Angus held up the platter and gave her a grin, one that hadn’t failed him in all his years. Though God had cursed him with the face of an angel, he’d learned at a young age to use it to his advantage, at least where women were concerned. Not even his mother was able to resist his smiles.
However, he seemed to have no effect on this Irish woman whatsoever. As soon as he showed his teeth, she averted her gaze and headed for the chapel.
Huffing, Angus followed, unable not to notice the way her shapely hips swung beneath the folds of her woolen kirtle.
“Come, lass,” he said when they stepped inside. “These wee beasties are best whilst they’re warm.”
They sat on a pair of the remaining chairs and used another as a table. Angus poured her a healthy spot of wine and helped himself to a chalice as well, then held his aloft. “To Raghnall and a safe crossing.”
“And to his swift return,” she added.
“Slàinte mhath,” he said before taking a sip.
Anya drank as well, then made a sour face.
Doing his best to restrain the grimace playing on his lips, he set his cup on the makeshift table. “The one good thing about vinegary wine is the second sip always tastes better.” After all, what did they expect from a cask washed up on the shore? At least it wasn’t full of salt water.
“Have ye any siblings at Carrickfergus?” he asked.
“A sister.”
“Younger, older?”
“Two years younger.”
“I’ll wager she’s nay as bonny as you.”
Anya’s shoulders shook with her snort. “I assure ye, Finovola is everything I am not. Golden tresses, willowy limbs, and she’s as graceful as an eagle in flight.”
Angus used his sgian dubh to cut into a leg’s hard outer shell and dig out the meat within. “Why is it lassies always want to look different?”
“I don’t recall saying I was unhappy with my appearance. I merely said my sister is a beauty.”
He tapped the crabmeat toward her and started working on another morsel. “Mayhap she is fair, though I say ye do yourself no credit. Och, your eyes alone are enough to take the wind out of a man’s sails.” And Lord knew last eve it was all Angus could do to ignore the soft curve of her bottom nestling against his cock. If Anya’s sister was long and willowy, there was no chance she’d be as plush a bed partner.
“Am I to thank ye for your observation, sir?” she asked with an edge to her voice.
For a moment, he watched as she savored the crab, following her bite with a drink of wine—sans the sour face this time. “There’s no need for false congeniality,” he said. “If ye do no’ wish to offer thanks, then do no’.” The woman still saw him as an enemy, a fact he intended to rectify by the night’s end.
They ate in silence for a time and Angus filled their chalices twice more. Only when Anya swayed a bit, her eyes a tad glassy, did he test the waters. “Tell me, why were ye hiding in my birlinn?”
The lady’s dainty throat bobbed as her face flushed. “Ah…I thought it was a fishing boat, moored for the night.”
“Aye, we’ve already established that, but ye haven’t told me why ye were there in the first place.”
“I was walking along the southern side of the barbican on my way to the sea gate when I heard the scuffle. I turned to go toward the main gate but there were soldiers running along the path.” She swiped a hand across her mouth, her eyes shifting aside as if there might be far more to the story. “The path skirting the castle is quite narrow, I’ll have ye know.”
Angus sucked the remaining meat from a crab leg and licked his lips. “And then what happened?”
“Well, not wanting to be trampled, and not wanting to head into a skirmish, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of at the time. I ran to the end of the pier and hid.”
“In my boat.”
“It appears so.”
“Why were ye approaching the sea gate? It seems ye could have used the main gate in the first place.”
The lass turned three shades of scarlet before she took a healthy gulp of wine. “I’d rather not say.”
Such an admission made her story all the more intriguing. Though Anya may be an orphan, she was no servant, nor was she a waif. It was obvious she had secreted out of the castle, or at least she had been attempting to secret inside. Earlier, she’d admitted that she was to be betrothed, which meant she wasn’t already promised. But someone of import must be negotiating on her behalf. Who?
One thing at a time.
“Since the daylight hours were fading,” he hedged, “I believe it is safe to assume ye were returning from somewhere.”
Though her shoulders shrugged, the lass nodded.
“A tryst, perchance?” he mused. “One last moment in a lover’s arms afore your hand was to be given to another?”
Anya’s jaw dropped as outrage filled her eyes. “I beg your pardon, sir, but never in all my days would I entertain such…such…doing something so wicked. I may be a tad adventuresome, but I certainly am no harlot.”
Now Angus was getting somewhere. “Forgive me. Without knowing what happened, I fear I jumped to an untoward conclusion.” Regardless if his smiles had any effect on the lass, he grinned all the same. Doing so certainly couldn’t make matters worse. “Tell me, why were ye beyond the castle walls alone?”
Again, Anya averted her eyes. Was she trying not to allow him to charm her? This time, her gaze settled on the roll of vellum she’d been etching with the bit of charcoal. “’Tis the only time I can be alone to…”
Angus leaned forward. “To?”
“Draw.”
He tapped the scroll. “May I see?”
Anya’s color remained flushed as she scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “’Tis not yet complete.”
“Come.” He picked it up. “May I?”
“Naaaaaaaay.”
She reached for it, but he was faster. Taking an edge, he held out the vellum, making it unroll before she could snatch it back. As the lass yanked the drawing from his fingertips, his heart took to flight, stuttering in his chest until it dove south and fluttered somewhere it had no business flapping its wings.
Of all things, she had drawn a picture of him.
“Ye let it unravel on purpose.”
Angus thrust out his palm and beckoned with his fingers. “Let me see that.”
Shaking her head, Anya hugged the damn drawing against her breasts. “What else was I supposed to draw? We’re stranded on an island with nothing but a crumbling old chapel, craggy rocks, and seagrass.”
“Just allow me another wee peek.” Not giving in, he shook his hand. “Please?”
With a tsk of her tongue, Anya placed the scroll in his palm. “Remember, the work is not complete, not by half.”
“Thank you.” He turned the vellum over and studied it. She had captured him as if he’d been looking in a mirror—his hair tousled by the wind, his shirt the worse for wear, his plaid belted low, a dirk in one hand and the chapel’s stole in the other. “My word, this is quite a good rendering.”
“Do ye really think so?”
He grinned again, this time without forethought. “Ye have a talent for certain.”