“Aye, my mother told me she and my father would sometimes join them,” she said.
“And ye?” he asked. Eibhlin rarely talked about herself—she mostly spoke of her mother. “Were there any lochs near yer home where ye liked tae visit as a bairn?”
The lightness in her face vanished, and Eibhlin stiffened.
“No,” she said shortly. “There were always chores tae tend tae.”
“I had chores in the fields and at home,” Latharn pressed. “But I was still able tae visit the nearby forest.”
Eibhlin fell silent for a long moment, her gaze trained on the loch's waters.
“I liked tae take long walks,” she said finally. “There was a hiki—a path tae walk along near our cottage. Sometimes I’d go with my mother, but most of the time I’d go on my own. I . . . I liked tae do things many lassies donnae enjoy—or arenae allowed tae do.”
“Aye?” he asked, intrigued.
“Aye. I . . . I enjoyed training in archery, sword fighting, and horse riding,” she said. “Perhaps ’tis because I am what many consider wee. Training tae do such physical things has always made me feel stronger.”
He looked at her in quiet astonishment. How could her mother afford for her to take such lessons, such lessons that only nobles and the wealthy could afford? Perhaps her mother kept some coin when she fled.
But his senses again told him she was hiding something; something was missing from her story. She seemed to sense his growing suspicion, abruptly turning away from him.
“We should get back,” she said, but he reached out to stop her.
“Eibhlin . . . I want ye tae ken ye can trust me,” he said, holding her gaze.
She flinched, removing her arm from his. But he stepped closer, ignoring the stab of desire that pierced him at their proximity.
“When ye’re ready tae tell me whatever it is ye’re hiding . . . I’ll be ready tae listen.”
Chapter 12
When ye’re ready tae tell me whatever it is ye’re hiding . . . I’ll be ready tae listen.
Latharn’s words echoed in Evelyn’s mind as she lay in her straw bed that night. If only he knew what she was hiding. I was born in 1364 to a time-traveling American and a Highland noble. I lived in the twenty-first century before returning to this time via a magical ancient village. She had to bite her lip to stifle a bitter laugh, imagining the look on Latharn's face if she told him the truth.
She’d tried to keep her distance from him, but she’d found herself . . . missing him. When he’d taken her to the loch, she’d wanted to open up to him more, to tell him about herself—her true self. And she’d ached for him, longing for him to kiss her again. Desperately.
“Who is he?”
Evelyn started as she looked over at Aimil, who lay in the straw bed next to hers. She had turned to face Eibhlin, eyeing her with a playful smile. Surprise roiled through her; Aimil had been avoiding her ever since she’d tried to pry her for information. While she was glad Aimil was talking to her, she didn’t want to discuss Latharn.
“What?” Evelyn asked, stalling. “I’m not thinking of a man.”
Aimil arched a skeptical brow, leaning forward, keeping her own tone low.
“I saw the same thing happen with Deoridh, the lass ye replaced. She’d leave the castle for long stretches of time and then return with a foolish look on her face like the one ye’re wearing now. I'll ask ye again. Who is this secret lover of yers?”
Panic flared in Evelyn’s chest. She'd thought—hoped—the errands she ran for Floraidh had masked her absences. Had anyone else noticed her long departures from the castle? She swallowed hard, thinking fast.
“He’s not my lover,” she replied, deciding to stick to an old adage. When lying, stick as close to the truth as possible.
“But there is a he?” Aimil asked, her eyes twinkling.
“Aye. There’s someone I—care for,” she hedged. “I donnae want tae tell ye exactly who he is . . . but he’s a servant. We cannae be together. He’s pledged tae marry someone else.”
Evelyn was proud of herself for the hastily put-together lie, yet as Aimil gave her a look of genuine sympathy, a sliver of guilt creeped through her.
“I’m sorry tae hear,” Aimil murmured. “But that doesnae mean ye cannae enjoy him before he weds. Ye’re a bonnie lass, I’m certain he willnae refuse ye. I can make excuses for ye if ye need tae sneak out and meet him. I have herbs that will prevent ye from getting with child.”
Evelyn stared at her, astonished. Yes, she had known it was likely that people in this time—especially servants—didn’t behave like the puritans history books portrayed them as. Her mother had told her of a few sex scandals among the lowborn and highborn alike. Sex is sex no matter what century, her mother had told her. Yet to have someone in this time encourage her to not only make love to Latharn, but to practice safe sex, seemed so incongruously modern. It was just a reminder that even though she was hundreds of years in the past, people hadn't changed much.
Aimil grinned, misconstruing her look of shock.
“I ken ye’re new here, but surely ye’ve worked in the household of a noble before? Many of the servants—married or no—have lovers.” Her expression suddenly darkened. “And Laird MacUisdean has a taste for—”
Aimil abruptly stopped herself. Evelyn watched her, praying she would say more, but Aimil’s sudden shuttered expression was like watching a door slam shut. Again.
“That’s all the advice I have,” Aimil said, letting out an exaggerated yawn and turning away from her.
Evelyn remained awake, hanging on to the carrot that Aimil had dangled before her. She was certain that Aimil’s full statement was, “The laird has a taste for the servants.”
She recalled his hand on her arm with a shudder and Tulach’s warning when she started working at the castle. Ye donnae want tae catch Padraig's eye. Ye're a bonnie lass. That's all I'll say.
Which servant was Padraig bedding? Was Aimil one of them?
The next morning, Aimil was back to her friendly, chatty self, as if her distance of the past few days had never happened. But when Eibhlin tried to get her to elaborate on her words about Padraig, she just waved away her words and told her she knew nothing of the laird’s bedmates.
She reported Aimil’s words to Latharn and Gormal the next afternoon, but she didn't get the reaction she'd hoped for.
“We already kent that,” Gormal said with a scowl. “He likes lassies, lowborn and highborn alike. As did his father before him. I’m surprised he hasnae yet tried tae take ye tae his bed. Perhaps . . .” Gormal said, studying her closely, as if seeing her for the first time, and dread twisted its way down her spine. Was Gormal suggesting that she sleep with Padraig? Just the thought made her skin crawl.
Latharn let out a snarl, and Evelyn whirled toward him, startled. Latharn’s hands were clenched at his sides, his face flaming with fury as he glowered at Gormal.
“I donnae ever want tae hear ye make such a suggestion again,” he growled. “Ye didnae want her tae spy for me because she’s bonnie. And now ye suggest she whore herself for the bastard?”
“My laird,” Gormal said, his voice contrite, though his expression didn’t match his tone, “what better way for the lass tae get—”
“No,” Latharn interrupted, advancing toward Gormal, whom he towered over, and Evelyn now noticed a trickle of fear in the older man’s eyes. “She stays clear of him. Ailbeart is keeping a close watch on Padraig for us. There’s no need for Eibhlin tae become his whore.”
Gormal gave him a nod of acquiescence, going slightly pale. Latharn turned his focus to her, and Evelyn had to actively tap down the swell of warmth that arose within her at the rage that still burned in his eyes. A part of her wanted his reaction to be born of jealousy; but she told herself he was just being protective.
“Donnae heed a word he said,” Latharn murmured, as Gormal stepped away. “Padraig doesnae speak of his lovers with the other nobles; he willnae tell Ailbeart such th
ings. Find out what ye can, but ye keep out of his path.”
He growled the last part of his order, and a burning arousal crept between her thighs.
"Aye," she whispered, fighting against the force of her desire for him. "Understood."
* * *
A painful ache throbbed between Evelyn's thighs as she returned to the castle and tried to focus on her duties. Her thoughts were torn between Latharn's sexiness and ways to coax more information from Aimil—but as always, thoughts of Latharn won out. Why couldn't he have been short, balding and pudgy? Perhaps then she would be a better spy and not struggle with him distracting her. Her face warmed as she thought of his anger when Gormal hinted that she sleep with Padraig; a shameful part of her still wanted his furious reaction to be born out of jealousy.
Her thoughts were so wrapped up in Latharn that she didn't notice a man approach her as she made her way down the corridor toward the kitchens.
When she did notice, it was too late to avoid him.
Neacal strode toward her, and she realized with growing horror that he wasn't just walking down the corridor—he was purposefully moving toward her. He didn't stop until he stood before her, gazing down into her eyes.
Panic flooded every part of her body. She ducked her head low and murmured, “If ye will pardon me, my—"
“Yer eyes,” Neacal said, reaching out to grab her chin and tilting it up to meet his eyes. Dread seared her chest; her heart began to hammer against her rib cage. “I noticed them at the feast, and now I ken why ye look familiar. They’re yer father’s eyes.”
It was suddenly hard to breathe. If he recognized her as her father’s daughter—now a traitor as far as the clan was concerned—he could hand her over to Padraig.
She swallowed, trying to figure out what to say, how to get out of this, as he took her arm and maneuvered her into an empty chamber, his eyes still pinned on hers.
“My father had yer father killed,” he said, matter-of-factly. “He was named as a traitor of Clan MacUisdean. Why did ye return tae the place of his murder?”
There was no harshness in his question, only genuine curiosity. She took a breath, wishing she could lie about her identity—but she couldn’t. Her damned eyes had given her away, something she should have anticipated.
“Lass?” he pressed.
“After—after my father’s death, my mother and I fled tae the Lowlands,” she whispered. “By the time my mother died, there was no money. I had a hard time getting work, so I returned tae where I kent my parents once lived, hoping someone would take pity on me and offer me a post. I took another servant girl’s place. If ye want me tae leave—”
“No,” Neacal said, stepping back with a frown. “Ye donnae have tae leave. But there are rumors that Latharn MacUisdean is alive and has returned tae these lands tae reclaim his title. Do ye ken anything about this?"
You know nothing, Evelyn told herself, as her panic swelled. She schooled her expression into one of disbelief. She needed to give an Oscar-worthy performance on the spot.
“”Tis impossible,” she breathed. “The former laird’s sons are long dead.”
He held her gaze for a long moment; she knew he was searching for a hint of deception. She kept her eyes wide, praying that she looked genuinely astonished.
“Very well, lass,” he said finally, and relief swirled through her. “But ’tis best ye avoid my brother's notice. Stick tae the kitchens if ye must."
“Aye, my laird. I thank ye,” she said, dipping into a hasty bow before hurrying away from him, though she felt his burning, intense eyes follow her as she fled.
Chapter 13
When Eibhlin entered Horas’s home, her skin was pale, and panic shadowed her eyes.
Latharn immediately shot to his feet at the sight of her. He'd been in discussion with Crisdean and Gormal about the number of fighting men Padraig had on his side, but as soon as he saw Eibhlin's face, the discussion was forgotten. He strode across the room to approach her.
"What happened?" he asked, fury racing through his veins. Had someone harmed her?
"Neacal recognized me," Eibhlin whispered. "He—he warned me tae stay out of sight. He also told me there are rumors about yer return. He seemed tae believe me when I told him I ken nothing about it.”
Dread flooded Latharn's body while behind him, Gormal swore an oath.
He'd known that word would eventually get to Padraig that he was alive and on MacUisdean lands once he started recruiting commoners to his cause. But the rumors of his return didn't concern him; he was only worried for Eibhlin.
“Ye shouldnae return tae the castle,” he said. “That wasnae a warning. It was a threat.”
“Latharn, he could have taken me tae Padraig right there. Instead, he let me go. He even seemed . . . concerned,” Eibhlin murmured, looking deep in thought.
“That was tae make ye feel secure," Latharn returned. "Have ye forgotten what a treacherous snake his father was? Ye can no longer stay there. Ye need tae leave, tae get far from these lands."
His heart twisted as he said the words, but he had to put her safety above his desire for her.
Hurt flickered in her eyes before it was replaced by determination, the same determination he’d seen on her face the first time they met.
"What do ye ken about Neacal?" she asked.
"Why does that matter?" he snapped.
"Because I donnae think he's like his brother," she said. "I've watched him at feasts. He doesnae seem tae like being there. He doesnae seem anything like Padraig. He's . . . quieter. Almost . . . kind. A noble propositioned me at a feast, and Neacal ordered him tae leave me be. When Tulach warned me about Padraig liking the lassies, he didnae mention Neacal. I think—”
“Eibhlin," he bit out,”they were both raised by the man who murdered our fathers. They—”
“Padraig may be like his father, but I donnae think Neacal is,” Eibhlin protested. "If he were, I wouldnae be standing here right now."
"I think Eibhlin is right," Crisdean interjected. Gormal and Crisdean now hovered behind him. “Neacal could have just taken her tae the laird."
“That proves nothing,” Latharn hissed. “For all we ken, he could have told his brother ye were there, and they’re waiting for ye tae return. Or he could have had ye followed.”
“I took a different route here and stopped periodically tae make certain I wasnae followed,” Eibhlin said. “Latharn . . . it may be possible that Neacal doesnae care for leadership. What if he could be an ally? What if he could help ye?”
Latharn just looked at her in horrified disbelief. To defend Neacal was one matter. But to suggest that he work with his enemy as an ally was madness.
“Padraig and Neacal were in conflict over who would take the lairdship,” Latharn said, through gritted teeth. “If Neacal didnae want that—"
“But how do ye ken for certain?” Eibhlin asked. “What if—"
Latharn held up his hand for her silence. He turned to Crisdean and Gormal.
“Leave us.” He barked the words. “I want tae talk tae Eibhlin alone.”
His brother frowned and looked like he would protest, but at the furious look on Latharn’s face, he obliged. Gormal, he noted, looked pleased that he was angry with Eibhlin. He gave Latharn a respectful nod and swept out of the home with Crisdean.
When he turned back to Eibhlin, he noted that she’d gone pale again, but she’d also pulled herself to her full height, steadily holding his gaze. He stalked toward her, trying to control his anger—and his burgeoning jealousy.
“What,” he snapped, “exactly happened between the two of ye?”
The defiance vanished from her eyes, and they widened.
“What?” she gasped. “Ye mean—between me and Neacal?”
“Aye,” he demanded. “Ye come here and tell me that ye believe Neacal is trustworthy and that he could be an ally. How did he convince ye of this, lass?"
Eibhlin's disbelief turned into rage. She moved toward him until they stood to
e-to-toe.
"How dare ye?" she hissed. "He didnae touch me, if that’s what ye’re suggesting. I'm telling ye this based on what I've observed about the man. And I donnae ken for certain if he can be an ally, ’tis just something I suspect may be the—”
"Neacal is our enemy,” he barked. “If ye donnae understand that, perhaps ye should no longer serve as a spy, and go on yer way.”
“I can still spy on my own,” she snapped.
“Is that for certain, lass? I could have my men remove ye from the castle, and send ye away by force.”
He hated using his power—power he was just becoming acquainted with—over her, but he was determined to keep her safe from harm, and to remove the ridiculous notion that Neacal could be his ally from her mind. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her.
“Very well, my laird,” she said stiffly, putting an emphasis on his title. “I’ll keep my distance from Neacal."
She started to move past him, but he reached for her hand, pulling her close.
“Eibhlin,” he murmured, his tone softening. “Ye must ken I care for ye. I just want tae protect ye. Donnae forget that Neacal is the son of Steaphan MacUisdean. If ye insist on returning tae the castle, I want ye tae only stay for a fortnight. ’Tis a risk for ye tae stay any longer now that Neacal kens who ye are.”
Eibhlin swallowed, but she gave him a jerky nod.
"Aye," she murmured. "But—at least think over what I said. Talk tae yer other spies, and see what they have tae say about Neacal.”
“All right,” he grumbled, though he knew he would do no such thing. He would never work with the son of the man who’d destroyed his family. “As long as ye stay away from Neacal.”
She gave him another jerky nod, trying to step back from him. But he couldn’t help himself; he pulled her even closer and claimed her mouth with his. For a moment, she stiffened before melting into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck with a soft sigh as he plundered her mouth. He held her close as he peppered kisses down the side of her jaw, the long arch of her throat, down to her luscious bosom.
Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six Page 8
