Highland Warlord by Amy Jarecki

Author:Amy Jarecki
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Highland
Published: 2020-08-10T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

After the evening meal, Ailish had insisted on cleaning the wooden bowls, though in truth the pottage had been so good there wasn’t much left to clean. She considered asking Finlay to go to Selkirk Forest to help Friar John with the cooking.

“There was more meat in my bowl of pottage than I’ve had in a month,” said James, rubbing his belly.

“I’ll say,” Torquil agreed, watching Ailish hang the drying cloth over a rafter.

Most of the men had supped in the stables, though as James’ men-at-arms, Torquil and Caelan had been invited to dine at the table. Ever since they came inside, the lad had made her a wee bit uneasy—but it seemed his nature was to be a bit too opinionated and abrasive. To be honest, everything had made her uneasy, especially the bed across the floor. The cottage consisted of one chamber.

One.

With one bed.

And as sure as he was sitting at the table like a presumptuous cat, Torquil was on the verge of taunting her. If Sir James weren’t present, she was certain the blackguard would say something vile. Aye, he might be a good ally on the battlefield, but Ailish always felt ill at ease whenever the lad was near.

She wrung her hands, looking for something else to occupy them.

“You look a bit nervous, m’lady,” Torquil said with a bit of mischief in his tone.

James patted the bench beside him. “Come and have a rest, dearest.”

Dearest?

The endearment made her stomach flip. Dropping her hands to her sides, she did as asked hoping she wasn’t blushing at the mere thought of being James’ dearest.

“What would you have to be nervous about?” asked the crofter.

“Nothing at all,” James said, patting her thigh.

Of course, such intimacy made Torquil snigger behind his tankard.

The rhythm of rainfall on thatch came from above. Ailish rubbed her arms, glancing to the bed. When would the others head for their pallets? What then? What would it feel like to be in a bed alone with Sir James?

She felt the color rise in her face as her mind wandered back to every kiss—in the wee hours at Duncryne Castle, behind the stables at the priory, and in the wood only a few days past.

All she could think about was kissing him again. Wrapping her arms around James and holding him as if he were her…her…husband.

’Tis scandalous!

But Ailish was already twenty years of age. Elizabeth de Burgh had only been ten and four when she married Robert the Bruce—the same age Ailish was when she fled Caerlaverock with Harris and Florrie.

With war a certainty, who knew if she’d ever wed. More than likely she would not, and most certainly not before the Maxwell lands had been reverted to the true earl, which could be years if not eons.

James poured her a tankard of ale. “Be careful not to swill it, Finlay’s ale is as thick as his pottage.”

“It helps a man sleep at night,” said the crofter, his toothless grin appearing over the top of his mug.

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