Her large eyes rounded; the storm within sparked lightning. “I am not a whore of the English, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Iain blinked at the mention of the wordwhore. He wondered at her ease with the term.
“Ye speak like naw other. Who are ye? Have ye come to take me to the afterworld?”
“You’ll live.” She rolled her beautiful eyes to the roof and threw her graceful arms in the air. “Oh, don’t thank me. No, no, please, it was nothing.”
Iain knew sarcasm when he heard it. He smiled at the way her eyes flashed with anger and her nose wrinkled with her words.
As she gazed up at him, her eyes quietened to a calm sky, but narrowed. “You should be thanking me, you know, not finding reasons to distrust me.”
She smiled, showing perfect teeth. How could anyone have such perfect white teeth? Her whole face brightened with the movement.
His stomach knotted.
He didn’t have time for dalliances. He had to get back to his people, to Maeve, his sister.
He straightened to his full height. The lass would be enough of a distraction even without a bloody war raging outside the door. But, those captivating eyes . . . She was too . . . no suitable word came to mind . . .different.
He frowned. What would Maeve make of the lass, he wondered as his narrowed gaze traveled down the length of her and back up to her face. “Who are ye?”
***
Maeve stiffened and narrowed her eyes at Fiona, who had clasped a MacLaren server’s wrist and pointed to her plate. “Take this away now. I have never tasted a worse bannock in my life.”
Pink spots appeared on Leah’s cheeks, and she took the plate away.
Maeve glanced at her friend sitting at the table closest to the dais. Jannet was once Maeve and Iain’s nanny but was now a friend and confidant. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and Maeve looked down at her plate and tightened her lips.
If Fiona berated one more of the MacLarens’ staff, Maeve would punch her in the face. She didn’t care that the woman was supposed to be the next lady of the MacLaren clan, didn’t care if she pushed the clan, Iain’s clan, into war with the MacKinnons. All she cared about was how good it would feel to bloody Fiona’s nose.
She silently apologized to her brother for her evil thoughts and wondered what Iain was doing at that moment. Was the battle over? Had it even begun?Please be safe, brother of mine.
Laird MacKinnon gulped the last of his ale and slammed the tankard down on the table. “More.”
Maeve widened her eyes at Jannet. and she gave Maeve a slight nod, closing her eyes as she did so to indicate Maeve should acquiesce.
Maeve sighed and raised her finger to one of the serving staff. “More ale for the laird.”
“And wine,” Fiona said, holding up her goblet.
Maeve nodded to the server. “And wine.”
Fiona gave the captain of MacKinnon’s guard a smile. “And more ale for the captain.”
He tipped his tankard to her in a salute.
Maeve frowned. If they kept drinking like that, they would empty the cellars.
“Why did MacLaren join the pretender’s army? He knew we were coming here. He knew he was to marry Fiona. He should be here, welcoming his future family.” MacKinnon pierced Maeve with his gaze.
“It was his duty.”
“His army is still here.”
“Iain would not take them. He wanted them here for my protection.”
MacKinnon’s face reddened. “Did he not trust the MacKinnons?”
