"Gormal wishes tae speak with ye," he said.
Latharn nodded and turned to Eibhlin. Her heart still pounded wildly against her ribcage, and she felt unsteady on her feet, but she moved to step past him.
"I should get back," she said. “Thank ye for the meal, Lath—my laird.”
She scurried away from him, her lips—and body—still on fire from his kiss.
Chapter 9
The next morning, as Latharn listened to Gormal discuss how to bring more men over to his side, thoughts of a red-haired, golden-eyed beauty kept distracting him. He'd gone to sleep with a painful erection and the memory of Eibhlin's lips against his, her red waves free around her shoulders, their silky strands wrapped around his fingers, her full breasts pressed against his chest, and her tantalizingly sweet smell. He'd imagined her in his bed, his lips pressed against every inch of that soft, delectable skin . . .
"Are ye listening tae me?" Gormal growled. "Ye convinced two of Baigh's kin tae join ye, now we need tae get tae the men loyal tae them."
"I was listening," Latharn lied. He stymied the memory of Eibhlin's lips against his and stood. "I ken we need more men. I've kent that since the day I arrived here."
"I ken of three more nobles who may help, though I'm not certain where their allegiances lie. But they do have many men loyal tae them, who will come tae yer side if they say so," Gormal said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. "When ye talk tae them, I think ye shouldnae mention ye were a servant. Perhaps we can say that ye were a warrior for another clan instead. Or even a merchant."
Latharn tensed at this suggestion, though he knew Gormal's suggestion was a sound one. He recalled the dismissive way Baigh's kin had looked at him. He suspected that other nobles would look at him the same way.
Yet he had no desire to lie, to begin his leadership under such treachery. If he did, how was he any different from his snake of an uncle?
He stood to approach the hearth, gazing down into the flames. How to win over the nobles?
Ye donnae. The thought struck him with the force of a speeding arrow.
Perhaps he was focusing on the wrong people—the nobles. Perhaps he should focus on the common people, the people who toiled the lands, the servants. The common people outnumbered the nobles. What if he could secure their loyalty, using his past as a servant to his benefit?
He whirled to face Gormal, voicing aloud his thoughts, but Gormal scowled.
"The nobles donnae care what the peasants think," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. "'Tis the nobles who will ultimately swear fealty tae ye. ’Tis their fealty ye need tae become chief and laird."
"Aye. But if their own servants and the peasants who toil their lands express their loyalty tae me, it may very well sway them,” Latharn insisted. "How many nobles or lairds ken what 'tis like tae toil? My past can help me get the common folk over tae my side.”
"'Tis still a risk," Gormal grumbled, after a long pause. “The common folk may not care—they tend tae not get involved in disputes among the highborn. But if this is what ye want tae do . . .”
“Aye,” Latharn said firmly.
“Then we can start with the servants of Baigh's household,” Gormal said, still looking reluctant. “They're more loyal tae Baigh than tae Padraig.”
The tension ebbed from Latharn’s shoulders. Despite Gormal’s reluctance, his heart told him this was the way forward.
He stiffened at the sound of horse hooves approaching outside. He frowned; Eibhlin and Tulach weren't supposed to arrive until later.
“Stay here,” Gormal ordered, his hand going to the dagger he carried in a sheath at his side as he strode toward the front door. But Latharn didn’t heed his order, following him outside.
Horas stood several yards in front of the door, his body tense, his sword drawn. Latharn reached for the sword at his side as a cloaked figure approached on horseback.
"Stay where ye are!" Horas shouted, as the rider came within earshot.
The rider obliged, reaching up to lower the hood of his cloak. Latharn froze, both unease and relief flooding him as he took in the rider’s familiar face.
“My laird—” Horas protested, as Latharn strode by him to approach the rider.
"Crisdean," Latharn snapped, taking in his younger brother. "What are ye doing here?"
* * *
Hours later, Latharn stood opposite Crisdean, glaring at him. He’d had Gormal send Crisdean a letter informing him of his new location at Horas’s home, but he’d again warned him to stay away; he didn’t want any of his family members in danger. But his stubborn brother had ignored his wishes and informed his other siblings of his true identity as the MacUisdean heir—and what he was doing here. Fortunately, Crisdean had convinced them to stay away and let him help Latharn.
Latharn had spent most of the afternoon trying to convince him to leave, telling him how dangerous it was for him to help. But Crisdean steadfastly refused, insisting that he wouldn't leave Latharn to fight on his own.
"Ye can warn me of the dangers all ye want, brother," Crisdean said calmly, leaning his large body back in his chair and pinning him with his dark eyes. "But I'll not leave ye tae handle something this dangerous on yer own. It only took me this long tae join ye as I had tae make certain my farm is looked after while I’m gone. And," he added, with a mischievous wink, “when ye're laird, I want ye tae gift me lands and coin."
"I cannae grant ye lands if ye die on my behalf," Latharn returned through gritted teeth.
“I donnae have any intention of dying,” Crisdean said, unflinchingly calm. “Ye'll not scare me away, Latharn. I'm staying."
Latharn expelled a sigh, closing his eyes. Crisdean had looked up to him when they were younger, eager to go riding and hunting with him when they'd completed their chores. But it was one thing to want to tag along with him when they were still bairns—to fight with him was another thing altogether.
"It will be good tae have another man tae fight for ye, my laird," Gormal said from behind him.
Latharn tensed; he should have known that Gormal would be of no help. He looked at Horas, who gave him a nod of agreement.
"Gormal is right. Yer brother wants tae help," Horas added.
Crisdean gave him a smug look, arching his eyebrow as if daring him to keep protesting. Latharn let out another sigh; there would be no dissuading him.
“I’ll have a bed pallet for ye placed in my room,” he said grudgingly.
Crisdean grinned, and in spite of himself, Latharn softened. Though he was still concerned for Crisdean's safety, it would be good to have a familiar face around.
Crisdean’s gaze shifted to something behind Latharn and his eyes widened with interest.
"Who is the bonnie lass?"
He turned. Through the open doorway he could see Eibhlin and Tulach dismounting from their horses. A sudden, sharp stab of jealousy spiraled in his gut as he noticed the way Crisdean was eyeing her. Crisdean had always been popular with the lassies; many had fallen to his charms. He’d told Latharn on more than one occasion that he enjoyed variety too much to settle for one lass.
“She’s not for ye tae bed,” Latharn said, unable to keep the growl from his voice. “She’s working for me as an ally—spying on the current laird.”
Crisdean nodded, but he still trained his gaze on Eibhlin in a way he didn’t like.
Latharn reluctantly introduced Eibhlin and Tulach to Crisdean. Eibhlin looked startled as she took in Crisdean; he knew she was thinking of their last conversation when he'd insisted on keeping his siblings out of his plight.
"I just learned that there's tae be a gathering at the castle tomorrow," Eibhlin informed him, once the introductions had been made.
"What sort of gathering?" Gormal demanded.
"We donnae yet ken, but I think it may involve only the clan nobles," Tulach said.
"I'll make certain tae serve in the great hall again,” Eibhlin said, a look of fierce determination spreading across her face. "I'll
find out what I can."
“Let’s pray ye learn something useful this time,” Gormal said coolly.
Latharn shot him a glare, but Eibhlin didn’t even flinch at Gormal’s words.
“I’ll do everything I can to find out something of use,” she said.
Horas, Tulach and Gormal dispersed, speaking in hushed tones by the hearth, as Latharn sat down for a meal with Crisdean and Eibhlin. He noticed with annoyance that Crisdean sat down next to Eibhlin, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her body.
“Do ye not need tae rest from yer journey?” he asked Crisdean, irritated.
"No. I’m well rested,” Crisdean said, not taking his eyes off Eibhlin. “Tell me, lass, does yer husband approve of yer spying? ’Tis a dangerous job for a lassie.”
“I have no husband,” Eibhlin replied, her lips twitching in a smile; she seemed very aware of Crisdean’s flirtations.
“And why is that? A lass as lovely as yerself—”
“Crisdean,” Latharn interrupted, his brother’s name coming out in another growl. “I told ye tae leave Eibhlin be.”
“I was just asking her a question,” Crisdean said innocently. “Unless ye have a claim on the lass?”
“No,” he said, though the protest sounded like a lie, as Eibhlin said, “No one has a claim on me.”
An abrupt silence fell. He met Evelyn’s eyes, wanting to challenger her. Ye were all mine when I had my lips on yers, he wanted to say. But, aware of Crisdean’s keen eyes on them, he kept silent, though a treacherous part of him wanted to loudly declare that Eibhlin was indeed his.
“My apologies,” Crisdean said, raising his hands up. “I didnae mean tae offend ye, lass.”
“’Tis all right,” Eibhlin replied, giving him a small smile. Latharn couldn’t help scowling; he didn’t like Eibhlin gifting her lovely smiles to his brother.
“Now ’tis only fair that ye ask me a question,” Crisdean said, returning her smile.
Eibhlin set down her bread, cocking her head to the side as she slid a mischievous look toward Latharn.
“All right,” she said. “Tell me. How was Latharn as a lad?”
Surprise—and embarrassment—coursed through Latharn, along with a trickle of male pride that she’d asked a question about him and not his brother.
"He was a wee thing: reed thin and unable tae hold his own in a fight," Crisdean said.
“’Tis not true,” Latharn grumbled, though this was very true, and both Crisdean and Eibhlin laughed.
He watched as Eibhlin leaned forward, listening intently as Crisdean regaled her with stories about their childhood—the pranks he and his brothers would pull on each other, how their parents would lovingly scold them, how they made each other laugh, even during the long days of performing their chores. For a few moments, he allowed himself to relax as he traded jests with his brother, enjoying the genuine delight on Eibhlin’s face as they talked.
The meal was over all too soon, and regret pierced him when it was time for Tulach and Eibhlin to leave. He insisted on walking Eibhlin to her horse, and when they reached it, she turned to him with a wide smile.
“Yer brother is a jovial man,” she said. “But I’m surprised ye allowed him tae help ye.”
“I didnae,” Latharn said. “My brother is very stubborn.”
“’Tis because he loves ye,” she said, a look of envy flickering across her face. “Ye’re fortunate tae have siblings now that yer parents are gone.”
“Aye,” he said, glancing back at the door where Crisdean stood, watching them. “I ken. Eibhlin,” he added, stepping closer and lowering his voice. It took great effort to not gaze at that luscious mouth of hers, to not claim it again with his own, but he held himself back. “Be careful at tomorrow’s feast. Donnae bring any attention tae yerself.”
Hesitation flickered in her eyes, but she gave him a hasty nod. He wanted to question her more, to discern that reluctance, but she was already mounting her horse. He helped her the rest of the way up, allowing his hands to again linger on the flare of her hips, stepping back as she rode away.
Crisdean approached as he watched Eibhlin and Tulach ride off into the distance, lowering his voice.
“Be honest with me, brother,” Crisdean murmured. “Are ye bedding the lass?”
"No," Latharn replied, glaring at his brother. But I want tae. Desperately. “Even though I’m not, stay away from her. She needs tae focus; she doesnae need yer flirtations."
"The lass didnae even notice me,” Crisdean said. “Did ye not notice how she hungered for stories about ye? If ye havenae bedded her yet, I ken she'd happily spread her—"
He had his hands on the collar of his brother's tunic before he could finish his sentence.
"Donnae speak of Eibhlin that way. She's bonnie, aye, but she's risking her life tae help me. None of my men—not even ye—will bed her. She’s under my protection."
To his annoyance, his brother didn't look threatened, only amused. Latharn released his grip on Crisdean, who cocked an eyebrow.
“For someone who isnae bedding the lass, ye act as if she's yers.”
“Crisdean—”
“I’ll not say any more,” his brother said, throwing up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But ye should ken . . . even though ye’ll soon have a title, life doesnae have tae be all about duty.”
Crisdean gave Eibhlin’s retreating form a meaningful look before he turned to head back inside.
Chapter 10
“Out of bed with ye, lass!”
Evelyn awoke with a start. She looked around in mortification as she realized she was the only one still in bed in the servants' quarters. Servants in this time awoke well before dawn, and she’d become used to the schedule. But last night she’d lain awake well into the night, flush with giddiness over the meal she’d shared with Latharn and his brother.
Floraidh stood next to her bed, scowling down at her, her hands on her hips, as Evelyn scrambled to her feet.
“I donnae ken where ye went last night, and I donnae care, but if ye start sleeping past the others, I’ll have tae—” Floraidh began.
“I’m sorry, Floraidh,” Evelyn said quickly, hoping that she didn’t press and demand where she’d gone. But Floraidh was already heading out of the quarters, grumbling about the duties she needed to handle before tonight’s feast.
Evelyn threw herself into her duties, her thoughts returning to the previous evening. She’d enjoyed herself more than she’d anticipated, hanging onto every word as Latharn and his brother shared stories of their childhood. Even though she knew some facts about Latharn on a surface level, she didn’t realize how starved she was for more information about him. She recalled with a smile how he’d laughed and joked along with Crisdean, how relaxed and happy he’d looked. She’d felt the same, and during the meal, she was able to forget that she was from another time with an important duty to carry out. She’d allowed herself to just . . . be. Shecouldn’t recall a time when she’d felt so content and happy.
“Will ye be serving at the feast tonight?”
She blinked, emerging from her reverie. She was chopping a pile of onions for a stew and her knife nearly slipped. Tulach stood before her, clutching a sack of barley flour.
“I’ll make certain of it,” she said, embarrassed that she’d been so immersed in thoughts of Latharn. You’re here for a purpose, not to have date nights with Latharn, she scolded herself.
Tulach looked satisfied and wished her luck before leaving. She hadn’t considered what her strategy was for tonight's feast, but there wasn’t much she could do other than pray that a noble let something of importance slip. She’d just have to be extremely careful to not get herself noticed like she had last time.
As she helped one of the undercooks glaze some roasted vegetables with honey, she kept her ears perked, hoping to learn any details about tonight’s gathering, but the servants kept their chatter only to the tasks at hand. Even Aimil, who pointedly avoided her gaze when she came into the kit
chens, didn’t have a word of gossip to share.
By the time evening fell, exhaustion had seeped into her bones from working on her feet all day, but adrenaline kept her alert. She needed to pay attention to every single detail that she could pass along to Latharn.
When she entered the great hall with platters of fresh bread and roasted vegetables, nobles packed every inch of the hall. They were all dressed in their finery: dark wool tunics and belted plaid kilts, the deep rumble of their voices punctuated by laughter and jests. Evelyn kept her head down and drifted to the side tables, her eyes sweeping around the hall until she spotted the two brothers. Again, she noted that Padraig and Neacal sat far apart; Padraig at the head table, Neacal at one of the side tables.
She set down the platters of food before several nobles, ignoring the appreciative glances they cast her way. As she walked back out of the hall, passing Neacal’s table, she heard a snatch of conversation that made her want to pause, but she forced herself to keep walking.
“Not all accept young Padraig as chief and laird. The longer ye delay—”
Evelyn left the great hall, her heart hammering. Latharn already knew that not all accepted Padraig as laird and chieftain. She needed more.
As the evening progressed, she tried to pick up more information, lingering as she refilled cups of ale and removed and replaced plates of food, but she heard nothing of particular significance; the nobles were now discussing their favorite horses and who was the best hunter among them.
Evelyn’s mouth twitched; her mother had told her that men in medieval times weren’t far removed from men in modern times.
“Replace sports with hunting and cars with horses,” her mother had told her with a wry smile. “And they have the same interests.”
The nobles were becoming drunker with ale, which she hoped would loosen tongues. But one of the unfortunate side effects of their drunkenness included them eyeing her and the other female servants a little too much.
Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six Page 6