arse was pressed against his hardness, and his chest warmed her back.
And she ached for his touch, his comfort. But she wasn’t sure how she felt about him at that moment, so she did naught to encourage him.
And after a while, he blew out a sigh, which ruffled her hair, and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. He wasn’t going to force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, and that was further proof of his goodness, wasn’t it?
“Goodnight, wife,” he whispered.
She waited until his breathing had settled into sleep before she whispered, “Goodnight, Malcolm,” in return, over the sound of the strange distant drumming.
It was a hell of a wedding night.
Chapter 8
“What is wrong with ye, little brother? Ye had a piss-poor showing today; I nearly knocked yer sword out of yer hand! ‘Twas embarrassing!”
Malcolm glared at Alistair. “Ye’re a few months aulder than me. That doesnae make me yer little brother.”
Alistair grinned. “Aye, but I kenned ‘twould get a reaction from ye. I notice ye’re no’ denying my other claims.”
That he’d been distracted during Rocque’s sparring session? Nay, there was no denying that.
Sighing, Malcolm scrubbed his hand over his face and grimaced as it came away sweaty.
Kiergan thumped him on his shoulder. “Are ye headed to the loch to bathe? Rocque’s headed there, so I’ll be avoiding him.”
What had happened while Malcolm had been gone?
“Why?” The three of them were already walking toward the loch. “What did I miss?”
“Kiergan wagered him a barrel of whisky that he could toss a tree trunk farther,” Alistair offered blandly. “I’m guessing he’s hoping Rocque will forget, because there’s nae way he’d beat our brother when it comes to brawn.”
Snorting, Kiergan slapped his own upper arm. “Are ye disparaging these puppies?”
“Puppies? Did ye just refer to yer muscles as puppies? Why in damnation would ye do that?”
Unable to help himself, Malcolm grinned lazily. “Because they’re whiney and shite all over the place?”
Alistair hummed. “Aye, ’tis likely why. No’ because of the sharp teeth and big floppy ears.”
His twin scowled. “I think ye’re taking the metaphor too far. They’re muscles.”
“Aye, which ye dinnae have.”
The trio was ambling toward the loch, and Malcolm hooked his thumbs in his belt, letting his brothers’ banter wash over him. ‘Twas good to be back home among his family, where he belonged. But if he felt that way…how did Evelinde feel?
She’d obviously been surprised yesterday when she’d realized who his da was, and Malcolm still felt badly about that. Surely in all the times he’d told her of his past, he’d mentioned his father’s name? Granted, she hadn’t been an Oliphant for long, so mayhap she hadn’t known the laird’s name. But had he really and truly not mentioned his father was the laird?
He sighed again, in irritation this time.
How could he leave something like that out? Likely because he didn’t think it so important when it came to his identity. But clearly Evelinde did, or she wouldn’t have been so upset yesterday. How to make it better? How could he convince her he hadn’t meant to hurt her?
“Malcolm would back my wager, would ye no’?”
Kiergan’s question—obviously the twins were arguing about something—dragged Malcolm’s attention back to the current discussion. “What wager?”
“That I can throw a tree trunk farther than Rocque. Ye’re always saying ‘tis no’ about brawn, but brains. All I have to do is calculate the—the—the maths behind the motion!”
Malcolm blinked. “Ye’re going to calculate the maths?”
“Well, nay.” Kiergan smiled charmingly. “I’ll get my dearest little brother to calculate them for me.”
“First of all, why do ye two persist in calling me yer little brother?” Malcolm threw up his hands as he halted. “Rocque and I are mere months younger than ye, according to my calculations!”
“Because we ken it pisses ye off.”
Kiergan’s grin grew unrepentant as he reached over and ruffled the top of Malcolm’s head. Scowling, Malcolm ducked out from under his touch.
“Second of all, why in the fook would ye be doing something as daft as throwing around tree trunks?”
As Alistair shrugged, Kiergan slapped his bare chest. “To show off how manly we are!”
Malcolm snorted. “More likely to show off how drunk ye were when ye made the wager!”
“Och, aye, that too.”
Alistair lifted his hand to shade his eyes. “Say, Kiergan, is that no’ Rocque approaching?”
His twin squinted toward the approaching figure. “Shite, ‘tis! I’ll go bathe in the stream!” He slapped Malcolm’s shoulder. “Consider those calculations for me, Mal!” he called, already jogging away.
Scowling, Malcolm rubbed his shoulder.