Page 32 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
“Aye, he’s good at that.”
“Are ye daein’ all right there, Braither,” Ewan asked, butting in. “Ye’re lookin’ a wee bit serious. I reckon ye need more wine, cheer ye up a bit.”
“Bein’ laird is a serious business,” Malcolm said, surprised at how pleasant he sounded. “There’s nae a lot of fun tae be had.”
“All the more reason tae relax when ye get the chance, man. Ye ken what they say, all work and nae play, makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Ye’d better call me Jack then.”
Catriona laughed at that, which made him feel a little better.
Ewan barged his shoulder and whispered, “She’s grown intae a grand lass, Cat, has she nae? A right stunner. A man would be proud tae call her his wife, eh?”
“Eh? What’s that ye say, young Ewan? Have ye found yersel’ a wife?” came a loud voice from further down the table. Malcolm did not have to look to know it was old Quentin, the aged warrior. The grizzled old man grinned at Ewan through his white beard and raised his tankard. “That’s what ye young fellas need, a good woman tae keep ye straight.” The table erupted into laughter, including Ewan.
“I’m too young and pretty tae have any lass keepin’ me straight,” he declared, eliciting more laughter.
“Straight tae bed more like!” shot back another of the old timers. The guests roared. The ladies laughed too but rather sheepishly, with hands over their mouths.
Malcolm looked at Catriona’s animated face as she followed the ribald conversation. He noticed she was still smiling but not laughing at the jokes like the others. In fact, he saw the familiar little line, which he knew signaled either anger or confusion, had appeared between her brows.
Then a heavy slap landed on his back, making him spill his wine. “If ye want a weddin’, then this here’s the feller we need tae find a wife fer,” Ewan declared loudly next to him. “Eh, Braither, what d’ye say? Ye’re gettin’ old. Ye need tae get crackin’ man, before ye’re old and gray. Find a nice lass, have a tribe of bairns, eh?”
This was the kind of embarrassing banter Malcom was frequently subjected to by Ewan and his regular dinner guests. Normally, he would have told them all to sod off and laughed it off. But not tonight.
He moved back his chair and calmly stood up, a smile pasted to his lips. “Ye must excuse me for a while, I have some urgent business tae attend tae. Carry on and enjoy yer supper.”
He nodded at Catriona, who smiled back at him… But the line between her brows was still there and her eyes were full of confusion. He felt bad for leaving her, but he knew she would be fine. It was the confusion in her eyes that troubled him the most.
“Go on and enjoy yersel’,” he told her quietly before turning and leaving by the rear door.
Later that same evening, after spending a brooding hour or so in his study with a tankard of hot ale, Malcolm set off across the torchlit courtyard to join Ewan in the guardhouse.
With the castle on permanent alert, the brothers were due to carry out their nightly tour of the defenses, both of them knowing the importance of preparation and security ahead of a potential attack. Malcolm was determined not to let any detail slip that might give entry to an attacker.
He was passing the well, deep in thought, when a soft, familiar voice pulled him from his reverie.
“Hello, Malcolm.”
His heart gave a great thump in his chest. He stopped, frowned, saw her standing by the well, and walked over to her. She was wrapped in a thick cloak the color of wine, leaning on her stick, one hip resting against the stone work for added support.
He tried to keep a safe distance as he looked down on her, six feet at least. She had looked stunning at supper. Now, beneath the strange light, her pale, perfect skin appeared almost luminous. Her green eyes glowed, the thick lashes cast fan-shaped shadows beneath, making them seem even bigger than usual. Several thick tresses had escaped from their moorings to frame her face. And her lips… oh, God, her lips.
He thought her, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, since the last time he had looked at her at the supper table.
Six feet became four as he stepped closer, inexorably drawn to her.
“Ye look deep in thought. What are ye thinkin’?” she asked.
“What am I thinkin’? I’m wonderin’ why ye’re standin’ out here alone when the castle is on high alert,” he replied more gruffly than intended.
She appeared to bridle a little at his tone, lifting her chin with a hint of defiance. He noticed the little line between her brows was back and knew it was not what she had wanted to hear. So what was then?
“If ye must ken, it was stuffy and noisy in the hall. I needed some fresh air and a few moments of quiet before retirin’. And as we’re inside the castle walls, I saw nay danger in it,” she replied, an edge of annoyance to her voice. Or was it confusion? He could not decide. “Are ye intendin’ tae watch over every step I take now, is that it?” she added pointedly.
Four feet became two. He was close enough now to feel her warmth, smell her floral perfume.
He rubbed a hand over his face, wondering how to answer her, then dropped his hand and met her searching gaze one more.
