His graveled face brightened and he leaned toward her to press her forearm in delight. “It does indeed, my sweet.”
Finley swallowed hard.
Eachann coughed and then was apparently forced to clear his throat of a rather large plug of mucus, expelling it with a wet exclamation into the churning water below. Then he wiped his mouth with his shawl and turned to her fully, splaying one stubby palm against his breast. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth.
He closed it again with a sheepish grin and sank to one knee. Eachann reached up and pawed at Finley’s right hand, now gripping the railing as if it would save her life. She resisted his prying fingers until it became obvious that he would not relent. She let him take her hand into his damp, salmon-fat fingers.
He cleared his throat again and narrowed his eyes, staring intently into Finley’s face.
“‘Her hair is like the dawn; her eyes, a gentle fawn’s.’”
“My eyes are blue, Eachann,” Finely interrupted.
“Shh,” he scolded. “Dammit all. Now, where was I?”
“A fawn’s eyes are brown,” she reasoned. “I just thought you’d—”
“I’ll start over,” Eachann interrupted pointedly. “‘Her hair is like the dawn; her eyes, a gentle fawn’s.’” He looked at her with warning, but Finley wisely held her tongue, wishing the whole thing over with.
“‘My many bairns she’ll spawn. From my own loins, so brawn. Unto her glistening prawn. The fair Finley Car-son.’”
Finley knew her mouth had dropped open as she stared down at him, but she couldn’t help it. “Wh—what?”
Eachann grumbled in his throat and drew a breath. “‘Her hair is like the daw—’”
“Nay, Eachann, I heard you well,” Finley interrupted, snatching her hand from his slippery grip. “‘Glistening prawn’?”
His cheeks speckled like a drunk’s, and he rose to his feet. “’Tis a passionate phrase, aye. But only for your ears, my sweet.” He took a step toward her, his arms held out as if he would embrace her. “And the only words that could express how I anticipate—”
“Anticipate this,” Finley said, and swept her foot at his ankles, at the same moment taking hold of his sloped shoulders and levering him across the low railing.
Eachann Todde executed a lovely cartwheel on his way to the river, his bard’s voice rising in a shrill howl before it was cut off by the splash of his arse striking the rippling surface. Finley stood at the railing, waiting for him to surface—not because she worried for his welfare, but solely to see the expression of shocked confusion on his gnawsome face as he came up, gasping and sputtering.
She thought she heard some sort of canine bark from the trees behind her and turned, her eyes scanning the tall, slender trunks with suspicion. Wolves were generally rare in this part of the Highlands, but they did wander close to Carson Town now and again, especially along the river. But there was little to see in the deepening gloom of the bowing sun.
“Finley Carson!” The bellow from the water below caused Finley to whip her head back around to find Eachann Todde now standing on the steep and jagged riverbank below. Gone was the benign, doughy look of lustful admiration from his face, his fuzzy, flame-colored hair now hanging in pathetic tendrils. “You did that a-purpose!”
Her brows lowered. “I did,” she admitted. “And if you dare bring your bloated girth to stand too near me in the future, I’ll take a stick to you, Eachann Todde, speaking to me so boldly.”
He stabbed a stubby forefinger up at her. “You hellion. I was your last hope. There’s not a man left in the town ye havena offended!”
“God help me, if you were the last man in all of Scotland, I’d never marry you!”
“I’d nae have ye!” he bellowed back.
Finley stuttered a moment and then shouted, “Your poetry is rubbish!”
“Your father shall hear of this straightaway,” he threatened, waggling his finger at her again before he turned to begin the arduous struggle up the slippery rock shelves that made up the bank. “The fine, as well!” he tossed over his shoulder.
Finley drew her head back in surprise. “Are you threatening me?” she asked incredulously, more to herself than for the benefit of Eachann’s ears. Then her brows lowered again and she stalked to the eastern side of the bridge and gathered up a handful of rocks. She ran back to the center of the span and began throwing them at Eachann Todde’s wide, dripping backside, her aim true more oft than not. “Tell them this while you’re about it, you…you rat-faced farmer of sheep shite!”
He yelped and ducked as she pelted him with the stones, and he finally staggered onto the path. Finley was rather surprised that he’d managed to scale the bank. His rough complexion was dark with exertion and rage and his head lowered as he marched toward her.
“Doona come any closer, Eachann,” she warned, gripping a final stone in her hand.
“Your trouble is that your da never gave you the proper beatin’ you’ve been askin’ for since you were nine. I’ll do the town the favor of it myself.”
“I’ll lay you flat,” she vowed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I swear it. Stay away.Eachann…”
