“Itismagnificent,” she repeated, the portent of the carvings warming her.
“Aye, full magnificent,” Ronan agreed, no longer looking at the crest stone at all.
Gelis laughed and flicked her braid at him.
“You, my Raven, are that and more,” she teased, the heated look in his eyes making her wish the night’s revelries were behind them.
As if he knew, he put his hands on her shoulders. “I can scarce believe —”
“What?” She pulled back to look at him. “That Maldred finally rests in a new tomb inside the family chapel? I think he’s pleased.”
Sure of it, her gaze went to where his erstwhile crest stone graced its original place in the pagan circle now standing free beneath the shimmering night sky.
“That, too, would make him happy. To know —”
“I was not speaking of him.” Ronan pulled her close, sliding his arms tight around her. “I meant I can scarce believe how much I love you. If we should live a thousand lifetimes, I will search for you in each one. I —”
“Ach, Ronan, I love you more — I vow it!” She flung her arms around his neck, kissing him.
“Hot meats!”
They broke apart as a kitchen lad rushed past, a huge platter of steaming roasted beef and mutton hoisted on his shoulder.
Ronan stared after him. Then he looked at her, his eyes glinting wickedly. “I am ravenous.”
Gelis shivered. The look and his tone left no doubt about the nature of his craving.
“Even so . . .” She flashed her best smile. “There is more to this e’en than the dip of my gown’s bodice or the swing of my bauble chain. Whichever” — she winked — “you were eyeing just now!”
“I was admiring you, no’ your fripperies.” He caught her to him again. “But I won’t toss you o’er my shoulder and race abovestairs with you until the time is seemly!”
Tingling at the prospect, she trailed a finger down his chest. “If two of our guests keep sparring, we might not have to wait long.”
“Hmmm?” He blinked.
“There.” She frowned at a table set beneath a gaily decorated Viking tent pavilion.
“I thought they’d get on so well.” Her gaze lit on two pinch-faced, white-haired guests. One sported a long-beard and was male and the other could be described as a bit grizzled, bright of eye, and female.
“Come!” She grabbed Ronan’s hand and pulled him in their direction. “If we do not do something —”
“He will not accept your offerings.” Devorgilla of Doon’s peeved voice rose as they neared. “Somerled only —”
The crone snapped her mouth shut when the little fox on her lap took a bit of roasted mutton from Torcaill’s outstretched hand.
“Some might say he has more sense than you.” Not quite able to keep the gloat out of his voice, the druid held out a second morsel.
This, too, was accepted.
Torcaill’s eyes lit with triumph.
Devorgilla’s lips thinned to a tight, petty-looking line.
“You’ve turned his mind with tidbits,” she snipped, her knotty fingers clutched possessively in the little fox’s lustrous fur.
“He has the wits to know what’s good for him. You would be wise —”
“Iamwise.” Devorgilla slid her arm around Somerled, drawing him close. “Enough to know I have no wish to dance with you!”
