Seducing a Scottish Bride by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page B

lads in the kitchens
     see this.”
    “You misremember, lass.” Duncan spoke up as soon as the boy darted away with his prize. “ ’Twas your uncle Kenneth who gave
     Robbie that wee blade,” he reminded her. “He made it in the good years, before he turned —”
    “Now is not the time to speak of that one.” Sir Marmaduke placed a hand on his arm. “Be glad Gelis has an admirer in the lad.
     His merriment will prove a greater talisman than any child’s miniature dagger.”
    The Black Stag shook his arm free. “She shouldn’t have need of a talisman! By all the saints, I shall be glad when —”
    “It will gladden you even more, Kintail, to hear that she has no need of such a token.” Ronan set down his eating knife. “No
     harm shall touch her.”
    Gelis put aside her own knife. The way he’d said “no harm shall touch her” made her chest tighten and the tops of her ears
     burn.
    Something told her he meant he wouldn’t touch her.
    Not harm, but him.
    His hands, and in all the ways she’d dreamed of being caressed by a husband.
    Caressed and loved.
    Her heart thumping, she lowered her lashes, eyeing him as surreptitiously as possible. Unfortunately, the truth of her suspicion
     stood etched all over him. Never had she seen a man so determined not to notice her.
    Not wanting to believe it, she shifted in her chair, deliberately pressing her knee against his thigh, a ploy that made him
     jerk away faster than if she’d jabbed him with a white-hot fire poker.
    She frowned and withdrew her knee, opting for another tactic.
    “Perhaps you should try the sugared almonds.” She nudged the bowl in his direction. “Their sweetness might improve your mood.”
    His expression darkened. “There is naught under the heavens capable of such a feat, my lady. Not sugared almonds. Nor one
     so fair as you.”
    “So you find me appealing?”
    “You would take any man’s breath.” He looked at her, his gaze piercing. “As well you know.”
    “You do not look very breathless.” She had the boldness to jut her chin at him, her amber eyes glittering with irritation.
    His own annoyance riding him, Ronan ignored her pique. The uncomfortable way her very presence made him suspect that one wee
     slip in his dealings with her might see the course of his life changing.
    And in ways he couldn’t control.
    His grandfather’s jollity as he jested with her father proved equally bitter. Valdar’s every hooted laugh and eye twinkle
     twisted his innards, as did the hope brightening the faces of Dare’s guardsmen, the bursts of good cheer rising from the trestle
     tables.
    Such gaiety wouldn’t last.
    One glance at the tightly closed hall windows proved it. Already, threads of mist slipped in through the shutter slats. Long,
     slithering tendrils hushed along the hall’s outermost tables, dousing candles and causing the hanging crusie lamps to splutter
     and extinguish.
    As did Ronan’s brief and mad hope of seizing his unexpected fortune and risking another chance at love.
    So he did what he could, reaching for a rib of fire-roasted beef, then drawing back his hand to pull his earlobe instead.
     At once, a stir and racket ensued at the next table as Torcaill the druid pushed to his feet.
    “I, Torcaill of Ancient Fame, do bless the Raven and his lady!” His strong voice rising, he lifted his walking stick, shaking
     it heavenward. “May they prosper in the name and glory of the Old Ones!”
    Cheers rose and the mist wraiths withdrew, disappearing back through the closed shutters whence they’d come.
    Torcaill made one last flourish with his
slachdan druidheachd
, the great druidic wand seeming to shimmer and glow as he lowered it.
    He looked round, the spread-winged raven decorating his robe gleaming in the torchlight. “I wish you a fair night — one and
     all!”
    Valdar half-rose from his chair. “Ho, Torcaill!” he yelled when the druid turned and strode away. “The night is no’ yet by
     with. You must