Chapter Three
“See, I told ye he was an eerie bastard.” Abby nodded to Nellie, another serving maid with copper hair and a mass of freckles. “Nearly scared the slippers off Evy, here.”
Evelyn grimaced at the nickname that Abby had coined for her. They didn’t call her ‘Evie’ or ‘Eve’ but ‘Evy’ as it rhymed with ‘heavy’. Painfully aware of her rounded figure, she couldn’t stop herself from smoothing her apron self-consciously.
“He would like some ale, sir,” she mumbled to Moorland, ignoring the women.
“While you’re at it, take this pitcher to the Mackay table. Those lads be needin’ a drink after their nasty battle wi’ the Donald a se’nnight ago.” He clucked in sympathy
She hoisted the tray onto her shoulder and left, dreading the Mackay table. They’d had much to drink already and were becoming over-loud and bawdy.
“Here you are, Milord,” she carefully placed the fullest tankard on the table at the Berserker’s elbow, “and I brought you linen to protect your thighs—trews!”
Christ’s Bones! To mention a body part was impropriety of the highest nature. But she’d been staring at his sinuous legs while she’d been talking and noticing the cords and ropes of muscles visible beneath the shamefully tight leggings.
Cheeks burning, she risked an upward glance.
He reached his big hand out and removed the linen from her fingertips, draping it carefully across his lap and looked back to her, a twinkle of amusement glinted in his devilish eyes.
The brackets around his hard mouth seemed carved into a frown. Had he not much reason to smile? She stomped on her curiosity. It was of no consequence, besides, tomorrow he would be—
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, enjoy your supper.” She turned around and grimaced once more, closing her eyes and shaking her head at her stupidity.
Making her way to the Mackay table, she swore she could feel his dark and potent regard caress her spine.
Alarming, that.
Don’t look at him. Do not look back. As she made her way through the throng, speculation regarding the mysterious stranger drifted to her on the heavy air.
“I heard that when they berserk, they flash lightning from their eyes.”
“It’s true he’s mute, the gods took a price before blessing him with the Berserker rage!”
“He has the strength of ten men, he does, just look at that sword!”
“Makes one wonder about his other sword.” Evelyn narrowed her eyes at Abby’s annoyingly feminine purr as she swished passed with a full tray.
Unable to stop herself, her gaze strayed back to the quiet man consuming his dinner in thoughtful bites. Sighing, she couldn’t help but notice the occasional play of torchlight over the strong lines of his face, the flex of his temple as he savored each slow bite of stew. For a man reputed with such violence and brutality, whose very presence emanated lethal menace, he commanded himself with almost gentle self-constraint. His manners compared with that of any noble present. Better, in most cases.
‘Do their careless words sting you?’ She wondered, distracted and enthralled by the silent and lonely figure as she noted the manner in which every person in the room gave him a wide and fearful berth. How like people. To enlist his help in a time of crisis, but shun and exclude him from their ranks. They ought to be ashamed.
“About time ye fill our tankards lass, I can nearly see the bottom.”
She needed to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Well, that won’t do,” she responded quickly. Awareness of a dark and vital energy shimmered through her very blood.
“Speaking of bottoms, isna’ that the finest English arse ye’ve seen, Angus?” Even through her skirts the sharp swat stung her backside.
She whirled on them. “How dare you!” Both men laughed uproariously at her outraged expression.
“Come now, lass, we’re just enjoyin’ yer charms a little.” His hand snaked out and tweaked her nipple.
“You keep your hands off me!” She brandished her tray like a shield. “This is a reputable establishment and I am a respectable maid.” Blushing as she noted the curious glances from patrons about the nearby tables, she prayed she wouldn’t be dismissed for creating a disturbance. She squared her shoulders. No matter, her dignity was her only possession and she refused to relinquish it to the likes of him.
Angus’ dirty brown eyes narrowed as a perverse smile touched his lips, “Ye can be just as respectable perched upon here, my lady!” he crowed, while snaring her in a painful grip and yanking her down upon his lap. Evelyn gasped as his erection ground into her backside. Gagging as his foul breath hit her face, she froze like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Show a downhearted warrior some warmth before he goes inta battle on the morn.”
“No.” The whispered plea sounded feeble to her own ears. The jeers of his clansmen dashed her hopes for assistance.
“You doona mean ‘no’. Give us a kiss.”
“Take your hands off me traitor.” She hissed, then reared back and slapped him, putting all of her anger and humiliation into the blow. Pain shot up her arm. Disgusted, she realized she’d hurt herself more than she’d hurt him. “We wouldn’t even be going into battle on the morrow if the MacKay had held their ground as they’d sworn to do!” She surged against his painful grip.
Pushed to the ground by vicious hands, her eyes flared as Angus loomed over her.
“I know of your treachery Angus Mackay.” Her tone lowered to just above a whisper, the voice of prophecy spilling from her lips before she could stop it. “The shadow of death resists every man at this table, even though they go to battle in the morning. Why do you bargain with the enemy?”
Angus’ eyes widened in stunned disbelief, as did those of his clan who were within earshot. “I’ll cut out your tongue, you English witch!” His fist rose above his head, closed and ready to strike.
Protect your face, cover your eyes. Evelyn braced herself for the blow. She knew what came next: blood, swelling, explosive pain.
The smell of leather, horses, and fields of heather wafted by on a sultry breeze followed by a sickening crunch and a bellow… yet she felt nothing.
The room fell utterly silent.