My Eve?Was that how he thought of her? He shook his head. She was his wife now—’twas natural he should use the possessive phrase. She belonged to him now.
He tried not to acknowledge that he’d never once thought of Nonna MacKerrick as “his Nonna.”
Conall urged his feet forward once more. He wanted to return to the hut before nightfall and so must hurry in his chore. In his pack were six wild hares—small, aye, barely more than kittens—and a precious amount of venison. Conall would deliver the food to his town and be back to Eve posthaste. She’d wanted to come with him, but Conall had refused in no uncertain terms, telling her that the townsfolk would be sorely taken aback thinking that Conall had brought them another mouth to feed. A skewing of the truth, for certain, but for the good of all.
Bringing a Buchanan woman into town would have indeed set his clan to furious rebellion and ’twould be only a matter of moments before Eve would discover Conall’s original motive for marrying her.
He stopped again.Original motive?
Bugger it all,he thought.See what a regular piece of arse does to you? You’ve got yourself half convinced you’re in love with Eve Buchanan.
He trundled on, at a faster pace now, his boots creating deep trenches in the blanket of white that hid the narrow path.
Conall prayed that Eve’s cycle of womanly bleeding would commence again soon, and that he could then get a child on her by the spring thaw, still weeks away. Then they could return to the MacKerrick town together, in time to see the crops beginning to grow, to flourish, as Conall hoped his and Eve’s marriage would also do.
But when will you tell her the truth?he asked himself.
When ’tis too late for her to deny me,he answered, with no little shame.
He hoped by the time he could tell Eve the truth, it would be of little importance to her. That, by then, her heart would have softened toward Conall as his already was toward her.
Majestic Ben Nevis appeared out of the morning mist as Conall broke through the dense wood, the snow spilled down its apron sparkling with shades of amber and red and deepest black with the sun rising behind it. His town would come into view in moments. Conall braced himself for the sorry sight of the deserted common areas snaking through the cluster of sod homes, stingy smoke from rotting rooftops breathing tomb silence as everyone huddled inside to conserve both heat and energy.
But when the first thatched roof poked up from over the rise, what Conall heard was music.
Evelyn’s mood was jubilant, even as she crawled back into the box bed no sooner than Conall shut the hut door after himself. She already missed the highlander’s company, but she was glad to have the day to herself, to nap and to revel in her good fortune.
This morn, when she’d gone into the woods to relieve her bladder, the snow beneath her had been tinged the very faintest pink, and Evelyn had wanted to shout with joy. She’d done an excited mental check of her body: her breasts were tender and full, her head ached dully, and she could sleep standing up. Evelyn had never been happier at feeling so poorly. It had been so long since her last season, she had almost not noticed the signs of her approaching monthly. In truth, she must have been more sickly from malnutrition than she’d ever realized, for her symptoms were mild and she had no abdominal discomfort save for one brief wave of nausea. She attributed the mild flow—spotty at very best—to her lingering physical weakness and looked forward to a leisurely day of rest and reflection on her new life, and her future as Conall MacKerrick’s wife.
She was both excited and nervous to her core to meet Lana MacKerrick and Conall’s twin brother, Duncan. What an odd, wondrous concept it was to her—family.She hoped that they would be pleased with her as their kin.
Well, as pleased as they could be once they learned she was English.
Evelyn winced guiltily as Alinor laid her long, black muzzle on the edge of the mattress. “Hallow, lovely. All right, come up.” She patted the ticking and the wolf sprang onto the bed in a graceful pounce. After circling in place twice, Alinor lay down, her head on Evelyn’s stomach. The wolf gave a great sigh and closed her eyes, leaving Evelyn alone with her guilt.
She must tell MacKerrick the truth soon. They were man and wife now, and MacKerrick had assured her over and over that his clan would accept any bride he chose, so there really was no reason to keep up the ruse. ’Twas far better that she be the one to tell him, before they journeyed to his home, than for him to find out through other means. His gentle way with her and their deepening friendship was eating a black hole in her conscience so that the lie was all she could think of—now that her season had returned, of course.
Which brought up another troubling point: she’d have to tell him her cycle had started once more. Which meant they could no longer be as indulgent with their physical attraction as they had in the past twenty days and one morn. MacKerrick would balk at any mention of restraint, she was certain, and truth be told, Evelyn was not looking forward to withholding herself from her husband. The way he played her naked body was a pleasure she could have never imagined. He must have lain with many women, she reflected jealously, to know so intimately how to bring Evelyn to climax—in various, thrilling ways, no less.
But he was hers now. And the greatest challenge would be convincing MacKerrick that they could not freely make love, no matter how great of companions they had become.
She realized she needed to seek her relief out of doors again, and would have used the bucket in the far pen set there for that purpose—the broken mug bucket, Evelyn reminded herself with a wry grin—but Alinor had bounded from the bed and was now scratching at the door to be let out as well.
“Very well, Alinor,” Evelyn groaned, dragging herself from the bed and giving a satisfying yawn. She spied the crock near the fire and her stomach growled. Perhaps a light meal was in order when they returned.
“Bonnie, to me,” Evelyn called as she lifted the bar. Bonnie clattered over and the wolf whipped around with a low growl to jostle the smaller animal away from the door. “Be kind, Alinor.”
Once the door was opened, the wolf bolted into the clearing, leaving Evelyn and Bonnie to trail after her. Alinor stopped at the fringe of the wood and ran along the tree line, her nose held high, sniffing, sniffing.
“He’ll return soon,” Evelyn assured the wolf as she approached the spot where the pink snow was still barely visible. She wanted to see the proof again.
But Alinor gave a sharp bark and disappeared into the wood before Evelyn could stop her. Evelyn frowned. ’Twas quite unlike Alinor to venture away. The wolf still lived in terror of the grays.
“Alinor!” Evelyn called into the quiet wood, striped gray and white with tree trunks and snow. “Alinor, to me!” She leaned this way and that, peering into the trees, and at last saw the black loping back toward her. “Come on, girl. What are you about? ’Tis too cold for sport.”
Alinor neared and Evelyn caught her breath—the wolf grasped something, also black, but oddly angled and thrashing, in her mouth.
“Oh, God,” she muttered and charged into the trees. “What have you done?” she demanded. “Alinor, drop it! Naughty!” She high-stepped through the snow and met the wolf halfway.
