Page 23 of The Ruthless Laird's Virgin
Callum nodded slowly before turning his gaze forward again and taking a bite of his food. “Aye, why do ye ask?”
“I daenae ken, he was just lookin’ at me as if he kens who I am.” She focused her attention back on her plate, but noticed how Callum instantly stiffened.
“That is Hamish McCowan. He served me, father, before me and still sits on the council,” Callum spoke quietly so that only she would hear. “He worked very closely with yer bother, though I daenae ken how he would ken that ye are related.”
Eleanor glanced up again, meeting the man’s gaze this time as her heart began to race.
His expression was blank, yet his one good eye shone with something she could not understand. Did he recognize her? And if so, what did that mean? Was he a friend to Andrew, or had he been someone who could have potentially betrayed him?
The quickening of her pulse intensified as she broke the gaze first. When she looked up again, he was speaking intently to the man beside him.
What was that?
Callum spoke without lookin’ at her. “I saw it as well, I daenae ken why he was lookin’ at ye like that, but for now, stay away from him. I will handle the matter.” He continued to eat as if nothing had happened at all, but Eleanor struggled to shake the feeling that nothing good could come from anyone who looked at her like that.
For the remainder of the meal, Eleanor attempted to focus on the food before her. It was impossible. Every few moments, she found herself glancing toward Hamish McCowan.
Each time she looked, she discovered him doing something entirely ordinary. Speaking with another clansman. Drinking his ale. Listening to a story being told farther down the table.
Yet she could not shake the feeling that he was aware of her every movement. Was she simply overthinking matters?
Somewhere in the back of the hall, a lad began to play the bagpipes, adding more merriment to the gathering at hand as cheers of approval arose amidst the chatter.
The warmth and merriment should have put her at ease; instead, a knot of unease settled deeper within her stomach.
A servant arrived carrying another jug of ale. As he refilled their cups, Callum leaned slightly closer.
“Try to smile,” he said lightly, almost teasingly.
Eleanor blinked. “What?”
“Smile, lass. Ye daenae want anyone to think that they have rattled ye.” He sipped his cup gingerly and laughed at something that someone had said at a nearby table.”
How does he remain so calm at all times?
She reached for her own cup and took another small sip. “I am smilin’.”
“Nay, ye look as though ye are about to attend a funeral.” His gaze moved over the hall as if he were taking inventory and stock of all who were present.
She turned toward him. “I daenae.”
His eyebrow rose.
She scowled.
His expression remained unchanged. After a moment, he reached for his cup. “That proves me point.”
Despite herself, Eleanor felt the corner of her mouth twitch.
“There.” Callum nodded once. “Much better.”
The exchange was brief, but it eased some of the tension coiling within her. The moment, however, was short-lived as Hamish got to his feet, drawing more than just a little attention to himself as he raised his voice. “Me Laird!”
The music suddenly stopped as heads turned toward the front of the hall.
A tense silence filled the room as Eleanor stiffened. Was this the moment where he declared himself a traitor? Why would he make such a public declaration? Her heart pounded furiously as she turned toward Callum.
The laird sat rigid, locking eyes with the man from across the room. The tension that hung in the air was almost too palpable for Eleanor to handle as she shifted in her seat, looking from one to the other.
