stand her ground, but there was something churning in
her insides that convinced her she had no hope of prevailing against him. It was urging
her back toward him, back into his embrace where she might be enchanted once again.
The blush stinging her cheeks had nothing to do with her running. She’d enjoyed his
kiss and wanted more. It was a dark and wild craving, rising up from some place deep
inside her, a feeling that overwhelmed logical thought, leaving her prey to her instincts.
She wouldn’t be a creature of weakness. Not like Abigail, and not like those who had
come to Ruth with gold in order to purchase something that they craved uncontrollably.
Most of them weren’t evil at their core. Lament often shone in their eyes when they
were finished, but they were slaves to their needs.
No, she would not be like that.
Ever.
***
“Me father will be at supper.”
Nareen took the pot of rouge away in response. Abigail had an affection for court
and its lavish ways. Even in the Highlands, she still painted her face every night.
Preparing for supper took the lady a full two hours.
Except for when her father was going to be at the high table.
“I’ll have to wear something boring,” Abigail groused.
Nareen opened a wardrobe and sorted among the dresses. There were many made of silk,
which crinkled when she moved them. Rich velvet, as well as costly brocade, was soft
beneath her fingertips.
“Not the wool,” Abigail instructed. “I detest it so.”
Wool was the fabric of the Highlands. Abigail was a foolish brat to shun it. When
it was wet, wool would still keep the body warm. No other fabric offered its wearer
such an amenity, or protection from the harsh Highland climate.
Nareen selected a brocade dress with silver trim.
“I suppose I must,” Abigail complained when Nareen brought it to her.
Nareen gave her no reply but got on with helping her dress. Abigail was older than
she was but often reminded Nareen of a child.
***
The Great Hall was lit with over a hundred candles. The scent of beeswax floated through
the air as the Ross retainers and castle residents settled onto the long benches to
enjoy the evening meal. With the sunlight gone, it was their opportunity to relax
and enjoy one another’s company. Only a fool wasted the daylight hours, one who would
learn their lesson when they had empty bellies and leaking roofs during the winter.
The kitchens began to send in platters of hot meat pies and fresh bread. Since it
was summer, there were greens and berries. Pots of fresh butter and even honey sat
on the table.
The Great Hall was large and filled with long tables. At the end of the Hall was a
raised platform that held the high table. The Earl of Ross presided over the evening
meal from a chair that had a high back. It rose above his head and had the Ross coat
of arms carved into it. From the back of the Hall, there was no missing who was master.
He had a benevolent smile on his lips and looked strong enough even though his hair
was gray.
Saer MacLeod sat next to the earl. He actually wore a doublet, but it was open halfway
down his chest, and the sleeves were open and tied behind his back.
Nareen shivered and bit her lip to distract herself.
Did the man never feel the night air?
He’d certainly looked at home in the darkness the night before. He was at home behaving
like a savage, too. Kissing in church was for those who didn’t fear the wrath of the
priests and their love of sentencing offenders to the stocks.
Of course, a laird didn’t often suffer the same penalties as the rest of the congregation.
Saer could buy his way out of a public reprimand if it came to it.
Her cheeks heated, and she aimed her gaze at Abigail’s back to keep her thoughts off
him. But it was not so simple to erase the memory of his kiss from her mind. She still
felt the steady grip on her neck and the way she’d irrefutably enjoyed it.
That was a
Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis