Ewan lifted his head and took a deep breath. No more time to linger here while Angus appeared alone and tongues wagged. There would be a feast that night and the drinking had already started. Had been underway for some time, from the slurring of the old ballads and the volume and variety of the curses that had flitted to Ewan’s ears as they passed by the Great Hall. He thought briefly of his father, who had commanded the eyes and attention of everyone in the room with his loud laughter and booming tones, missing him more than he thought possible. John had been the same, vibrant and charismatic, while Ewan had been content to let him. They would have been the first to table, the first to empty a cup and call for more. There was something in what Angus had said. A chief must command and be seen. Ewan would not bring shame on their memories by appearing cowed or withdrawn.
He ran a comb through his jaw-length light-brown hair and shook it out free. He shaped his plaid over his shoulder and beneath his right arm until the long, woven russet-coloured cloth hung neatly. The brat was an outdoor garment but the colour proclaimed a man’s clan allegiance and at this time the usual rules of clothing would be relaxed. He added a swagger to his step as he left the room, holding his shoulders back and head high. He would make his first appearance as Earl of Glenarris one to remember.
He descended to the ground floor and made his way outside to the Inner Close of the castle. The sun had sunk beneath the height of the curtain wall and the limewashed stone of the Forework was a warm orange. The impression was much more benign than the image of the skull that he had first thought of. The air was warm and sweet with the scent of grass mingling with tempting smells coming from the kitchens beside the Great Hall. Ewan inhaled deeply, his appetite surging back for the first time in days. Since his father’s and brother’s deaths all food had tasted like ash, but the scent of rich juices from the roasting meat were more than any man could resist. He would eat well tonight and fill his belly, knowing that he had three days’ journey to take him home to Lochmore Castle.
A few other late guests were making their way across the courtyard, taking a direct route. The cool breeze on his face and neck made his stiff velvet doublet a little more bearable and Ewan decided to take a longer route. He made his way round the path, past the Chapel Royal, and came face to face with a ghost.
Copyright © 2019 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781488047312
A Wife Worth Investing In
Copyright © 2019 by Marguerite Kaye
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