Grissa bobbed a curtsy and ran to carry out his orders.
As the maid closed the door that had survived his kick, he focused fully on his errant lady. “Ye scared ten years off me, woman.”
She didn’t look up at him, just clutched the wrap tighter around her shoulders. “Ye scared me first,” she finally said in a hoarse whisper.
He poured two whiskies and brought them and the decanter back to the hearth. “Here, m’lady.” He placed hers between her hands, then pulled up a stool and sat next to her. Her accusation floated between them. “I know I frightened ye,” he admitted. “And for that, I beg yer forgiveness.” He downed his dram and poured another. “I can only claim the shock of learning the day I die as an excuse.”
“Fair point.” She drained her glass and held it out for another. “So, ye dinna believe I am a witch, then—right?”
That made him smile as he filled her glass with the body-warming water of life. “All women are witches. To some extent, anyway.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “But if ye fear I wish to drown ye or burn ye at the stake, ye sadly misunderstand my intentions.”
As she watched him over the rim of her glass, her rich, dark eyes flashed with more emotions than he could decipher. “And what are those intentions?”
“I think ye know.”
“A woman likes to hear the words, my chieftain.” Before he could respond, she lifted her chin to a defiant angle. “And dinna say ye love me. Ye have not known me long enough to claim such feelings.”
“Aye, but I have known ye long enough to know Icouldlove ye.” He softly clinked his glass to hers to toast the admission. “That is…if ye choose to allow it.” He held her eyes. “And if ye feel ye might someday decide to love me back.”
She tore her gaze away and stared down at the wrap, idly picking at a loose thread. “I might could love ye. Someday.”
“And do ye also think ye could speak with me from now on rather than running all over the Highlands trying to hide because ye fear I may or may not do something?”
She rewarded that question with a hard glare. “If I say yes, will ye accept it and let it go? I am not partial to having the past thrown in my face at every opportunity, ye ken?”
Trying not to laugh at her delightful sauciness, he refilled both their glasses, then lifted his in a toast. “Agreed, m’lady. To all that we have discussed, aye? A toast to our new accord?”
The hint of a smile curved her tempting mouth and sparkled in her eyes. “To our new accord.” She clinked her glass to his and tossed back an impressive swallow of whisky. But then she grew quiet again, staring down at her drink as she idly ran a finger around its rim. “Thank ye.”
Confusion filled him. He reached up and brushed her damp hair back from her face. “For what, m’lady?”
A heavy sigh escaped her as she met his gaze. “Yer kindness and patience. Ye are a good man, Teague MacDonald, in a world where good men are sometimes in short supply.” She smiled again, but it was filled with sadness. “I pray we can keep ye safe. Ye will listen to me, aye? Stay away from Stirling?”
“I will do anything for ye, m’lady,” he whispered. He leaned forward and sealed the vow with a tender kiss across the soft fullness of her lips. “Anything ye wish.”
A light tap on the door ended the moment.
“A mhic an Diabhail,” he muttered.
Mila laughed. “O son of the Devil?”
“I couldha said worse.” He rose to his feet and offered a gallant bow. “The presence of my lady love demanded I curb my tongue.”
Her cheeks flushed with a delightful pinkness, but he didn’t remark on how much that pleased him. Instead, he kissed her forehead, then crossed the room and opened the door.
Grissa, along with maids Malie and Dorrie, waited with trays piled high with food.
He directed them to the open entrance of his bedchamber with a wave of his hand. “On the table beside the window, aye?” As he watched them file in, he continued, “And how is the bath coming along?”
“Nearly ready,” Grissa called out. “Mrs. Cain herself is tending to it. She gathered every lad from the kitchen to haul water already hot up from the laundress and has more heating over the fire in the bathing chamber. That way ye can add more when ye need it.” She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Should I ask her how much longer?”
“Ask her to hurry, lass.” He tipped his head toward Mila. “M’lady and I are chilled to the bone. We are ready for a good, hot soak.”
Grissa’s eyes flared wide with understanding. She spun about and disappeared. Just as he calculated she would, she returned to the doorway in a matter of moments. “Mrs. Cain says ’tis ready. Me and the girls are nearly done setting the table.” With a hurried bob of her head, she flew back into the room.
“Weare ready for a good, hot soak?” Mila had risen from the chair and stood with the blanket wrapped around her like a cloak.
“Aye, m’lady.” He sauntered closer. “Whisky is not the only way to toast an accord.”
