Page 61 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

Before she could stop herself, she found hot tears streaming down her cold cheeks. The embers in the fire were dying now, but there was just enough light in the tiny room to see the shadows leap from side to side against the walls.

Within them, Teasag pictured his face. A vision of Neacal suddenly leaped out at her from deep in her mind.

Wine and tiredness clouded her mind, but even as she blinked, she saw him again. Pressed in her mind’s eye against the gray cottage wall was a vision of Neacal, his face so clear in her head.

Pausing for a second, Teasag raced to gather her scrapbook, nestling in the corner of the room. Stealthily, she leafed through it, glancing at the portraits she had made as a bairn.

It was only half-light, but even in the dark, she could see the crudeness of the sketches.

Thinking back to the previous day, Teasag remembered the sketch she had begun of Neacal. Inspired, Teasag hunted for a scrap of paper in the book and, finding it, immediately began sketching what was in her head.

The vision of Neacal’s eyes, sparkling and gay, were uppermost in her mind, so she began from there. Before long, she had used the piece of charcoal the smithy had given her to put down his features and the outline of his cheekbones.

Inside her head, two loud voices were competing for attention; one was shouting out that she should take care, especially where Neacal was concerned. In her mind, she could already hear Lorcal’s opinion—if he had known about her meeting with him.

But then, there was another voice, softer and more insistent, urging her to give him a chance. And deep down, this was the voice she wanted to listen to. Because as bad as things might look for him, there was some small part of her that just could not accept that he was a killer.

Although, as her fingers worked, putting down his chin and neckline, she was forced to admit that there was a solid chance he was a thief.

Drawing helped Teasag unwind enough to channel her thoughts into some kind of action plan.

Finally, as she put the finishing touches to the charcoal sketch, a calm had descended over Teasag’s mind.

Now, the shadows had drawn long over the darkened room, as the candle by her side flickered to a stop.

Soon, the only light was the pale silver moon, flooding in through a gap in the window. Teasag snuggled down, bringing the thick patchwork blanket up around her shoulders once more.

Satisfied with the portrait, her mind had finally calmed, and she was on the verge of dropping off when it came to her.

Tomorrow, she would ride at first light, back to the woodland village, and have it out with him.

She needed to know the truth about Neacal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“C alm down. We’d have heard something by noo if anything had come o’ it,”

Robbie placed his hand reassuringly on Neacal’s shoulder as he spoke, but Neacal shook it off with irritation.

“Noo, I will noo calm doon, when were ye going to tell me that our Ruaidhrí had been arrested!” Neacal’s eyes were flashing, as he paced from one end of the room to another.

It was morning, and the slow amber dawn had come up over the forest dwellers. For Neacal, it had been a fitful night, of poor or no sleep, as he battled with his feelings for Teasag.

He had, of course, made attempts to follow her. But without his horse, she had gotten away, and he was forced to concede that he would never catch up with her, at least, not that night.

This hadn’t made him happy. Neacal had tossed and turned throughout the first night he’d spent back in camp, and the news he woke to only compounded it.

“Och, listen, I’m telling ye mon, it was something an’ nothin’, the guards even let him go again after a short while!” Robbie said, placating him as best he could. “I’m nae even sure if he was lifted, ye ken what the lad’s like, he’s nae the sharpest tool in the kit!”

The look Neacal sent him made him back off, as Neacal fixed him with a stern glare.

“If it’s something an’ nothing, then let’s hear it from him,” he said, his eyes flaring. Deliberately, he looked about the derelict room.

The remnants of yesterday’s repast lay undisturbed on the long table, stretching across the darkened room. It was still early yet, and the stabbing, vicious blasts of the day overwhelmed Neacal, flooding his senses.

Neacal’s eye flashed meaningfully but couldn’t a trace of the errant Ruaidhrí. Of course, Robbie couldn’t do anything and merely sat waiting for Neacal to calm down.

“Well aye, they’ve let him go for the time being, but what about later on?” he said, pacing about the length of the room.