The Highland Bride by Lynsay Sands

Author:Lynsay Sands
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"If we're finished, I think I'll go to see my wife," Ewan announced.

Connall nodded and glanced toward the great hall fire as the other man stood and departed. Eva was curled up in a chair before the roaring blaze, sewing as she waited for him to finish his meeting with Ewan and join her as had become his habit since the wedding. Connall had found his gaze wandering to her several times as he had listened to Ewan's report and had noticed that Eva drew herself a little tighter into a ball each time the keep door opened. It was wet and blustery tonight, with a chill that he hadn't really noticed until he'd noted Eva's shrinking from it. He wasn't bothered much by cold, but it seemed as if his wife was.

Standing as she paused in her sewing to chafe some warmth into her arms, Connall moved to her chair and held out his hand. "Come, we'll play chess in our room tonight. Twill be warmer there by the fire without the breeze blowing in ever' few minutes."

Eva smiled her relief at his suggestion and took his hand to rise, commenting, "Tis growing cool at night."

"Aye. Summer is coming to a close, the nights grow longer, the days shorter, and the air chill," Connall said as he gestured one of the houseboys over to collect the chess game. He himself took the gown from her hands, freeing her to hold her skirt up as they mounted the stairs. He didn't miss the exasperated little sigh she gave at his thoughtfulness, but ignored it, knowing she was feeling that they all thought her incompetent. Connall didn't bother to explain that it was just a precaution until she was on her feet again and knew her new home well enough that—even should she be distracted—she would not thoughtlessly go tumbling down a set of stairs or bang into something. With a little time here, Eva would get to know everyone and all the nooks and crannies of the house so that she would be in less danger.

At least from common accidents, Connall thought, with a frown. There had been another attempt on his life the night before last. It was the third attempt in the last year since the trouble had started. Connall had been riding with the men on the way to a raid when an arrow had sailed through the darkness, narrowly missing him but hitting the man riding next to him. It had been a flesh wound in the arm and quickly healed, but the incident was bothersome for two reasons: One was that the attacker had made the attempt in the open, at night, when Connall was surrounded by his Nightriders who had, as one would expect, immediately spread out and begun to search the woods. The fellow had been extremely lucky and escaped capture. Extremely lucky, as most of the men with him had a nocturnal predator's night vision, which was what bothered Connall: If the

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