The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,27

I have never seen such beauty, mo ghràdh.”

She graced him with a smile that flashed all the way to her eyes, shifting their color from golden back to the deeper green. “Thank ye,” she murmured. Her graceful demeanor tensed, and she squeezed his forearm. “I would speak with ye in private before the revelry of the feasting begins. Will ye grant me the courtesy?”

“Of course.” A subtle warning prickled through the hairs at his nape, standing each of them on end. He glanced around the great hall, spotting a quiet alcove set to the side of the narrow entry room in front of the main door of the keep. Candlelight flickered from within the grotto. An elaborately carved wooden cross hung above the arch of the curtained doorway, as though inviting troubled souls to step inside for prayer and reflection.

“Come.” He maneuvered them to the less crowded area beneath the second-floor gallery, avoiding eye contact with any and all who might delay them. When they reached the alcove, he quickly ushered her inside but remained outside beside the door. “Pull the curtain and wait. I shall join ye as soon as I’m certain we’ve not been noticed.”

After a furtive glance at the crowd gathering for the feast, she nodded, then yanked the heavy tapestry across the opening.

Sutherland meandered away as though leaving Sorcha to her prayers, all the while noting the whereabouts of certain individuals already present for the elaborate celebration Greyloch had ordered.

Magnus caught his eye and gave him a quizzical frown. Sutherland tapped the side of his nose, the signal from their old mercenary days that a diversion was needed. His friend responded with the slightest dip of his chin, then hurried to head off the chief and engage the man in conversation. Sutherland smiled as poor Magnus even sacrificed himself to Jenny when she entered the room by waving her over to join them.

The only others Sutherland was concerned about were Heckie, Garthin, and Lady Culane. Those three had yet to show themselves. Several more folk, who Sutherland assumed were either visitors or clansmen, seemed too busy with their own conversations and drinking to take much notice of him. Servants were everywhere, but that couldn’t be helped. Servants never missed anything, but at least from what Sutherland had seen, Greyloch’s people were loyal and could be trusted.

Satisfied he was no longer being closely watched, Sutherland ducked behind the curtain and immediately stilled the swaying of its folds. When he faced Sorcha, he almost groaned aloud. She sat on the cozy bench at the back wall, even more tempting by the golden glow of the candles. In his womanizing days, a secluded place like this held all sorts of possibilities. But this was different. Sorcha made everything different. The intense look creasing her brow chased the ambitions of his sinful past away. His sweet lass was upset. He seated himself and took her hand. “What is it, mo chridhe?”

She stared at him long and hard, so long, he swore he counted off too damn many of his own heartbeats pounding in his ears. “What troubles ye, dear one?” he coaxed when he couldn’t stand her troubled silence any longer.

“I had a visitor while I dressed.” The furrow smoothed from her brow, but frustration remained in the set of her jaw. “Lady Culane, herself.”

Any hint of what might be worrying Sorcha escaped him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good—especially if it had anything to do with that unpleasant woman.

“While I dinna give her threats an ounce of veracity,” she continued, the cold rage of a plotting warrior ringing in her words, “she did remind me of a matter I need to address with ye one last time—for my own peace of mind, ye ken?”

“And what matter is that, m’love?” He had a fair idea of what was troubling her and braced himself. Lady Culane had to have baited her with his sordid past. What else could it be?

“How is it that ye so readily cast aside yer wandering ways and the freedom to bed any lass ye wish?” The barest tremor in her voice betrayed her vulnerability, even though she held herself with strength and courage. Defiance hardened her features into the beautiful visage of a warrior queen. “How am I to believe that all of a sudden ye’ve become a faithful man, devoted to one woman alone until death frees ye from the contract?” She slid her hand out of his. “I would know the truth, Sutherland.