Alison’s scream pierced David’s skull like a hot spike through his eye. He’d only crawled out of bed because of his growling stomach, and he had no notion why she was staring at him as if she’d discovered a demon haunting her bedchamber.
He was a starving man, so he took the tray from her before she dropped it, then searched his mind for an explanation for that look she was giving him. He was groggy after three nights of little sleep and then waking up in the middle of the day. The whisky had not helped either.
Slowly, memories from the night before began to churn through his head. They went from good to bad, to worse, to still worse, starting with an image of Alison’s eyes half closed and her lips red from kissing him, and ending with a vague recollection of a drunken attempt to bed her.
Well, that explained the look. He had lost ground in his battle to win her, but he was not a man to let adversity stall him for long. The smell of savory stew made his stomach rumble again, reminding him of another pressing need.
“Thank ye for bringing this. I’m near death with hunger.” He stopped himself from ordering her to come in and asked, “Will ye keep me company while I eat it?”
Alison looked wary, but after a brief hesitation, she nodded. As she sidestepped past him, he caught a tantalizing whiff of lavender.
She sat primly in one of the chairs and folded her hands while she watched him work his way through the bowl of steaming venison stew. When he finished, he set the bowl aside and sat back. With his hunger for food satisfied, his craving for her took hold of him. He did not understand why he found her primness so alluring, but he did.
“I have some things I wish to discuss,” she said, sitting up straighter still.
Talk was not what he had in mind, but he could see that it was unavoidable and nodded for her to proceed.
“First, I’d like to ask ye a question,” she said.
He took a long drink of the ale she had brought. He was thirsty as hell after all the whisky he’d drunk with Cochburn last night.
“Was last night unusual,” she asked, “or do ye make a habit of becoming falling-down drunk?”
He nearly spewed a mouthful of ale. “I wasn’t that drunk,” he said once he recovered. “And nay, I don’t make a habit of it.”
Alison gave him a skeptical look, which annoyed him. Hearing his mother’s voice in his head, lecturing him that strong drink was a vice of weak-willed men, did not improve his mood. If he had not been exhausted, the whisky would not have affected him like that.
“A man who has as many enemies as I do cannot afford to dull his mind with drink,” he said.
That seemed to satisfy her.Christ.
“Anything else ye wish to ask me?” he said.
She ran her tongue over her lip, that nervous gesture of hers that made him forget for a moment why he was annoyed.
“What did I do to upset ye when we were speaking with Cochburn last night?” she asked.
“Ye didn’t upset me,” he said. “I don’t get upset.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“I merely suggested ye leave so that Cochburn and I could finish our business.”
He had suggested it strongly, but what was wrong with that? He was the laird, for God’s sake. He did not owe her an explanation. But then he remembered how he’d made her look like a puppy that had been kicked last night and decided to explain himself anyway.
“Ye spoke well of my enemy, D’Orsey,” he said.
“The charming French knight?” she asked. “What could ye have against him?”
“He holds my father’s widow hostage.”
Alison drew her brows together. “You’re speaking of Will and Robbie’s mother?”
“Aye,” he said. “My father’s second wife.”
“I assumed she was at Hume Castle,” she murmured, then she looked up sharply. “Surely ye don’t fear D’Orsey will harm her?”
“Not permitting her to return home to grieve for her dead husband with her family is harming her,” he said. “And not permitting her to comfort her young sons is harming them.”
