Part 21 (2/2)
”Well, now that you bring it up, I did hear your father mention the wood needed chopping.”
”Rob'll see to it.”
”As he sees to everything else?” she asked, with a bit of a sting in her voice.
Tristan yawned. ”'Tis his duty as firstborn.”
She thought of giving him a good slap with her flowers. It might not jar his sense of responsibility, but at least he would open his eyes and give her the courtesy of his attention. ”I see,” she said softly, deciding on decorum rather than violence. ”And your duty as second born is to bed...” Her gentle admonishment came to an abrupt halt when he opened his eyes and finally looked up at her. There was a challenge in his gaze as he pushed himself up on his elbows that she wasn't sure she wanted to engage. But as he waited for her to continue, something in his daring smirk changed. He knew what she was about to say. He'd heard it a million times before and knew exactly how to reply; only today... today the accusation pierced a bit deeper.
”Forgive me,” she said contritely, looking down at her flowers. ”It isn't my place to speak to you so.”
He stared at her in silence until she turned away, ready to head back down the hill.
”Consider yerself fortunate that ye dinna' know yer faither, la.s.s.”
She stopped and pivoted on her heels to find him sitting up and staring now at the fortress his father had built. ”How can you say such a thing? Your father is...”
”Stubborn and unfergiving and verra hard to please if ye're no' exactly like him.” Tristan tore his troubled gaze away from the castle and the thoughts that provoked him. He offered her a thin smile and shooed her away. ”Off with ye now. I've a dream to finish.”
He began to lie back down but Davina dropped to her knees in front of him, spilling her flowers at his feet. Dear G.o.d, she couldn't deny how beautiful he was when he smiled. She suspected it was almost too easy for him to have any la.s.s he desired, but the misery he cloaked so well wrenched at her heartstrings. He was correct. He was nothing like his father, nothing like Rob or even Colin. He was the rogue, the prodigal son who wasted away his days sleeping in the heather or bedding other lairds' daughters.
”You can change.”
”Aye, and fit into the MacGregor mold of pride, arrogance, and vengeance. Nae, la.s.s,” his smile was pure seduction. ”I'd much rather make love.”
”That's not true! I can see it in your eyes.”
”Aye, believe me, 'tis.” He laughed, and then grew serious again as his gaze swept over her features. ”And it pleases me to know that 'tis true fer Rob, as well.”
Davina glared at him and his smile deepened. ”It is terrible of you to take pleasure in the fact that Rob has disappointed your father by taking me as his wife.”
”La.s.s,” he said more gently, ”my faither may have been angry, but he was no' disappointed in Rob. He is no' blind, and he doesna' hate yer kin the way he hates...” He stopped, catching himself and veering off from what he was about to say. ”Ye've been welcomed here by all, and 'tis easy to see why.”
”Who does your father hate?” Davina asked, not letting him change direction. ”Is it Caitlin? I know Maggie doesn't like her, but-”
He laughed again, this time tossing his head back as the clouds pa.s.sed and sweeping his sun-drenched hair off his shoulders. ”Caitlin is a bonnie la.s.s to be sure, but she wants what I canna' give her. Mayhap yer Captain Asher can. I hope he can.”
”He is not my captain.”
”Aye, so I've heard. Fergive me,” he repented sincerely.
”Then who?” she pressed.
He plucked a daffodil from the ground and studied it for a moment. ”I prefer wild flowers to the delicate ones.”
Davina watched him, not knowing what he meant. Finally, he met her gaze. ”Her name is Isobel. Isobel Fergusson. I saw her again at the coronation. Her brother did this when I was a lad.” He pointed to the small curve in his nose where it had been broken many years before.
Fergusson. Where had Davina heard the name before?
”Davina!” Finn's cheerful voice coming up the hill interrupted her. ”Ye should have seen it! Rob nearly cut off the chief's finger!”
Lord, she was glad she missed it, she thought, turning to greet her cousin. Before she did, Tristan caught her eye and puckered his lips, motioning silently for her to keep their conversation secret.
”I almost maimed my faither to impress ye, and ye were no' even there.”
She returned Rob's smile as he hiked up the last few feet behind Finn to reach her. All the beauty around her paled compared to him, and when he finally reached her and folded his long legs to sit close to her, she let her hungry gaze drink in every inch of him. The single black curl that always escaped his queue was damp from the exertion he'd expended in the practice field. His face was a bit flush, giving even more vivid color to his eyes. His smile faded, but not altogether when he looked at his brother.
”What are ye doin' up here alone with my wife?”
”Tryin' to convince her to leave Camlochlin with me, but she's fallen in love with Will and willna' go.”
”She knows who is the better man between ye then?”
Davina was about to tell her husband not to be cruel, especially now that she was aware how inadequate Tristan felt, but Rob's eyes sparked with humor and his brother answered swiftly and with equal measure.
”Aye, she does, and after sharin' yer bed.”
Rob was about to reply but thought better of it and turned to Davina instead. ”Now ye see why Colin hates him.”
”Speaking of Colin,” Finn said, closing his eyes and getting comfortable on his back on the other side of Tristan. ”Why did he wish to stay in England?”
”I dinna' know,” Tristan said, plucking petals off a daffodil and dropping them into Finn's hair without his notice. ”The lure of the king's garrison, mayhap? The idea of his hated Covenanters lurking within the shadowy corridors of Whitehall? One never knows what chillin' notions go on in that lad's head.”
Finn moved as it he was going to sit up and Tristan snapped his hand back. But the boy only s.h.i.+fted, settling into the heather more deeply. Tristan smiled at Rob and Davina and set another yellow petal on Finn's flaxen crown.
”What's it like?” Finn asked in a groggy voice.
”What's what like?” Tristan asked, slipping a sprig of heather into Finn's locks next.
”England.”
”'Tis gloomy and no' verra clean. But Whitehall Palace is grand, indeed.”
”Tell us about it,” Finn urged.
Davina listened intently to Tristan's description of her father's home. Was it truly possible that a structure could be built so big as to hold a thousand rooms? When Rob slipped his fingers through hers, she offered him a brief smile, happy that he was with her, content to do nothing more than sit here in the blossoms. But Tristan's words held her in awe and too soon she returned her smile to him. A statue-lined garden almost as big as Camlochlin? A private theatre? Tennis courts? What in the world was tennis?
”The ladies there are just as splendid,” Tristan told them, his golden-brown eyes warming on her. ”But ye, bonnie lady, would outs.h.i.+ne every one.”
When her smile deepened into a blush Rob tightened his hand around hers and vaulted to his feet, dragging her with him. ”We'll see ye lads later.”
Davina barely had the chance to bid them farewell before Rob pulled her by the hand down the hill. She nearly lost her footing trying to keep his pace and finally dug her heels into the ground to stop him.
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