now?”

Arthur tugged at the strap of the eye patch, a smirk playing on his lips. “’Tis now a necessary accessory. I thought I might as well make it fashionable. What do ye think?”

“I think ye have way too much time on yer hands,” Evander snorted.

Arthur shook his head, his smirk still in place.