was an only child reared by her father, a lord, and her every need had been met, often before she recognized she had a need. She had been surrounded by friends and rarely quarreled with anyone. Betrothed to her fondest childhood companion, she was slated for a life of endless privilege. But she had thrown it all away to join the hellish priory, where no one was her friend. Where she was condemned verbally and punished in terrible physical ways for simply being who and what she was. It was no religious haven to escape the frightening unknown of marriage and motherhood as she’d hoped—indeed, Evelyn’s fear was made worse by the young women the priory took in, unwed and with child. Evelyn herself was forced to assist countless births, and the outcomes of the majority of them were not good.
Life became a practice of fear for her, and her every thought was consumed with planning her escape. That bright dream was smashed to pieces, though, when her father had been killed and she was summoned to the home of the man she’d scorned. Her only chance had been to take up with the old witch she’d met there and run.
And she had survived it. Survived it all till now, on her own. And so she was not afraid to drag this impasse before the large highlander, now feeding Alinor bits of horsemeat from his fingertips. Mayhap regretful, but not afraid.
“Sir,” she began.
The highlander glanced up. “Aye, lass? Are you needing more tea?”
“Nay, thank you.” Evelyn noted with chagrin that the man seemed recovered of his manners since their initial meeting. “We cannot continue in this fashion. Surely you understand that.”
MacKerrick raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry to say that I doona.”
“We…I mean to say—” Evelyn hesitated. “We cannot both keep residence in this cottage. Together,” she emphasized.
“And why is that, now?” he asked easily, wiping his hands on his shirt and moving to where a wooden bowl and dipper rested near the bubbling crock of stew.
“’Tis entirely improper, that’s why.” Evelyn watched him remove the lid from the crock once more. “Before traveling to Scotland with Min—my aunt, Minerva, I was dedicated to a priory. Before that, I was a lady in my father’s home. I cannot hope to maintain my dignity whilst living in such small quarters with a man I know naught of.”
“I see,” the highlander said thoughtfully. He ladled stew into the bowl, but said no more.
Evelyn sipped from her mug, cleared her throat. “Well…what do you propose we do?”
MacKerrick rose with the bowl and brought it to the bedside. He took the mug from Evelyn’s hands and replaced it with the bowl of steaming, fragrant stew.
“I propose we do naught,” he said.
“But—” Evelyn began.
MacKerrick held up a palm. “I am the MacKerrick, Eve—chief of my clan. My honor is as steadfast as any English laird. Especially to Buchanan kin,” he said. “I canna allow you to leave for…for fear of your safety. And I came to the hut to hunt—a thing I do well. My townsfolk are starving, Eve. I canna fail them.”
For some reason, his speech sent chills spiraling around Evelyn’s spine. But he was not done. The stew in her hand was untouched, forgotten, as his voice continued to mesmerize her.
“There is weather coming—a fierce storm, do I read the signs correctly. Neither of us would survive a journey of more than a half day.” He bent to pour more tea into the mug, sipped thoughtfully from it himself, then looked at her.
“It may be a long, long winter, Eve, and I canna tell you that there is chance we will soon part company. But on my word, you’ll be safe here with me.”
Evelyn did not know what to say. Her gaze fell onto the wooden bowl in her hands and so she raised it to her lips and sipped from its rim, her eyes catching the colorful bits of peas and carrots and flecks of barley caught in the rich gravy. God in Heaven, it was divine! She closed her eyes, held the soup in her mouth for a long moment, savoring it, before swallowing it.
“The stew is delicious,” she told him quietly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome to it, Eve,” he said solemnly. “’Twas you who provided the meat, saving me from setting out on a hunt straight away. I’m in your debt.”
Evelyn could not believe she felt a flush creeping over her face at the simple compliment and so she attributed it to the wonderfully warm stew.
“What say you then, Eve?” MacKerrick asked, stoking the fire with Eve’s pointed stick and no longer looking at her. “Do we stand together?”
A thought occurred to Evelyn then, one that was oddly disturbing. “Are you married, sir?”
The highlander paused in his movements for only a blink of time. “I was,” he said mildly. “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” Evelyn sipped from the bowl again, sucking a chunk of carrot into her mouth and chewing to give her time to cover her out-of-place relief that the large man did not have a wife eagerly awaiting his return. “I’m sorry.”
The highlander only nodded curtly and did not meet her eyes.
’Tis still painful for him, Evelyn thought to herself and the realization of it swayed her just enough. A man in mourning, hunting to feed his villagers. Mayhap he was nobler than Evelyn had once thought him to be.
“Well, you most certainly cannot sleep in the bed with me again,” she said, a bit loudly for their heretofore quiet conversation.
The highlander nodded again, his attention still focused on the fire pit. “Agreed.”
“And no one can be aware of my presence,” Evelyn said suddenly, as earlier worries of a Buchanan happening along sprang into her mind once more. “I’ll…I’ll not have my reputation ruined.”
“’Tis unlikely we’ll be takin’ company, Eve,” he said with a wry lift of an eyebrow. “But I’ll nae tell anyone, if you so wish it.”
Evelyn pressed her lips together. “All right, then. Agreed.”
Then he did look up at her. “I have a condition of my own, if you would.”
Evelyn swallowed. “Yea?”
“That you call me Conall. Or MacKerrick, at the very least.” He grinned. “‘Sir this’ and ‘sir that’ has me lookin’ over my shoulder for an English bloke.”
Evelyn felt a small smile lift the corners of her mouth. “Very well. MacKerrick it is.”
MacKerrick grinned wider, winked cheekily, and then drank from the mug.
Evelyn’s heart pounded and she ate her stew.
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