Aidan and Alistair, however, did not seem bothered by Gawain, for Aidan passed the platter of meat to Alistair, who then set it before Gawain. Shawna discovered that she wasn’t particularly hungry.
But she did imbibe in their dinner wine quite freely.
Alistair commented on how well the blessing went. Aidan asked him if he’d any idea what was causing the “haunting” noises in the mines. Gawain discussed the merits of cattle with Alaric. Shawna sat, feeling like screaming.
Sipping more and more wine on an empty stomach.
“Shawna, are you well?”
Aidan, at her side, softly asked the question. She glanced at him quickly to find his light eyes filled with concern. “You’re quite flushed,” he told her. “This morning, you were far too pale.”
“I’m fine.”
She stood suddenly. “Will you excuse me, please? I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Gawain looked at her, frowning. “You’re well?”
“Aye, Uncle. Extremely healthy. Robust,” she assured him dryly. “I’m just tired. Good night.” She gave Lowell a quick kiss on the cheek. He patted her hand where it lay on his shoulder. She kissed Gawain as well, and he in turn caught her hand, staring at her. “You’ve been pale all day, lass.”
She shrugged. “I’m fine, really.”
Alistair was arching a brow at her, a quizzical curve to his lips.
Alistair knew her best. She was going to have to avoid him.
She hurried from the hall. Let them talk out their plans alone.
And talk about her.
And about what a pity it was that a lass held their property.
She intended to get some sleep.
But she wasn’t going to get any sleep, she realized quickly.
Her room had been prepared for the night. Her fire blazed warmly. A nightgown had been left out on the quilted cover of the master’s bed.
A soft glow of moonlight streamed in from the balcony window.
For hundreds of years, moonlight had come through that window just so. There had never been a way to close or lock it. In winter, a heavy tapestry hung over it to keep out the cold. The weather had not become so harsh yet that a cover was necessary. In ancient days, there was no danger from the window because the stone walls protected the castle. And, unless one knew of the existence of the secret stairway, there was no way to reach the balcony—other than to walk up sheer walls. The hidden stairway had been a secret passed on only to the Douglas heir…
Except that David had told her about it. Years ago, when her father had died, and she had been so hurt and lost. He had come to the services for her father and had sat with her after her father’s body had been interred in the vault at Castle MacGinnis, and he’d distracted her with stories about the old days when so many of the Highlanders had been Jacobites and often, in their hearts, Catholics, and they had done their best to protect and hide both fleeing priests and Stuart aspirants to the throne.
She’d always admired David. Naturally. He was the overlord, he was older, he was tall, striking, handsome, everything a laird should be. Her fear that he did not appreciate her, the younger lass, had always kept her from revealing that she admired him.
That night, after her father had died, when he had been so gentle, was probably when she had begun to care much more deeply about him.
And just maybe, Alistair had been right. She had been more than glad to take on the task of seducing him from the castle. She had been glad for any opportunity to play the siren with him.
She had never imagined the consequences…
The nights, ever after, when the dreams plagued her and she wondered.
She walked out to the balcony. The night was quiet.
Yet he was out there. Somewhere.
“Where are you?” she murmured aloud.