Chapter 16
Evander paused outside her room for a moment, drawing in deep, steadying breaths.
He had planned to walk her to the private dining room, but that was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea.
Desire thrummed in his gut, loud and insistent.
Touch her, pleaded the voice in his head. It’s the easiest thing in the world. Reach out and touch her. Kiss her. Hold her. Take her.
If he’d stayed a moment longer, that was what might have happened. He might have taken her there and then, tangled up on that ridiculous fur rug spread out before the fire.
He felt sick.
She’s vulnerable. Scared. Her memories are half-missing. And here I am, fantasizing about making love to her. It’s the last thing on her mind.
Even so, the image of her standing there flashed through his mind. He could see her now, etched behind his lids, staring down at the flowers he’d brought her. That thin robe, the one he longed to tear off her body, sagged around her, the low neckline revealing the swell of her breasts.
His throat tightened.
Enough, man. Go dunk yer head in a bowl of ice water. Better yet, dunk yer whole self in a bowl of ice water. Maybe that’ll make ye behave.
With a growl, he pushed away from the wall and strode off down the hallway. There was no time for dunking of any kind, so he would simply have to calm himself.
Well, Lady Helena was meant to join them for dinner in any case, and doubtless any amorous feelings would be thoroughly quashed when she arrived.
When Evander reached his room—the dining room could be accessed through his bedroom, or through a narrow door off the hallway—the servants had just finished laying the table.
Roast pork piled high in the central platter. Bowls of sauces and gravy were scattered around it. A whole roast chicken squatted beside it, the skin golden-brown and visibly crispy. Vegetables had been prepared, too. Skye’s favorites, on his command.
Boiled potatoes were tossed in oil, salt, and mint, with some chopped up and roasted in the meat fat. There was a pie, a good meat one, and of course, bread.
The servants were still laying the table, and all of them stood back when he entered.
“Well, me Laird?” one maid asked anxiously. “Is it satisfactory?”
Evander ran his eyes over the sumptuous dishes and nodded slowly. “Aye. It’s perfect.”
The servants glanced at each other, pleased.
“There’s a jug of good wine, too,” one volunteered.
He nodded heavily. “That’s good, that’s good. Me question, though, is where is the whiskey?”
The servant who’d spoken before suppressed a smile. “We thought ye would want whiskey. The bottle is out over there. Shall I serve ye, me Laird?”
“Nay need,” he responded, striding over to it. “I’ll do it meself, thank ye.”
He filled half the glass and began to drink. He would need it.
Skye paused at the door, tugging at the sleeves of her red silk dress. She remembered this gown. She’d complained about it when Evander first bought it, insisting that silk was decadent and red was not an appropriate color. And the neckline was shockingly low.
Then she’d tried it on, and her mind changed immediately. The dress fit her perfectly. The silk felt like heaven on her skin, and the color made her glow.
I loved this dress, she thought, clutching at the skirts, its delicate daisy-chain embroidery on the very edge of the hem visible only when she walked. Did he remember that I loved it?
Swallowing, she reached forward, tapping hesitantly on the door. Should she just walk in? Was she being foolish?
Too late to think of all that now.
“Come in,” came Evander’s deep voice.
She moved forward, almost without conscious thought. A cosy room awaited her, warm from the fire, with a table laden for supper. It was nothing like the long, grand tables in the Great Hall. This table was large enough for four, maybe six people. Currently, it was set for three.
Evander stood by the curtained window, sipping what seemed to be whiskey.
“Ye took yer time,” he observed.
She bit her lip. “Am I late?”
“I didnae give ye a time to be here, so nay, ye arenae late. However, I did give yer maither a time to arrive, and that time was ten minutes ago.”
Skye winced. “It always takes her too long to get anywhere. She forgets that she cannae walk as fast as others.”
“Well, that I can forgive. Sit down; we’ll begin. Or else the food will get cold.”
There was no seat at the head of the table, so she nervously took a chair at random, hoping that she hadn’t taken Evander’s seat.
He said nothing, sitting silently beside her. That left the opposite chair, waiting for Helena.
In the ensuing silence, Skye’s stomach rumbled.
Evander bit back a smile. “Eat, woman. Ye are hungry. There’s food. Eat.”
With a wry chuckle, Skye reached out for the roast chicken, twisting off a thigh.
Grease ran over her fingers, but she found that she didn’t care.
She sunk her teeth into it, the crispy skin crunching between her teeth.
The meat was delicate, well-cooked, and carefully flavored, and she closed her eyes, chewing in bliss.
When was the last time I ate well?
It didn’t matter because she was eating well now.
She spooned potatoes onto her plate, along with glossy, crunchy roasted vegetables cooked in meat juice. There was bread, too, and she sawed off a hunk of it to mop up the juices. A sloshing sound caught her attention, and she glanced up to find Evander filling her goblet with wine.
Abruptly, she froze, aware of how she must look—lips glistening with juices, cheeks bulging with food.
She swallowed thickly, set down the gnawed chicken bone, and delicately picked up a napkin.
Evander gave a hoot of delight, clapping his thigh. “Come on, lass, daenae go all ladylike on me now! I was just starting to think that ye would finish this feast all by yerself and leave only bones.”
She reddened. “I was hungry.”
“Daenae apologize. I am glad ye are eating well. A good appetite is a sign that ye are recovering. Ye can eat as much as ye want, and drink as much, too. Although Leah doesnae approve of over-indulgence in liquor,” he added wryly.
Skye bit back a smile. “Aye, I think I remember that. She doesnae drink alcohol herself, is that right?”
“Aye, it is. Ye are remembering more things, then.”
She nodded thoughtfully, beginning to eat again but at a slower pace.
Evander grabbed a knife and sawed off a piece of roast pork for himself, plopping it onto his plate along with some vegetables and bread.
“I’m sure there are things I am missing,” she murmured. “After me kidnapping, for example. I’m sure there’s something, but I cannae quite reach it.”
“It will come in time,” he promised. “All we must do is wait.”
The door creaked open, and they both glanced up to find a servant hovering in the doorway.
“Forgive me, me Laird, but I bring a message from Lady Helena. She’s unwell and will dine in her rooms tonight.”
Evander frowned. “Does she need a healer?”
“She didnae ask for one. She ordered a good amount of food, and I left her tucking in.”
Evander nodded, and the servant withdrew. He glanced at Skye, frowning. “Perhaps we should send Leah to her.”
Skye pursed her lips, wiping her fingers on the napkin. “Me maither doesnae need a healer, because she isnae sick. She is matchmaking.”
“What?”
“Oh, ye heard me. She found an excuse to leave us alone. I ken it because she did the same thing with every eligible woman who came to our keep. She wants Hunter to wed, so she kept throwing women in his way. I daenae ken who I felt sorry for, me braither or the women. And now she’s doing it with me. ”
She growled in annoyance, folding her arms tight across her chest.
“I will have a word with her tomorrow, I promise,” she added, casting an uncertain look at him.
Was he annoyed? Offended? Or simply amused?
It was impossible to tell just from looking at him.
Evander stared down at his plate, his face impassive.
“Well,” he said, “yer maither clearly wishes for us to enjoy our meal together, so I suggest we do so. I’m ravenous, and it’s already clear that ye are.”
“True enough,” Skye huffed, a smile fighting its way onto her lips. She leaned forward over her plate, and Evander did the same.
For a few moments, they ate in companionable silence, satisfying their appetites. The fire crackled, the candle flames danced, and Skye realized with a jolt that there was nowhere else she would rather be.
I’m happy. I’m happy here.
“Thank ye for the flowers,” she blurted out, suddenly desperate to say something, anything, to make him look at her. “They’re beautiful. I put them in a wee vase by the window.”
“I’m glad ye liked them. Fergus—I daenae ken if ye remember him—suggested I start with flowers.”
“He has good taste.”
“I would have rather brought ye the head of whoever did this to ye, though.”
She jolted, shooting him a wide-eyed look. “I think I prefer the flowers.”
He chuckled, reaching forward to grab another slice of pork. The movement meant that he leaned toward her and across, his shoulder brushing hers.
She flinched at the touch, warmth spreading through her chest. A quick glance up at him, however, showed that he was focused on his food.
It’s all in me head.
“Here, try one of these,” he said, lifting something red and glistening to her lips. “One of our own strawberries. They’re fresh in season and delicious.”
Skye opened her mouth without thinking twice about it, her eyes meeting his. His pupils dilated, his eyes darkening.
The warm berry nudged her lower lip, and she opened her mouth wider. He slipped the treat inside, the soft weight of the fruit landing on her tongue. She closed her mouth, his fingertip skimming her lower lip as she did so.
Sweet tartness exploded across her tongue. The berry tasted fresh, like sunshine in a tiny, concentrated package. A shiver rolled down her spine.
He watched every movement on her face, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Good?”
“Aye,” she whispered, swallowing. “It’s good.”