“Are ye all right, lass? Ye seem to be staying a good distance away. I can promise ye that we mean ye no harm.”
It was the voice of the second man who stood nearest to the doorway. He was even taller than the first, and I found him to be one of the most formidably large men I’d ever seen. Not fat, simply tall and broad and, even in the darkness, all muscle. All I could see was his outline, but had this been the twenty-first century, he would have undoubtedly been some sort of professional athlete.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just spilled some wax. Give me a moment.”
They stood in the entryway while I lit all of the candles. Only once I was done did I step back to fully give them a good look over.
Good-looking specimens, the both of them.
The taller one who’d just spoken offered me a warm but shy smile as I looked them over. His bright blue eyes shone with a kindness that immediately eased any previous concern I’d had about the two men. He had dark hair, cropped shorter than most men of the time but still long enough that natural curls stood out on end, giving him a wild, rugged appearance.
He had the biggest hands I’d ever seen. As I gazed at them, I could see the wear on his palms, the callouses caused from repeated hard work. I immediately made the assumption that this man wasn’t Adwen. Not that the other lairds I knew didn’t work hard, they certainly did, only it wasn’t often the same back breaking work that so many others did day in and day out.
The man I presumed to be Adwen stood only a few inches shorter than the first, bringing him in at a solid six-foot-two. He was impossibly handsome, with dark hair that fell nearly to his shoulders and thick dark brows that framed honey-colored eyes.
He took one step toward me, placing his hand on the side of my arm.
“Ye have burned yer hand from the wax, lass. Let me take that candle from ye.”
The touch of his hand sent a spark shooting down my arm and I relented, passing off the dripping candle before turning to dip my hand in a cool basin of water.
“Thank you. Uh, the castle you say? So you know the McMillans then? Might I ask your names?”
I glanced up at both of the men as I splashed the cool water over my hand, and the man I believed to be Adwen confirmed my assumption about his identity.
“Aye, to all three of yer questions, lass. Aye, we were just at the castle. Aye, ye may ask our names—my name is Adwen MacChristy, and I’m soon to be laird over Cagair Castle. This here,” he paused and gestured for the second man to step forward. “This is Orick, my friend and trusted hand. And lastly, aye, I know the McMillans well and, from yer accent and the resemblance ye bear to Eoghanan’s wife, I’d venture a guess and say that ye know them even better than I. Can I ask ye yer name, lass?”
I’d never really thought that Grace and I looked that much alike, but for our entire lives people had pointed out the similarities. I supposed, despite our mutual denial, that it was true. In my haste to hide the panic on my face, I turned to find a cloth to dry my hands.
“My name is, uh, Lily.” I gritted my teeth, thinking it a foolish name to choose, but my other sister’s name was the first that came to mind. “And no, I’m afraid that I don’t know them. Just in the same way that everyone else does around here; I’ve never been a guest in the castle.”
“Is that so, lass? Forgive me, but I find it hard to believe that ye are no the same lass that was absent from the dining hall this evening. Ye speak in the exact same manner as the wives of the laird and his brother.”
I glared at him, realizing that he’d known who I was instantly, but aggravated that he seemed so intent on gaining some sort of confession. He didn’t know me; none of it was any of his business.
“Well, perhaps we just come from the same place originally.”
He crossed his arms, his face so smug that I wanted nothing more than to slap the expression right off it. “And just what land might that be? I’ve traveled to a great many places and no anywhere have I heard speech such as what ye three lassies have.”
I racked my brain for the name of a place obscure enough that surely sir nosey-britches wouldn’t have traveled there. Nothing brilliant came to mind and unexpected words escaped my lips. They couldn’t have been more stupid. “I come from Atlantis.”
Orick, who’d not spoken since I re-lit the candles, couldn’t contain a laugh as Adwen took a step closer to me, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Oh, the lost city, lass? Well, what a grand tale ye must have since ye escaped the mythical, doomed city so well and intact. Ye must be hundreds of years old by now, aye? I must say, ye look verra young for yer age.” He laughed until his face was bright red enough to serve as a stop sign.
By the time he finished, I was thoroughly pissed. “What’s the matter with you? Why do you care who I am? You just came here for a bed to sleep in, right?”