running through that vivid imagination of yours?”
Her stomach fluttered as she glanced to the door. Heavens, did he know what she was thinking? Did he know how much she wanted to kiss him again? Yet every time the idea popped into her thoughts, she chastised herself. Continuing to steal kisses from Fairhair would only serve to cause her torture for the rest of her days.
She affected her most innocent expression, batting her lashes for good measure. “I have no idea what ye mean, my lord.”
Chuckling, he brushed a whisper of a kiss across her cheek. “Of course, no’.”
“Ye do know, no matter how much I want…” She looked into his eyes and nearly swooned. Goodness, if she didn’t make a stand now, she’d lose herself in his enchanting stare. “I…we cannot.”
Angus dropped his hand, making a loud slap on his thigh. Then rubbing his neck, his lips disappeared into a thin line. “Ye are right and I’ve no business trifling with ye. Forgive me.”
Good heavens, why had his words sounded so final? And why must Anya feel so inexplicably disappointed?
Clasping her hands, she headed for the door. From the start, she knew visiting his solar was a misbegotten idea. Moreover, they both were playing with fire. She couldn’t fall in love with a man like Fairhair, the devil of the seas. Perhaps she would have been better off if the King of Scots had sent her to the monastery. At least there she’d be miserable and not tempted by a man who stirred her blood every time she glanced his way.
Anya dashed out of the solar and hastened toward Rory. “Come, stroll with me atop the wall-walk, Wolfie. I need some air.”
“Would ye like me to find a wee collar and lead for ye, miss?”
She shook her head, unable to engage in their saucy banter at the moment. “If Robert the Bruce had it his way, I would be the one on the end of a leash.”
The guard cleared his throat and followed without saying another word. At least having Rory skulking behind her with his weapons clanking was what Anya needed to remind herself that she was not a guest at Dunyvaig. Nor was she there upon her free will. She was a prisoner and Islay was a renowned scoundrel who had been detested by her father. The next time she went weak at the knees when in his presence, she vowed she would not disregard her principles and everything she had been brought up to believe.
As the weeks passed, Angus grew increasingly agitated. Not only was the weather foul, every time he looked up, Anya O’Cahan managed to be somewhere nearby. His mother repeatedly sent her to the solar with frivolous gifts. The lassie was always in the hall when he broke his fast. And he knew she tried her damnedest not to look his way at the evening meals because he continually watched her out of the corner of his eye. Without a doubt, she tried to ignore him. Hell, he’d done his damnedest to ignore her. Except doing so had proved utterly impossible.
Frustrated beyond reason, Angus paid a visit to the chapel, finding Friar Jo alone.
“Ah, m’lord. ’Tis fine to see ye this lovely day.”
Angus grumbled under his breath. “Today is as dreary as yesterday and the one afore that. In fact, the rain hasn’t let up in the past fortnight.”
“’Tis a good sign, I say. Spring will soon be upon us.”
“If it doesn’t drive the entire clan mad afore then.”
“Judging by your high spirits, I take it there’s something needling your craw.” The friar started back to the small chamber where he kept his pallet and writing table. “Come join me for a tot of fine MacDonald whisky, blessed in this very chapel, mind ye. ’Tis the cure for foul moods, I’ll guarantee.”
“Mayhap this wasn’t the worst idea I’ve had today,” Angus mumbled to himself. He chose one of the two seats at the table and stretched out his legs. The chamber was cozy. He and the friar oft solved the problems of Christendom over a wee dram or ten.
“Ye’ve no cause to worry, m’lord,” said Jo, returning with two cups in his hands. “Everyone grows a bit sore-headed by the end of winter. ’Tis why we sinful souls feel a wee bit tipsy when the weather turns—the birds are merrier, the glens greener, the hunting better, the flowers happier.”
“Ye needn’t tell me about bloody spring.” Angus took the offered cup and raised it in