“You dinnae wish to marry for love? What if you too discover you hold a soul bond with a woman of fae blood, just as I have discovered I do with Ronan, and Duncan has discovered his bond with Ella?”
“There is no such bond for me.” And never would be. “Elizabeth shall be your new sister come the week’s end.”
A knock sounded.
“Enter,” he called out.
The maid returned and set a tray on his desk, one holding a steaming bowl of stew and a corked flagon of whiskey. “Is there aught more you need, my laird?”
“Aye, I wish to bathe after I’ve eaten. See to a tub being filled in my chamber, then inform me once ’tis done.”
“Of course.” She closed the door behind her as she bustled out.
“What else can you share about her?” Another probing question from Kyla.
“Elizabeth has red hair and freckles.” He scooped the slice of crusty bread wedged to the side, dipped it into his stew and took a hearty bite.
“I meant in how well the two of you get along.” Brow arched, Kyla dipped a finger under the white lace edging of her velvet bodice and freed a gold necklace. A disk dangled from it, one holding an engraved word on one side and as she twirled it about, the firelight reflected another word etched on the reverse.
“What does that say?” He gestured to her charm.
“It says Kyla”—she flipped it over—“and Christina.” She turned her attention on her mate, sank one hand into his hair and grinned all silly at him. “Christina being the name Ronan had first known me by at the fae village afore my capture by Colin MacKenzie. ’Tis my true name.” She turned her smile back on him. “No’ that I dinnae love being called Kyla. Oh, and, Coll, you’ve missed meeting my parents. They joined us here for a short while and have only recently returned to the village. I wish you could have met them.”
“I’ll meet them when they return for another visit. I hope you told them they’re always welcome here.”
“Absolutely.”
Aye, never would he turn one of Kyla’s kin away, not when they were his blood kin too. Stretching his chainmail-clad legs under the table, he crossed them at the ankle, uncorked the whiskey and tipped the flagon to his lips.
Duncan wandered to the window and gripped the ledge, his gaze ever-watchful on the courtyard beyond where torches mounted on the stone walls spread their warm glow across the stony ground and up across the battlements and their patrolling guardsmen. Turning back, Duncan rested his backside on the sill, his dark hair a few inches longer than usual and almost brushing his shoulders. “You should know that I extended the barracks at Ardan House and can now house some of these additional men you’ve returned with.”
“Then feel free to take half of the men who arrived with me back to Ardan. We’ll spread our additional numbers out so we can ensure we hold the length of Loch Carron with ease.”
“Will do.”
Another knock and Meg returned and dipped her head at him. “Your bath awaits you, my laird. I’ll aid you with your chainmail if you wish.”
“That would be greatly appreciated.” He heaved to his feet, his chainmail heavy after the long hours he’d spent in it. Ridding himself of it without his squire’s aid wouldn’t be easy, and since he had no intention of finding the lad when the maid could see to the chore, he gladly accepted her aid. Clapping Duncan and Ronan on the back, as well as dropping a kiss on the top of Kyla’s head, he said, “I’ll see you all in the morn. Sleep well.”
“You too.” Kyla blew him a kiss. “’Tis wonderful to have you home.”
“’Tis wonderful to be home.” A home he’d soon be welcoming his new bride into.
With a slightly heavy step, he walked out of his solar and up the stairwell, the maid following quietly behind. On the third floor, he opened his chamber door and entered. His large bed dominated the space with its magnificently carved posts that rose to the ceiling, the royal blue canopy sweeping down each of the four sides and secured at the corners with golden ties. His desk sat in the corner, the piece a replica of the one in his solar downstairs.
Gently, he trailed one finger along the desk’s polished surface, the rolls of parchment he’d left there on his departure still sitting between his stoppered ink well and his personal journal covered in red leather, the pages within an accumulation of memories he’d added to over the years, although not these past six months he’d been away.