Chapter 11 #2
The implication was clear. For whatever reason, Evelina’s visitors had left plaids when they departed.
Or they’d kept them here for when they returned.
Either way, there were a great number. Some she recognized, the weave and colors marking them as Hebridean.
Others she’d never seen, but was sure they hailed from distant places.
“I see you understand.” Evelina took the seat across from her. “My lord could come from any of these isles. He could also be from as far away as Inverness or the great city of Aberdeen. Men of worth, and war, can travel far.”
She paused to sip her wine. “Their needs journey with them, my lady.”
“What of their hearts?” Isolde frowned. “Does this man not care for you?”
“In his way, to be sure.” Evelina glanced out a nearby window, a small smile playing across her lips.
It was gone when she turned back to Isolde.
“I appreciate your kindness,” she said. “You have a place in my heart, always. For that reason, and others, I will not allow you to suffer the pain and havoc that would visit you should you attempt to champion me.”
“I would not care.”
“You should.” Evelina closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. “Would that all were as pure-hearted as you. But they are not, so it must be enough to know your generosity is much appreciated.”
Isolde curled her hands around her own wine cup and stared at the tabletop. “Of late I feel anything but generous, and certainly not pure-hearted.”
“Your intentions are noble.”
Isolde looked up. “And the means?”
“Ah, well.” Evelina ran her finger around the rim of her cup. A wistful look settled on her face, making her appear years younger. “Did you know, once when I yet lived in Glasgow and was the… er… guest of a great and noble lord, I heard the bards sing Donall the Bold’s praises?”
“You did?”
“Indeed.” Evelina’s eyes twinkled. “There wasn’t a storyteller in that fine city who couldn’t recite a rousing tale about your MacLean’s valorous deeds.”
Isolde gulped her wine. “He isn’t mine.”
“A shame, that.” Evelina leaned forward. “It was claimed he is hot-blooded enough to please ten women at once.”
The wine cup almost slipped from Isolde’s fingers. “I find him arrogant and rude.”
Sitting back, Evelina lifted a brow. “Can you blame him?”
Isolde glanced aside, not liking how her chest suddenly felt so constricted. But her friend’s raised brow reminded her too much of the looks the MacLean gave her. Equally disturbing, her words sounded like Devorgilla’s.
“I blame him for much, as you should know.” Agitation coiled in Isolde’s belly. Something in Evelina’s eyes made her stiffen and caused a line to knit between her brows. “He is a blackguard, wholly mannerless, and-”
“He is a man held against his will, and kept in deplorable circumstances if I know your elders.”
“Who holds your loyalty?”
“Why, you both do, of course.” Evelina looked at her as if her answer made perfect sense.
“What?” Isolde blinked. “It was you who feigned a twisted ankle to trap him.”
“A weak moment, my lady.” Evelina refilled Isolde’s wine cup. “I just hope my hooded cloak hid my face. Someone in my position should not take sides.”
Isolde’s eyes widened. “The MacLean would have recognized you?”
“Nae, nae.” Evelina reached across the table and squeezed Isolde’s hand. “He never darkened my door, though there was a time I would have welcomed his attentions.”
“Then why worry about him seeing your face?”
“I meant Gavin MacFie.”
“Oh.” Relief replaced the tight, burning sensation that had plagued Isolde a moment before. A wash of shame followed for she’d forgotten the MacLean’s friend.
“I see,” she said, her gaze on a round of cheese.
“No, I do not think you do,” Evelina told her.
“It was Sir Gavin’s widowed father with whom I was once quite, shall we say, friendly?
Now, years later, we are indeed true friends.
The elder MacFie has grown too ill to plow the sea routes as he once did, but his son is faithful and true.
He sails his father’s ships, and he keeps me supplied with whatever provisions I might need. ”
“Oh,” Isolde said again, wishing she could sink into the floor.
Evelina took a bit of cheese and popped it into her mouth. “Gavin is a good man.”
“I never said he wasn’t.” Isolde sipped her wine, not surprised it suddenly tasted like seawater.
“He is well born and not given to vile deeds.” Evelina watched her over the rim of her cup. “He should be home, tending to his ailing sire.”
“I cannot release him.”
“You can speak with him.” Evelina set down her cup. “Sometimes talking with someone can reveal more than the words that are spoken.”
“Such as?” Isolde was sure she shouldn’t ask.
“Well…” The sparkle returned to her friend’s eyes. “Our talk revealed the reason of your visit.”
“I told you why I came. It is hard to go through with the instructions you gave me.”
Evelina brought her steepled fingers to her chin. “That is all?”
“I would say that is a lot.”
“The MacLean is a bonnie man, no’ an ogre. Push aside your anger and open yourself to the passion that runs in the veins of every woman – if she is bold enough to welcome that heat.
“You, my lady, have the fire of the north in your blood.” Evelina looked at her. “Have we not spoken of your Norse ancestress? What was her name…?”
“Una, if family legend is true.” Isolde glanced briefly at the fire, trying to imagine the captured Viking lass at Dunmuir. “She was a shield maiden, a female warrior.”
“All the better.” Evelina slapped the table. “Ignite her flame.”
Isolde didn’t like the smile playing around her friend’s lips. “Is that your advice?”
“I could also tell you that, knowing the MacLean’s reputation, it shouldn’t be necessary for you to do everything I suggested.” Evelina spread her hands. “Such well-lusted men need only a spark to set them ablaze.”
“I will keep that in mind.” Isolde pushed back her chair and stood. Faith, she didn’t need to kindle any fires. She felt like a walking torch. Even the tops of her ears burned. “I must return to Dumnuir,” she said, shaking out her skirts. “I will be missed."
Evelina rose, too. “Then I will not ask you to linger,” she said, and accompanied Isolde to the door. “Perhaps the next time you visit, we can speak of what truly troubles you?”
Halfway out the door, Isolde froze. “What truly troubles me?” she echoed before she recognized the trap.
“Aye, my lady,” Evelina said with a smile. “Your attraction to Donall MacLean.”