Part 8 (2/2)
”I was being pleasant”-she smiled back at him to prove it-”with the hopes that it might rub off on you.”
h.e.l.l, the last thing he wanted to do was grin at her like some heart-struck lackwit, but he enjoyed her flashes of temper, even at the cost of Will chuckling at him. She had strength in her she wasn't even aware of, pa.s.sion he wanted to feed.
”I simply wanted you to know,” she said, trying to look as uninterested as he, ”that Edward means no offense. He has been at my side for a long time and it's difficult for him to just hand over my well-being to you-especially when you hold me as if...”
”As if what?” he prodded when she grew silent.
”As if I belonged to you.” She didn't look anywhere near as angry as she tried to sound. ”I don't, in case you had forgotten.”
He hadn't, and that was part of the trouble. He wanted her-G.o.d forgive him, and he was growing tired of fighting it.
With an oath on her lips she was sure would cost her a month of confession, Davina returned to the fire and took a seat across from Finn. She tried to keep her eyes on the hare roasting over the spit, but they kept flicking back to Rob. Saints, but the man was as rigid as an arrow. She knew how close Edward had come on several different occasions to getting swiped by the snarling bear. She'd felt the tightness of Rob's muscles behind her whenever Edward commanded all her attention. Why was he trying to convince her that he was unfazed by it? On the other hand, what if she was wrong? What if he truly didn't care one whit if Edward tossed her over his arm and kissed her senseless-the way Rob had at Courlochcraig? And, dear G.o.d, why couldn't she get that out of her mind? Every blasted time she looked at his mouth, she wanted him to kiss her again. He didn't. What if he didn't like her and was just following some sense of duty? It would explain why he scowled at her whenever she caught his eye. She really shouldn't have been cheeky with him. Whether he admitted it or not, he didn't like Edward. If he didn't like her either, there would be nothing to stop him from leaving both of them where they sat while he returned home. ”Please G.o.d, don't let him do it.”
”Don't let who do what?” Edward appeared over her, holding a handful of red berries and wearing a tender smile that should have been soothing. It wasn't. How could she tell him how just being near Rob made her feel safe and cared for without wounding Edward to his heart?
Rather than lie to him, she took the berries he offered and patted the ground beside her, inviting him to sit. When he did, she moved a bit closer so that the others could not hear her. ”I would like you to try and get along better with Rob. He isn't trying to take your place.”
Unlike Rob, who was as difficult to read as the Latin scrolls burnt to ashes, along with everything else at St. Christopher's, Edward's emotions played openly across his face.
”Can he take my place?”
”Of course he can't, but he isn't trying to, Edward.” She took his hand, trying to convince him. ”I don't think he even likes me.” He certainly didn't look at her the way Edward did, with his whole heart exposed at her feet.
”He has gone out of his way for someone he doesn't like. Wouldn't you say?” Edward chuckled mirthlessly.
”Not really,” Davina told him with a soft sigh that she didn't know she expelled. ”He's a n.o.ble man with a deep sense of duty to those around him. That's all. Will told me that Rob is firstborn and will someday lead his clan. The task of protecting them will fall on his shoulders. He is merely doing what he has been taught to do-the same as I.”
”You sound disappointed that it is not more than that,” Edward said softly, looking away from her gaze.
”Edward, please don't be a fool.” She hushed her voice when Colin and Finn glanced at her over the sizzling hare. ”You know that my life is not my own.”
”Yes, I know it,” Edward whispered and glanced across the flames at Rob. ”But does he?”
”He doesn't know who I am, Edward,” she said following her friend's gaze. ”For whatever reason, I don't think he cares.” She smiled, dipping her gaze to the flames. ”It is odd, but it makes me feel as if I don't care either.” And oh, how could she ever explain to Edward how wonderful it felt not to care? ”I should tell him,” she said, looking up into her dearest friend's eyes again. ”He deserves to be told. I want to tell Finn that he is my cousin.”
”You cannot tell them the truth,” Edward warned her, s.h.i.+fting his gaze to Rob once again when the Highlander began to walk toward them. ”Do you think he will still bring you to Skye knowing he might bring the entire realm down on his family's name once again?”
There it was, her fear spoken aloud. She shook her head.
”He is right. Skye is most likely the only place safe for you, my lady,” Edward said quickly. ”Remember who you are.”
Davina stared at him until the sting behind her eyes began to ache. Then she dipped her gaze to her lap. She didn't want to remember. For once, she just wanted to be Davina, and not James of York's true firstborn daughter and heir to the throne of the three kingdoms.
Chapter Fourteen.
John Henry Frasier grinned when his wife bent to kiss his cheek, and then continued counting the coins stacked in his palm. ”Thirty-three...” His thick, gray brows drew together in a moment of forgetfulness. ”Or was that thirty-four?”
”Twenty-nine,” his wife called over her shoulder, untying her ap.r.o.n behind her back as she left him.
”Twenty-nine?” He shook his head and drew out a long sigh. ”'Twas another slow day in the tavern.”
”I know, but soon the festivities in England will be over and our patrons will return.”
He glanced up from his small bundle and smiled at his wife's generous rump swaying beneath her skirts while she climbed the stairs to their rooms above the small tavern. What would he do without his Millie, always reminding him of brighter things?
”Come to bed now, John. 'Tis late.”
”In a moment, my love. Let me wallow in my poverty.”
She laughed from the second landing, setting his poor memory to ruin once again. ”You never wallow, John. Don't forget to lock up,” she added, disappearing around a corner.
”Aye. Now where was I?” He plucked a coin up in his beefy fingers and gave it a thoughtful look. ”Thirty-four, thirty...” He stopped counting when a gust of cool night air swept his silver hair over his forehead.
”My apologies,” he said, turning in his chair toward the door. ”We are closed.”
The figure framing the doorway sent an even icier chill down his spine. The patron made no motion to suggest he heard John's words, but slowly stepped aside to allow four men behind him to enter.
John stood up and shoved his coins into the pocket of his ap.r.o.n. ”I've only a few coin if you mean to rob me.”
A low chuckle came from the doorway as the figure stepped into the soft light of the tavern. John narrowed his eyes, getting a better look at the man. He wore breeches and a coat that hung well past his knees. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed half his face, but his eyes flickered a pale gray in the firelight.
”Do I look like a thief, old man?” The voice rumbled from someplace deep within his wide chest. ”My comrades and I have been on the road for many days and we could use some strong ale to heat our blood.”
John eyed the other four cautiously, hoping the man spoke true, for they were all too big to fight off, even with the heavy stick he kept propped in the corner.
The jingle of coins coming from the doorway drew his attention. The man held up a small pouch and shook it again before he tossed it to John. ”Five cups of your best ale. Or better yet, make it whisky. I've always wanted to taste what is claimed to be the finest brew in the three kingdoms.” He sauntered into the tavern, his coattails swaying around his boots. When he reached John, his lips curled into a thin smile. ”That is, unless you refuse to take my gold?”
”Gold?” John's eyes widened, as did his grin. ”Why, I wouldn't dream of sending thirsty men away. Have a seat. Have a seat.” He gestured to all of them, even pulling out a chair himself. ”I have just the thing for good gentlemen such as yourselves, brewed it myself.” He swept his fingers through his thinning hair and smoothed the wrinkles from his ap.r.o.n. ”Make yourselves at home while I fetch your drinks.”
What good fortune! Oh, wait until Millie heard of this. He kissed the pouch and shoved it into his pocket with the rest of his coins. Gold! He stopped suddenly on his way to the cellar, plucked the pouch back out, untied it and looked inside, then closed his eyes and kissed the thin leather again.
He returned to his generous patrons a short time later and set down a tray carrying five cups and a dark brown bottle of his very best whisky on the table before them. ”Prepare to have your palates enchanted, gentlemen,” he said, pouring their drinks.
He watched, smiling from one ear to the other while the man who paid him removed his hat and raised his cup to his friends.
”To the Prince.”
”You mean the King, aye?” John asked, still grinning.
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