Her eyes flew to his. “How so?”
How much to tell her now? Conall had not thought the matter would be raised so soon, and he was unsure how Eve would take the tale of Minerva and Ronan’s disastrous affair. Especially since she already feared the Buchanan’s condemnation.
“An old feud,” he finally said. “Of little consequence now, but I would not risk further insult.”
Eve pressed her lips together, obviously in deep thought. “I understand,” she said at last. “You must go. But you will go alone.”
“Eve—”
“I’ll not discuss it further, MacKerrick.” She cut him off, her voice growing shrill.
He did not wish to upset her by telling her she had no choice, but he thought it to himself. He could not approach the Buchanan town alone with such news. If he was not killed immediately after revealing his identity, he would be shortly after telling of the curse’s remedy. The clan heads would never believe him without Eve in the flesh, as proof.
Conall tried to quit his mind of the dark image of holding Eve before him as some sort of trophy—or, worse, a protective amulet, because she was so much more to him now. But to the bloodthirsty Buchanans, her existence was likely aught that would stay their vengeful pride.
Conall decided that there was still time to convince Eve. He would let her be for a few days to think upon it and come to the right decision on her own. But she would go.
She had no choice.
“Very well,” Conall said, pulling her to him once more, even when she would have kept her distance. “We’ll nae discuss it further this day. But as your husband, Eve, I bid you give it your thought. I’d have your support of my duties, wife.”
She nodded stiffly, her hair rubbing against his chest. “I will think upon it.”
Conall was placated, and content now to hold her for the better part of a quarter hour. He had almost dozed off into a comfortable slumber when Eve’s low voice roused him.
“Tell me about your necklace.”
Chapter Sixteen
Evelyn felt Conall stiffen and so she gave him a moment before she pressed. ’Twas obviously an item of great importance and of deep meaning for Conall, and she hungered to be let in on its secret. She felt he owed her as much after scaring the life out of her by suggesting that they visit the Buchanan town. She had avoided the journey without resorting to more lies—indeed, she had been completely honest. But she knew in her heart that neither Conall or his impending duty could be put off forever. The truth would be told, and soon.
“You promised,” she reminded him.
“I know I did.” It was his turn to roll away from her and onto his back. Evelyn tucked her arm under her head to watch him on her side.
“You’ll nae find pleasure in this tale,” he warned her, his eyes fixed on the box bed’s slatted roof. “The telling of it, nor its end.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I want to know.”
He gave a single nod. “Very well.” Evelyn saw his throat working as he swallowed, as if he had to work up the courage to begin. “Me da, Dáire MacKerrick, arranged my marriage to Nonna when she was only days old. All were pleased with the match and spoke of the day when I would take Da’s place as clan chief, with Nonna as my wife.
“We were playmates, the three of us—Nonna, Dunc, and meself—reared in the town side by side.” A faint smile pulled at his mouth and Evelyn knew he was remembering. “She was a bonny, mischievous lass—long, dark hair, always a-tangle, her skirts pulled up and knotted. She never hesitated to join in a spot of trouble me an’ Duncan had discovered and oft times, ’twas she who found us the merry to make.”
The smile slipped from his face slowly, like silk sliding from a piece of rough-planed lumber.
“But as we grew older, and the day drew near to when we’d be expected to wed, Nonna changed. Times were nae easy then—crops were failing, we had to defend our lands from poachers—and I was oft away with Da, hunting or fighting. Each time I returned, she was more distant, cold. She made it clear she’d nae desire for my company when it wasna absolutely required of her.
“And then one day, out of the clear sky, it seemed, although I reckon I must’ve known, she says to me”—he pulled his face into a haughty, determined look—“Conall, I doona fancy bein’ yer wife.’”
The word “why” was nearly out of Evelyn’s mouth before she caught herself. Thankfully, Conall either took pity on her or had planned on keeping his word to tell the tale to its end. Either way, he continued.
“She said the town was…damned, collapsing. A death trap, she called it. Said Da wasna doing anything about…anything to better it, and that she had little hope I would either.” Evelyn was riveted by Conall’s past and barely noticed she’d brought her hand to her mouth to cover her shock. But it was to get much, much worse.
“She didna want to be the chief’s wife,” he said. “Said she would accept any other man in the whole of Scotland, save me. She didna love me.”
He paused for a moment. “She ran off the eve before we were to wed, but her da ’n mine fetched her back before the dawn.”
Evelyn tried to imagine the humiliation Conall must have felt at his intended fleeing him and then felt her face heat. Hadn’t she done nearly the same thing to the man she’d thought to marry in England? Only Evelyn had fled to the priory and no one had fetched her back until it was too late. She felt deep remorse for the heartache she now knew she’d caused what seemed to be years ago, and she was grateful to the bottom of her very soul that Nicholas FitzTodd had found his true happiness.
