Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (16 page)

Chapter 11

Knocking, he entered to find Eva seated on the floor in the midst of a deep, colorful mound of fragrant heather. That lovely, unexpected sight quickened his heartbeat, as did her warm and winsome smile as he stepped inside. He returned it easily.

Solas and Grainne rushed toward him, panting and wagging their tails. He patted Solas, then turned to Grainne. "Little
craineag,
did you find the fox you went after earlier today?" Grainne hopped on her hind legs in evident delight.

"Lachlann," Eva said, still smiling. "Look!"

"Ah, do you want a pat on the head, too?" He was not sure what lightened his humor. Perhaps it was the playfulness of the dogs. Perhaps it was the refreshing sight of Eva, after a day without her, after years without her.

"Tcha
," she said, then gestured. "Look what I brought you!"

"Ah, heather." He crossed his arms and surveyed the colorful chaos on the floor. "I missed it in France, but you did not need to bring it down from the hills. I would have walked out to see it sooner or later."

She laughed, then shrieked as Grainne dove into the mass of greenery and delicate blooms. The little dog growled and waggled her upended tail as she burrowed into the flowers, scattering them everywhere. Eva and Lachlann both swooped down for her. They collided, her head bumping his shoulder.

Sinking to one knee in the heather, he curled the terrier under his arm.

Eva sat up and laughed, which soon descended into giggles.

"What?" Lachlann asked. Then he noticed Grainne, tucked in his arm and bedecked in heather blooms. Sprays stuck out of the wiry tufts of her coat, and purple bells draped over her snout. The dog blinked, wide-eyed, and cocked her head.

Lachlann grinned as he brushed the flowers away, then smiled at Eva. "Why did you collect all this heather? Other than to fiercely tempt our little hedgehog," he added.

She laughed again. He wished the sound would never stop; it rang like silver bells in his heart. "I was glad to find so many stems in bloom this late in the season," she said.
"Ach
, you are covered with them, too."

As she spoke, she brushed at the heather clinging to his forearms, and swept her hand over his plaid, where tiny flower petals scattered over the material. Her hand skimmed his thighs casually, efficiently.

He grew very still, aware that his body responded to her innocent touch. Her hand stayed, and she blushed, pink spilling into her cheeks. He turned her hand and filled the cup of her palm with the sprigs that had pooled in his lap. His eyes met hers.

A bloom dangled above her ear, and he plucked it loose and slid it into the plaitwork of her braid. "There," he murmured. "That looks nice."

She smiled, quick and shy, and brushed flowery debris from Grainne's coat as Lachlann held the dog. Solas came up to them and nosed against Lachlann's shoulder in a plea for affection.

"Ho, are you jealous, my girl?" He roughed his fingers over her head. "Fret not, I still love you. Oh, and you, too," he added, when Grainne yelped. He glanced at Eva, acutely aware of what he had said—and left unsaid. Showing love to the dogs came easily to him, though he often shielded his feelings from others, especially Eva.

"Did you collect the heather to celebrate my homecoming?" he asked, pushing Solas away gently, though he still held Grainne to keep her out of the pile of heather.

"Of course not." She smiled a little. "It is for your bed."

"Ah. The one you are sleeping in?" He lifted a brow.

Color filled her cheeks; he liked it well. "This will make a good bed in the smithy," she explained earnestly. "I must sort through it, but first I had best take time to cook a meal for us—if you will stay."

"Certainly," he said, glad she had asked. Grainne squirmed and tried to jump back into the heather, and he set her down, firmly guiding her away from it. "What will you do with all these flowers?" he asked, looking up.

"They will be useful. If you are going to sit there, Lachlann MacKerron, you can be useful too—"

"Sit here? I am keeping this silly beast from destroying your harvest," he muttered.

"—you could sort the bare stems from the flowering bits." She got to her feet. "The tougher stems can be dried and used to weave mats and baskets. I can use some of the bells in infusions, and brew the rest in ale. Heather makes a good tonic for coughs and sniffles, too. With the cold weather coming, we may have need of that. Mairi always makes heather syrups and infusions."

Lachlann nodded. "I remember. It has many uses indeed, and Muime knew them all. I have tasted and smelled heather all my life, as have you—and it seemed common to me once. But now it is wonderful to see it again, to smell its fragrance in the house." He inhaled appreciatively.

He began to sort the stems, although he had to push Grainne away repeatedly. She had a fascination for heather and no sense of the destruction she caused. Solas seemed uninterested in her antics, and lounged calmly by the fireside.

Eva went to the hearth and prodded the peat fire to greater heat, then swung the kettle over the fire on its long chain. She filled it with water from the bucket by the fireplace.

Lachlann watched her move between hearth, cupboard, and table, preparing the meal. Deftly she chopped carrots and onions and tossed them into the steaming kettle with barley. Sprinkling salt into the kettle, she turned to make oatcakes, crumbling oats with butter and salt. Her fingers were strong and nimble as she formed cakes and slid them onto a flat griddle.

"Muime taught you well," he commented. "I apologize for thinking you would be the spoiled wife of a wealthy laird, with servants to do the work for you. Though that will come soon enough," he added in a darker tone than he intended.

Eva frowned and did not reply. She slapped the rest of the cakes onto the sizzling griddle. The tension around her mouth revealed her irritation. "I saw Simon the other day," she finally said. "I told him that you want to see him."

"Where did you find him?"

"I cannot tell you that." She stirred the kettle, then stepped away to take bowls and cups from a shelf and put them on the table. "I am not certain of your mission."

"I intend to make a bid for peace."

"What good will that do? My brother does not want peace, he wants his clan's rights back and his brother free. Has your time in the king's army changed you so much that you cannot sympathize with us, or understand our cause?" She picked up a jug and poured ale into two cups.

He stood up and came toward her, leaning his hands on the table. "Whatever else you think of me, I am no traitor. I am no different from the man I was when I left here."

She faced him across the table, her gray-green eyes sparking like lightning through storm clouds. "You are changed," she said.

"I am no traitor," he repeated. "Your rebels can trust me."

"Can I believe that?"

"Believe what you will."

She frowned and turned, filling the bowls from the kettle and setting them on the table. With tongs, she picked up the hot oatcakes and slid them onto a wooden platter. Lachlann took that from her while she fetched a pot of butter from the cupboard.

"The food grows cold," she said abruptly. "Sit and eat."

He motioned for her to sit first. She did, and murmured a blessing over the food, which he completed. Then he slipped his wooden spoon into the hot broth, thick with vegetables, and began to eat in silence.

Solas and Grainne hovered nearby with expressions of unabashed hope. Lachlann broke off pieces of oatcake and tossed them to the floor. The dogs nuzzled them, and Lachlann glanced over to see Eva watching him. She looked away, cheeks flaming.

He reached out to spread butter onto a hot oatcake. On impulse, sensing that an offer of peace was needed, he prepared another for her and passed it across the table. She took it tentatively, then broke off a piece and tossed it to Grainne.

"You have no appetite," he observed. She shrugged. "I would think you would be famished. You spent the day walking the hills, pulling heather plants, and seeking rebels in their den... in the hills, was it?" He bit deeply into his own cake and dipped his spoon into the savory soup.

She scowled. "I will not tell you where the rebels are, if that is what you are fishing for. Simon will find you when he is ready to listen to the king's message. And I cannot eat when I am upset." She pushed her bowl away.

"Upset about what?" he asked, dipping a bit of oatcake into his nearly emptied bowl.

"Nothing." She stood, cleared both bowls away—brisking his out from under his spoon—and dumped their contents into a wooden dish on the floor. The dogs padded over to it eagerly.

"Ho, I am still eating," he protested.

"How can you eat in the middle of a dispute?" She wiped the bowls vigorously with sand and ash, scooped from the hearth.

"I lack a delicate stomach. And I did not know we were in dispute." He stood and rounded the table, and Eva sidled away. Grabbing another bowl from the shelf, he ladled more broth and vegetables from the kettle and ate quickly, standing by the hearth. Eva wiped the bowls with a damp cloth and set them back on the shelf in tense silence.

She had ever been a volatile and fascinating creature, he remembered, stubborn and high-spirited, with enough temper and moodiness to confound the male children around her. Yet he knew she had a warm heart, integrity, and courage. If she was angered, he trusted she had good reason to be. And she was clearly angry with him; puzzled by that, he wondered what he had done.

He watched her while he ate. She seemed tense as a bowstring. Perhaps she was actually frightened on behalf of her kinsmen, since she had raised the issue of his loyalty. Certainly he was faithful to his old friends, and he thought she should know that without question. But he had secret matters to protect as well.

When he finished, he set the bowl aside and looked at Eva, standing beside him by the hearth. "Tell me this," he said. "Are you upset with me because I bear a message for Simon from King James?" She did not answer, watching the blue peat flames. "The king would have conveyed his warning with troops. I offered to bring the word more peaceably, but I must know where Simon is."

"If I told you, then you might tell the king where the rebels hide, and he would send fire and sword after them. We know about his plans to quell the MacArthur rebellion."

"How did you learn that?" he asked sharply.

"Alpin said a messenger came to Innisfarna with news of the king's plans."

"I met John Robson the other day," he said. "Nothing was mentioned about that. If it was a royal messenger, I would have been told. Robson knows my business here."

She scowled deeply, slim dark brows dipping above troubled eyes. "The message came from Colin. He is back from France, and will be here soon... very soon, they say."

He felt his heart fall hard to his feet. "Ah," he said. "Does that bother you? I would think you would be eager for your betrothed to return." Bitterness shaded his voice, though he wanted to remain neutral.

She shrugged. "I made a promise to Colin and to my father. Despite what has happened to my kin, I must honor it."

"You are an honorable woman," he murmured, "and Colin Campbell is a fortunate man." But he frowned.

Eva looked up at him, and his gaze sank to her lush, rosy mouth. Had the mood been otherwise—had life been otherwise—he might have kissed her. Despite the barriers between them, the temptation rushed hot through him.

Her eyes snapped like steel. "Tell me one thing."

"Say it." He narrowed his eyes, waiting.

"Will you prove your loyalty to the MacArthurs?"

Suddenly he was the one who felt betrayed. Her mistrust cut like a knife, and the news about Colin's imminent arrival gave the blade a twist. He leaned down.

"Listen to me," he said, low and lethal. "I am a MacKerron smith. My kin have served the MacArthurs and the area of Loch Fhionn for generations. Not one of you should question my loyalty. Least of all you," he snapped. "You knew me well enough once to guess what sort of man I am now."

Her gaze faltered, flickered away. "We agreed to forget what happened between us on Beltane night."