Wager with a Warrior - Emma Prince Page 0,59
inexperience, he hesitated.
She must have sensed it, for she pulled back, drawing a ragged breath.
“Please,” she whispered, her gaze dark and shimmering with longing. “Dinnae stop. No’ until our time is well and truly up.”
“Aye,” he answered, lowering himself over her. “No’ until then.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Birdie only lasted halfway through the morning meal before she begged forgiveness and slipped out of the great hall.
The atmosphere at the high table was decidedly different this morning. Only her father, Laird Gunn, and Cormack had been seated when the first of the fresh bannocks had been placed on the table. Tessa was still asleep abovestairs, and Padraig was apparently getting a tour of the bloomery and the iron smelting process from Edgar the blacksmith.
Cormack was as reserved and polite as ever. But the tension that had hung about the two Lairds was gone now. They had at last come to an understanding the night before.
Which meant she and Cormack would be engaged come sundown.
Her father had confirmed it when he’d mentioned to Laird Gunn that he’d ensure the village priest came to the Samhain feast at the castle that evening to conduct the handfasting ceremony. While he spoke to the Gunn Laird, his gaze lingered on Birdie, searching her.
Birdie had tried to school her features as well as Cormack. She took a bite of the steaming bannock, which was slathered with butter and honey. It should have tasted heavenly, but instead it was like ash on her tongue.
She would have given herself away and started crying if she hadn’t excused herself and hastily fled.
When she slipped out the double doors, a scene of flurried activity met her. Samhain was one of the biggest celebrations of the year, marking the end of the harvest season and a turn from the bounty of summer to the austerity of winter.
A grand feast to mark the occasion meant that not only would the castle staff be working hard all day, but that many villagers would be making their way to the castle as well, some to help with preparations, and others in anticipation of the festivities that evening.
The hillside buzzed with motion. Several men were hauling baskets of fresh vegetables, fish, and poultry bound for the kitchens, while others were rolling down empty barrels for the village’s brew master to refill.
At the bottom of the hill, Birdie spotted Lamond directing a train of horse-drawn wagons which were filled with more supplies, fresh rushes for the floors, firewood for the great hall’s enormous hearth, and more. And beyond that, Laird Gunn’s men were beginning to stir and rise from their makeshift camp of canvas tents.
It had rained last night, and the grass around the castle was patchy with churned mud. The sky was heavy overhead, the clouds swollen with the promise of more rain, and the air sharp-edged with cold.
Birdie silently cursed herself for not fetching her cloak before her hasty departure, but she couldn’t find the will to return inside.
She needed peace, quiet, and solitude, which would be impossible at the castle now. The great hall would be filled with talk of her impending engagement, and the bustle of activity to prepare for the evening’s celebrations.
She could go to the chamber she shared with Tessa, but she wouldn’t be alone, for Tessa was abed. She’d roused briefly when Birdie had slipped in a half hour before dawn, giving her a wordless hug. Tessa had fallen asleep again even as Birdie had scrubbed her tear-streaked face and changed into a modest dove-gray gown to meet the morning.
And then there was Gregor’s presence in the castle, which loomed largest of all in her mind. He was likely packing to depart now. He’d remained in his chamber thus far this morning, yet she couldn’t bear the thought of running into him in the stairwell or in a corridor. Or worse, in the great hall, with all eyes on them.
Of their own accord, her feet carried her to the path leading down to the kyle—and away from the noisy, swarming commotion surrounding the castle.
The path was slick and muddy. She fumbled her way down, holding her skirts out of the way. What a sight she would be if she returned to the castle covered in mud, soaked from the rain that would undoubtedly fall soon, teeth chattering from the cold and eyes red from the tears that threatened to break free once more.
She would probably need another bath before the feast that night. The realization sank like a stone in her gut.