She smiled. “I thought so. I overheard a few men on the staircase on the way to the hall, but when I asked, they refused to say. Strange, isn’t it?” She looked around. “Why have I not been introduced to him?”
His heart thumped. “He’s not here right now.”
“Oh. Will he return soon?”
“Yes.”As soon as we are married.
Brought harshly back to reality, he lifted his hand to signal the beginning of the feast and an end to their conversation. Platter after platter of food made its way through the crowded hall. Food he could ill afford, since Hector had stolen a great number of his cattle—and thus his ready source for silver. But foolishly, he’d wanted to impress her. But all it had taken was one look at that gown to realize how difficult that would be. Still, he’d take a Highlandfèisover a masque at court any day.
But would she?
He watched her as they ate, talking animatedly with Allan on her other side and Gilly, who sat beside him. She seemed to be enjoying herself. But who could read the mind of a lass?
“You’re glad you came tonight?”
Flora’s gaze slid to the handsome man beside her. She’d been achingly aware of him all throughout the meal. The powerful physical effect he had on her was disconcerting. A simple brush of his wide shoulders or muscular arm against her as they ate and her heart went into palpitations. One look at that wide mouth, implacable jaw, and rugged, battle-scarred face and her stomach flipped. She’d seen many handsome men before, but none had ever affected her so…completely.
He wasn’t classically handsome by most measures. His features were too hard, his jaw too square, his nose crooked from having been broken more than once; but the overall result was of roughly hewn masculine beauty. There was something decidedly threatening about that raw power. Her attraction stemmed from a place inside her that she’d never felt before. A deep, sensual place.
She dropped her eyes from his penetrating gaze, afraid he would realize what she was thinking, and considered his question.
Truth be told, she was enjoying herself. It was difficult not to. Although the feast had lasted for many hours, the room still buzzed with the festive sounds of celebration and easy laughter. There was something comforting and relaxed about it. Homey. She couldn’t help but compare it with the rigid formality of court.
They’d been entertained by the magical sounds of the pipers and the fanciful tales of theseannachie.But watching the warriors—and Mary’s Odin in particular—perform the intricate sword dance had been the high point for Flora. The ill-prepared food was perhaps the only complaint, but the people seemed to be having too much fun to notice. And with the copious amounts of ale flowing through the hall, most were too soused to mind.
Then there was the laird himself. At dinner he’d been attentive, but not obtrusively so. He’d kept the conversation light and deftly brought her in by asking her opinion on the music, or the bard, or the dancing—she was relieved he hadn’t asked her about the food. He hadn’t set out to charm with false flattery like most men, but had really talked to her. And listened. She’d never noticed before how rare that was. He was interesting and smart and appallingly adept at getting her to talk without revealing much about himself.
Thankfully, he’d appeared to have forgotten about her trick with the fulmar oil.
But watching him interact with his clan was perhaps the most illuminating. At one point or another throughout the long meal, it seemed as if most of the castle had approached the table to exchange words with their laird. Seeking his advice on such far-reaching subjects as a dispute between two men over a small plot of land, the weather, or the price of cattle. They treated him with deference and respect, but also with something else: love. He had the utter command of a chief, but he’d clearly earned it with respect and not fear.
One man in particular stood out. A young warrior she’d never seen before, probably not much older than her four and twenty years. With tears in his eyes, he thanked the laird for the news of his babe. A son born by his wife, who was being held at Breacachadh. Flora imagined it was no small matter to get word of the child. If it surprised her that the laird would concern himself with the lives of his men, it did no one else. And that, she supposed, spoke volumes.
She’d noticed quite a few of the women staring at him with interest. One raven-haired woman in particular didn’t bother to hide her inviting glances. Actually, the look she cast him was more than an invitation, it was possessive. And it bothered Flora more than it should have.
Unexpectedly, she found herself drawn to this gruff chief who watched her with a disarming intensity. Who looked at her like a woman and not a prize.
The Laird of Coll was undoubtedly a hard man. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was as if the sun broke through the clouds. And he was smiling right now as she considered his question, knowing very well that she was enjoying herself.
But she hadn’t quite forgiven him for forcing her to come here tonight.
“If you mean am I happy that you ordered me to dine with you, no. But your pipers are wonderful…and the dancing was magnificent. So, yes, I’m enjoying myself.” He stared at her with that hard, impenetrable expression on his face—the expression she was becoming quite used to. Perhaps she was even becoming good at deciphering it, because she thought he looked pleased. He wanted her enjoyment. But why? Could he be…wooing her? The thought didn’t offend her as much as it should. She leaned closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You know, you might get more bees with honey.”
Something sparked in his gaze. His eyes fell to the low bodice of her gown and to her breasts, of which she’d unwittingly given him a very good view. Though he’d had more than a view earlier, and the realization that he was thinking the same thing made her nipples harden and her body tingle with awareness.
“What kind of honey do you have in mind, Flora?”
Her body heated, responding to the unmistakable innuendo of his tone that she didn’t fully understand. “Anything not phrased as an order.”
He leaned back, a wry set to his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I’m used to giving orders.” His mouth moved into a full-fledged grin. “I’m just not used to being disobeyed.”
The impact of his jaunty smile slammed straight into her chest. “You should smile more often.” She spoke her thoughts aloud.
He looked at her intently. “Why?”
She shrugged and tried not to blush. She could hardly tell him how handsome and how much younger it made him look. Initially, she’d thought him in his late thirties, but now she suspected he was quite a few years younger. “It doesn’t make you look so…imposing.”
He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, a perplexed expression on his face. Flora tried not to gape at the way the muscles in his arms bulged. Or how his shirt stretched across his broad chest.Dear Lord, he was strong.There was not one inch of him that did not appear to be chipped from stone.
