Eve nodded. “Certainly.”
Conall rose from the stool and approached the bed. Eve frowned when he sat on the edge of the ticking, but he ignored it and handed the packet of pages to her.
“What?” She took the manuscript carefully into her hands.
“Read me a piece of it.”
Eve pinkened again. “I…another time, mayhap, MacKerrick. In truth, I am still weary. My eyes—”
“Just a bit,” Conall pressed. He leaned over and flipped the cover back. “I would hear this Solomon’s Song.”
Eve sighed. “Very well.” She cleared her throat. “‘The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s. Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savor of thy good ointments, thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.’” She paused.
“Go on,” Conall urged.
“‘Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought men into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine—’” Eve suddenly closed the book. “I think that’s enough.”
Conall’s heart pounded in his chest and his hands took a tremor where they rested on his thighs. The effect of Eve’s soft voice speaking such beautiful words—sensual words—stunned him.
He wanted more.
“Nae.” He reached for the book. “Continue…”
Eve snatched the manuscript out of his reach. “I tire, MacKerrick.”
Conall wanted to shout at her, to demand she reveal more of the mystery of the strangely erotic passage, but he caught his impatience by the scruff of its neck.
“On the morrow?” He tried to temper his anxious tone. “Mayhap you could read a piece each day. ’Twould be a fine way to pass the time.”
“Mayhap,” Eve said evasively and would not meet his eyes. “For now, I would like to get up and have a cup of tea if there is any made.”
Conall rose from the mattress immediately. “I’ll fetch it for you.”
Evelyn threw the horse blanket back and the cool air of the hut washed over her bare ankles. She scooted to the edge of the bed, her cheeks still tingling from the verses she’d read, and carefully fastened the cover of the manuscript. The silence of the cottage seemed weighty.
What had she been thinking, reading to the MacKerrick from the most provocative book of the Bible? But the large highlander gave no outward sign that the piece had discomfited him in any way—he only squatted by the fire, pouring steaming pine tea into the mug for her.
Alinor ambled over to the bed from the far side of the hut and sat down against Evelyn’s legs, the once-jaunty pink bow around her middle now undone, dirtied and dragging the ground. Left alone in her pen, the sheep bleated pitifully. The wolf raised a rear leg and scratched in earnest at her side.
“I know, lovely,” Evelyn said regretfully, patting Alinor’s wide head. “I will see to you in a moment.”
MacKerrick was standing near them now, holding forth the fresh mug of tea. Evelyn took it with a murmured thanks, and tried not to pull away too quickly when their fingertips touched.
“What is she needing?” MacKerrick asked.
Evelyn sipped tentatively and then cleared her throat. She was surprised at how much better she felt. “Her wound wants cleaning and her bandage changed. It looked nearly healed yesterday. Mayhap she’ll not need a bandage at all, now.” Evelyn was relieved the Song of Solomon was no longer the topic of conversation. She slid her feet into her shoes.
MacKerrick grunted. “I’ll have a look at it.”
“Nay.” Evelyn stood, the mug in one hand and the manuscript in the other. She fought back a little twist of dizziness. “I doubt she’d allow you. Any matter, she is my animal, and I would care for her myself.”
A frown darkened his features as his eyes swept her body from crown to slippers and back again. Evelyn felt oddly exposed by his close scrutiny.
“I doona think you’ve the strength yet, Eve, to be—”
Evelyn cut him off as she brushed past him to the stool. “You are not my keeper, MacKerrick.” She set the mug on the low seat and took hold of her abandoned saddle bag, straightening with caution lest she topple over into the fire pit and prove him right.
She shook open the pack and slid the priceless book inside, a pang of guilt at her snappishness tempering her next words. “I owe you a great deal for your kindness, but I will not be dictated to. I left that life behind when I made the decision not to return to the priory.” She met his eyes for only a moment. “You may be chief of the MacKerrick clan, but you are not my lord.”
