My husband is old enough to be my father, nay, my Grand father!” She motioned to Jamie, who pulled another comfortable chair near to the fire for Rhona . His warning glare told her she was still being closely watched.
Evelyn just smiled. She struck Rhona as the sort that didn’t ruffle easily. Her eyes had the wisdom of one who had seen much hardship, and Rhona felt a small and immediate kinship with the woman. “I can’t believe Roderick and I have been mated for nigh on a year and never spoken of it,” she shrugged. “It’s incredible how you can learn something new all the time about your mate.” Her brow wrinkled. “They spoke something of a longer life, but do you truly think we should live so long? That we’ll look so young?”
“I bloody well hope so,” Lindsay muttered. “I’ll be nine kinds of cross if I end up gnarled and wrinkled and Connor still looks like a God of no more than five and thirty.”
Evelyn chuckled at that.
Mated? How oddly they talked of marriage. Rhona sat where she was told, a cold sort of shock numbing her to her bones. Even the great hall fire, built as high as they stood, couldn’t quell the chill. She could only worry that Finn might, at this moment, have his limbs torn from his body by the dark brutes these women were married to. He might have overwhelmed one, but the both of them were a force unto themselves.
Could all this be true? Was he some sort of long-lost Berserker kin? If so, why the violent altercation in the entry?
“Don’t fash yourself about him, dear.” Lindsay put a comforting hand on her arm. “They’ll work it out.”
“Yes,” Evelyn agreed. “I know it’s not his time to die.”
Rhona wondered at Evelyn’s odd comment, but nodded and tried to summon a smile. She hated that the Lady of the clan was touching her soiled dress. Though she’d brushed and brushed at the soot marring the bodice, she’d been unable to completely hide the stain.
Lindsay MacLauchlan’s deep purple dress shimmered like a rare jewel against the faded grey of Rhona’s sleeve.
“I thank you for your kindness, My Lady.”
“Not at all.” Lindsay reached beside her large chair into a basket of holly sprigs and held out a few along with two spools of ribbon, one red and one gold . “Do you mind helping me while we sit? I’m afraid I’m behind on decorations.”
Rhona took the offerings, grateful for something to do with her hands. The ribbon was fine, finer than anything she had ever owned in her lifetime. Using the skill she’d garnered from her years of dressmaking, she began to wrap the holly sprigs, wondering where in the grand keep they were going to put them. The hall already sparkled with candles, runners, and lush, expensive garlands.
Evelyn rocked Iain, who strained to capture the wheat-colored tendrils framing her pleasant, round face. “Is he your child, then?” she asked. “Pardon me for asking but the midwife who recommended you led me to believe…”
“Finn brought the boy to me last night.” Rhona saved her from the painful end of her sentence. “He saved the wee thing from a cold death, as he was abandoned to the snow.”
“Oh, how sad! Poor little lamb,” Evelyn cooed at the boy. “How could someone do such a thing?”
“Finn, is that your Berserker’s name?” Lindsay’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“He’s not my—”
“He is sinfully handsome,” the lady remarked with a conspiratorial wink.
“Lindsay!” Evelyn laughed.
“What? I’m happily mated. I’m not blind.”
Mated. There was that word again.
“He did seem rather protective of you,” Evelyn lifted a fair brow.
“ Intimately so,” Lindsay persisted.
Rhona felt the blood drain from her face. Was it that obvious? How could she tell these ladies that she’d never laid eyes on him until the night before?
Evelyn just smiled. She struck Rhona as the sort that didn’t ruffle easily. Her eyes had the wisdom of one who had seen much hardship, and Rhona felt a small and immediate kinship with the woman. “I can’t believe Roderick and I have been mated for nigh on a year and never spoken of it,” she shrugged. “It’s incredible how you can learn something new all the time about your mate.” Her brow wrinkled. “They spoke something of a longer life, but do you truly think we should live so long? That we’ll look so young?”
“I bloody well hope so,” Lindsay muttered. “I’ll be nine kinds of cross if I end up gnarled and wrinkled and Connor still looks like a God of no more than five and thirty.”
Evelyn chuckled at that.
Mated? How oddly they talked of marriage. Rhona sat where she was told, a cold sort of shock numbing her to her bones. Even the great hall fire, built as high as they stood, couldn’t quell the chill. She could only worry that Finn might, at this moment, have his limbs torn from his body by the dark brutes these women were married to. He might have overwhelmed one, but the both of them were a force unto themselves.
Could all this be true? Was he some sort of long-lost Berserker kin? If so, why the violent altercation in the entry?
“Don’t fash yourself about him, dear.” Lindsay put a comforting hand on her arm. “They’ll work it out.”
“Yes,” Evelyn agreed. “I know it’s not his time to die.”
Rhona wondered at Evelyn’s odd comment, but nodded and tried to summon a smile. She hated that the Lady of the clan was touching her soiled dress. Though she’d brushed and brushed at the soot marring the bodice, she’d been unable to completely hide the stain.
Lindsay MacLauchlan’s deep purple dress shimmered like a rare jewel against the faded grey of Rhona’s sleeve.
“I thank you for your kindness, My Lady.”
“Not at all.” Lindsay reached beside her large chair into a basket of holly sprigs and held out a few along with two spools of ribbon, one red and one gold . “Do you mind helping me while we sit? I’m afraid I’m behind on decorations.”
Rhona took the offerings, grateful for something to do with her hands. The ribbon was fine, finer than anything she had ever owned in her lifetime. Using the skill she’d garnered from her years of dressmaking, she began to wrap the holly sprigs, wondering where in the grand keep they were going to put them. The hall already sparkled with candles, runners, and lush, expensive garlands.
Evelyn rocked Iain, who strained to capture the wheat-colored tendrils framing her pleasant, round face. “Is he your child, then?” she asked. “Pardon me for asking but the midwife who recommended you led me to believe…”
“Finn brought the boy to me last night.” Rhona saved her from the painful end of her sentence. “He saved the wee thing from a cold death, as he was abandoned to the snow.”
“Oh, how sad! Poor little lamb,” Evelyn cooed at the boy. “How could someone do such a thing?”
“Finn, is that your Berserker’s name?” Lindsay’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“He’s not my—”
“He is sinfully handsome,” the lady remarked with a conspiratorial wink.
“Lindsay!” Evelyn laughed.
“What? I’m happily mated. I’m not blind.”
Mated. There was that word again.
“He did seem rather protective of you,” Evelyn lifted a fair brow.
“ Intimately so,” Lindsay persisted.
Rhona felt the blood drain from her face. Was it that obvious? How could she tell these ladies that she’d never laid eyes on him until the night before?
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