Chapter 5
Skye eyed the wooden box with distrust. “Do I have to go in there?”
Evander sighed. “Aye. It’s a litter. Ladies travel in litters.”
“I usually ride. And if we really did live together, then ye willnae convince me that I never said as much. If ye expect me to believe that I meekly climbed into a locked box like this and gave up riding, ye are definitely lying to me.”
He pursed his lips, taking a moment before he responded.
I wonder if me voice is grating on him yet, she thought with a wry, tight smile.
“Aye, ye did insist on riding,” he said at last. “And for what it’s worth, I never made ye ride in a litter. But today, ye will ride in it.”
“I—”
“Ye are weak, confused, and bedraggled. Ye daenae look like a lady; ye barely look as if ye can stand upright unaided. Ye arenae well, and ye arenae yerself. When we return to the keep, ye will have yer horse again, and ye can ride once ye are strong enough.”
“But—”
He rounded on her, looming over her. Skye swallowed thickly. Up close, he was even larger than before.
“No buts,” he said carefully, his voice clipped and almost angry. “I said what I said. Ye ride in there today. Tomorrow, ye can visit Scarecrow in the stables, and—”
“Scarecrow?”
He blinked. “Aye, I suppose ye wouldnae remember, would ye. Do ye nae remember Demon?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Ye will find out soon enough. I gave ye a horse as a wedding present. Nae a fine thoroughbred, just a raggedy Highland horse with a yellow mane. Ye thought it looked untidy and called him Scarecrow. Ye loved him, though.”
Skye drew her lower lip between her teeth. “I never had a horse of me own before.”
“Aye, I ken,” Evander responded shortly, turning away. “Because yer braither didnae want ye riding on yer own outside the keep, there was no point in keeping yer own horse. But I imposed no such rules on ye. Now, in the litter with ye, if ye want to be home before dark.”
Skye found herself obeying, much to her surprise.
The inside of the litter was comfortable enough.
It was a plain wooden box, with iron to strengthen the outside and around the windows.
Two seats, padded and fur-lined, faced each other.
A thick woolen rug covered the floor, and there were extra blankets folded on the seats.
A thin curtain rippled across the window, tugged by the breeze.
She sank down into one of the seats and leaned back with a long sigh. The door, thankfully, was not locked from the outside, only latched.
How far would it be to Keep Bryden?
Squeezing her eyes shut, Skye tried to conjure up a memory of a map of the Highlands. Before dark, Evander had said, if they hurried along. What time was it now? Midday? Or perhaps—
The door jerked open, making her flinch. She watched, wide-eyed, as Evander clambered in, dropping down heavily onto the seat opposite. Once settled, he reached up and hammered on the litter roof. There was a jerk, a lurch, and they began to lumber forward.
“What are ye doing?” Skye asked.
Evander lifted his eyebrows. “Take a wild guess.”
“Why are ye in here with me? I thought ye would ride alongside.”
“Aye, generally I would. I daenae travel in litters often. Or at all,” he added with a sniff. “But ye arenae yerself, and I thought ye might like some company.”
She pressed her lips together. “Oh.”
“Unless, of course, ye prefer to sit in boredom,” he said, leaning back with a faint smirk. “I thought we could perhaps use the time to get reacquainted.”
Narrowing her eyes, Skye tried to work out whether getting reacquainted held some kind of double meaning.
“Perhaps nae,” she heard herself say, perhaps a little more sharply than was necessary.
Evander, however, did not seem offended or annoyed. He shrugged, leaning sideways to peer out the window.
“As ye like. If ye prefer, I can leave ye alone.”
Skye hesitated. For a moment, she imagined a long journey stretching out before her, with nothing to do or look at beyond the inside of the litter, shadows lengthening around her.
“Ye can stay,” she allowed, a little huffily.
Evander grinned. “Very gracious of ye. If ye need food or water, or to take in the view—”
“To take in the what?”
He rolled his eyes. “If ye need to piss, woman.”
She reddened. “And ye call that taking in the view?”
“Nay, I’d call it going for a piss, but I didnae want to offend yer delicate sensibilities. Besides”—he threw her a quick, enigmatic smile—“ye didnae like it when I used coarse language. I grew out of the habit quickly.”
Skye frowned, saying nothing.
She did hate coarse language. But it was none of her concern, none at all, what language Evander used. Had she really been so comfortable with the man that she’d confessed her dislike of it to him? And had he cared so much about her opinion that he’d changed his language habits?
No, that couldn’t be right.
“So, when ye say ye are going for a piss,” she said slowly, staring out the window, “does that mean that ye are really going to go and admire the view?”
He gave a short, surprised laugh. “Nay. Maybe it should.”
“Maybe nae.”
Silence fell over them after that, broken only by the clomp-crunch of wheels on the dirt path.
The light grew darker as they plunged into the forest, the air cooler.
Green, spindly branches brushed against the sides of the litter and occasionally scraped against the roof.
Skye could hear the muted clip-clop of horses’ hooves and imagined that they were Evander’s soldiers flanking the litter. She hadn’t seen too many.
“How many men travel with ye?” she asked abruptly.
He fixed her with a curious look. “A dozen, but most of them have stayed behind to take down the tent and our other things. There are only two of me men here, plus the driver. Why? Do ye feel unsafe?”
“Nay, nothing like that.”
He nodded, but did not seem entirely convinced.
More silence followed, and Skye realized with a jolt that it would be her who led the conversation. He was letting her speak if she wanted, and stay quiet if she preferred.
Why is he being so kind to me?
Clearing her throat, she plucked at her skirt at the knee, shaking out the few dirty inches at the hem. “So, Laird Bryden…”
“Evander.”
She missed a beat. “What?”
He lifted dark eyebrows at her. “Me name is Evander.”
“Well, I ken that.”
“We’re wed. Ye should call me Evander, nae Laird Bryden. Ye havenae called me Laird Bryden since the day we first met.”
“As far as I’m concerned, this is the day we first met.”
He laced his fingers together, his wide hands tightening and flexing. “We’re wed, Skye.”
“Or so ye say!” she snapped, with more vehemence than she’d meant. Certainly more vehemence than he deserved.
Reddening, she dropped her gaze.
“I’m tired,” she mumbled, hoping he would take it as an apology. Or an explanation, at least.
He nodded and said nothing.
She tried again. “Did ye say earlier that ye had burned down four villages for me?”
“Twelve.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Twelve,” he repeated pensively. “Only four in this part of the Highlands. But in total, I burned down twelve villages in me search for ye. All for nothing, as it turned out, since ye magically reappeared here without me intervention.”
Flabbergasted. That was the word Skye would use to describe herself at that moment.
“Ye burned down twelve villages for me?” she gasped, leaning forward.
He met her eyes coolly. “What part are ye nae understanding?”
“Daenae be glib. All the lives lost—”
“Relax, lassie. I didnae burn down villages with people in them. The locals were driven out first. Nobody who didnae choose to fight back died. The ones who tried to hurt me were hurt. The ones who tried to kill me died. The ones who did nothing and kent nothing were left alone.”
Skye found that her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed, trying to work moisture down her throat, to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
“Well,” she managed at last. “That seems excessive.”
He shrugged. “One a month until ye were returned. No more burnings now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She shifted, catching his eye and glancing away, red-faced. Another question formed in her mind, an insistent one that refused to be quieted.
He met her gaze, narrowing his eyes.
Can he possibly ken what I am about to ask? Surely nae.
It was no good. She had to ken.
Coughing self-consciously, she spoke, trying to keep her words light and casual. “So, I disappeared on our wedding night, is that right?”
“Aye, it is.”
“So we hadnae… That is, we werenae… didnae… hadnae…” She groped for the correct words that would make the awful question take flight.
Did we kiss? Did we make love? Did I want it? Did I enjoy it?
Skye had not, of course, lain with a man before. Some women chose to be with their men before marriage, and that was their concern. Kitchen wenches gossiped constantly about their sweethearts, and she’d even overheard some of the ladies’ maids whispering and giggling about their men.
But a laird’s sister, a laird’s daughter, was meant to stay chaste. Skye hadn’t minded. No man had ever caught her interest enough to make her regret waiting. But if she had lain with a man at last and didn’t remember any of it…
Well, it would be disappointing.
The corner of Evander’s mouth twitched, clearly itching to pull into a smirk. Her insides constricted, just once, a strange aching tug that was unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time.
Trying to alleviate the strangeness, she shifted, as if crossing her legs differently would ease the tension in the small space.
I wouldnae have lain with him, she reassured herself. Even if he is handsome enough to allow it.
That thought was just taking root in her mind when Evander leaned back, stretching out his long legs before him, and gave an odd half-huff that sounded suspiciously like a strangled laugh.
“What is it ye want to ken, lass?” he enquired, amusement crinkling his eyes. “Do ye want me to tell ye that ye were madly in love with me? That it was a whirlwind romance that led to a hasty marriage because we simply could nae keep our hands off each other?”