Page 68 of Claimed by a Highlander
“I’d love to hear all about it over supper,” she said, taking his arm. “Will ye sit beside me tonight?”
She felt Lovat’s disapproving glare as Alain guided her to the table and took the seat next to her.
“You’re not sitting in your usual seat?” Lovat asked, and gestured to the seat next to him.
“Sorry, Father, but Lady Sybil is a damned sight prettier to look at than you.”
When the rest at the table laughed, his father could not object without appearing surly. Sybil gave Lovat a level look to let him know she’d planned it.
“How are ye feeling tonight, my dear?” he asked.
“Muchbetter, thank you.” She gave him a bright, false smile to make him wonder what she was up to.
He watched her like a hawk. Good, her host was worried now.
The meal seemed interminable with Alain leaning over her and attempting to rub his thigh against hers. Sybil drank deeply from the cup of wine she shared with him, knowing it would be safe from whichever servant was dispensing the poison for Lovat. At the end of the meal, as she expected, the cook himself brought her a small bowl of honeyed pears that smelled strongly of cinnamon.
The cook failed to notice the silent signal Lovat attempted to give him before he set the bowl in front of her. When the cook looked up and saw Lovat shaking his head, he reached for the bowl.
But Sybil was quicker. She thrust her wine cup into his open hand. “More wine, please.”
“M’lady, let me take those pears back to the kitchen,” he said. “I apologize, but I see that the bowl was not properly cleaned. I’ll have the lass who washed it punished severely.”
“Nonsense,” Sybil said, gripping the bowl with both hands. “’Tis perfectly fine.”
When he tried to take it from her, Alain intervened.
“Leave it,” he said in a sharp tone.
Sybil toyed with the dish of pears with her spoon as she chatted with Alain. When she glanced at Lovat, there was a sheen of sweat on his brow.
“Alain,” she said, raising her voice just enough for Lovat to hear, “’tis rude of me to eat these delectable pears on my own. Let me give ye a taste.”
She held her spoon out. If Alain did not take his gaze from her breasts, she just might give it to him instead of spilling it at the last moment. She had been eating the poison for three days now, so one spoonful would not hurt him much.
“I’d like a taste of more than your pears,” Alain said, and slurped the spoonful up before she could pull it away.
“Don’t!” his father shouted a moment too late.
“Please forgive my rude remark, Lady Sybil,” Alain said, misunderstanding his father’s outburst.
When Alain squeezed her thigh under the table, she was tempted to feed him the whole bowl of pears, but she satisfied herself by giving him a hard pinch.
“Behave yourself,” she whispered, then raised her voice. “I hope you’ll sit with me at every meal until Rory returns for me.”
“Of course I will,” Alain said.
Sybil turned to meet his father’s gaze. “Would ye like some pears as well? Or have we all had enough?”
“Quite enough.” Lovat dipped his head, conceding that she had bested him. “As the lady wishes, there shall be no more.”
***
The next morning, Lovat gave her a trunk of his dead wife’s gowns as a peace offering.
“I hope ye know I had no intention of doing ye permanent harm,” he told her over more excellent wine. “Just a bit of encouragement to leave.”
“At first I did think ye meant to murder me, but the poison ye chose was too weak,” she said. “While I disagree with your method, I understand you were trying to protect Rory.”
