But at the moment, he supposed it mattered not who had sired the lass. What mattered was that she was now under his protection and Robert expected him to watch over her until she was needed by the crown. Though he could not deny his attraction to Anya, it would be a political blunder of the highest order to woo her.
With the feast spread out in front of him, Angus’ mouth watered while the claws of hunger gripped his belly. He took an enormous bite from his joint of venison, moaning with pleasure and savoring the juice as it burst in his mouth.
On his left, Mither leaned forward and regarded his new ward. “Raghnall told us ye were anxious to return to Carrickfergus.”
Stopping mid-chew, Anya drew in a ragged breath. “Aye,” she whispered, lowering her gaze and not explaining further.
Angus knew very well his mother would have squeezed every last detail she could out of the man-at-arms and most likely knew about the marriage contract negotiations, albeit between Ulster and O’Doherty rather than Anya’s concocted story about the earl’s steward.
“I am sorry for this state of affairs, truly,” said Mither, her tone warm and sincere. “We will endeavor to make your stay here memorable.”
Angus nearly snorted. The poor lassie’s experience was already a catastrophe she’d never forget.
Anya craned her neck, looking directly at his mother. “This is a fine keep, I’m certain, but I do pray to return home anon.”
Sobering, Angus returned his attention to the venison on his plate, eating in silence for a time. When Anya leaned aside to allow a servant to remove a trencher, the lass’ knee brushed Angus’ thigh. As their gazes met, Angus could have sworn her breath caught in unison with his. Was there a hint of attraction on her part?
If only he were able to find out. But the moment passed soon enough, with Anya shifting again, though the folds of her dress still brushed his knee. Every time she moved, the caress of fabric reminded him of how closely she sat.
At the center of the table, the king and the knights around him burst forth with raucous laughter. Robert raised his goblet and stood. “Let us make merry and dance, for God only kens what the morrow will bring!”
After an uproarious cheer, the servants began moving the tables aside to make way for music and dancing. A lutists, a drummer and a flautist took their positions upon the gallery.
“Do ye like to dance?” Angus asked.
“Very much so, though I’m not as graceful as—”
“Finovola?” he ventured.
The lass turned as red as the scarlet background on the tapestry behind them. “She’s quite accomplished at most everything.”
He moved his knee ever so slightly to see if he could touch her leg again but only managed another wee brush of woolen skirts. “Ye have put your sister on a pedestal, have ye not?”
While a servant placed a dish of stewed apples in front of her, Anya leaned away, though she seemed to be careful not to brush his thigh this time. “She’s everyone’s favorite.”
Angus found that difficult to believe. “Why do ye reckon so?”
“First of all, where I am short and squat, she is long and lithe. She enjoys embroidery and will sit endlessly with the countess while they work their needlepoint, discussing menus, the servants, and the latest fashions.”
“I take it ye don’t care for needlepoint or idle chat?”
“Neither, really. I prefer to be outdoors. I like a spirited steed beneath me, with the wind in my hair. I like to hide away and draw everything I observe. I find so many new and astonishing things, I cannot see how anyone would prefer to be shut in the lady’s solar with needle and thread.”
“What have ye found that has surprised you?”
“So many things.” She drummed her fingers on the stem of her goblet. “One of my most treasured discoveries is a blue crystal stone—not blue like the sky but blue like a shallow sea laced with green kale. ’Tis iridescent in the sunlight and nearly as large as the palm of my hand.”
Angus enjoyed watching the animation on her face, the bonny splay of freckles that seemed to dance when she spoke. “The way ye describe the stone makes it sound priceless.”
“It is. Though I…” She sipped her wine, her expression turning sad.
“You what, pray tell?”
“I doubt I’ll ever see it again. After all, Ulster couldn’t possibly know what has become of me. I fear soon he’ll be preparing for my wake.”
“That does sound a wee bit grim. I ken ye expected the terms of your betrothal to be final this eve.”
Anya replaced her goblet as music swelled through the hall. “I suppose Lord O’Doherty will be setting his sights elsewhere now I’ve vanished.”
Unable to think of a consoling response that didn’t sound indifferent or trite, Angus bit the inside of his cheek. Poor lass, all her dreams had been dashed with one unlucky guess. Had she chosen a boat closer to the gate, her fate never would have changed.
Sir Arthur Campbell slid his chair away from the table and strode directly to Anya’s side and bowed. “Will you dance with me, miss?”
Cracking his knuckles beneath the table, Angus scowled at the knight. The dancers hadn’t even begun taking their places. And though the men outnumbered the women three to one, he should have been the first one to accompany her on a turn around the floor.
The lass glanced up. “Does King Robert allow his prisoners to dance?”
Campbell’s jaw slackened with his shrug. “Ye are a guest at his table, why not enjoy the merriment of the feast day?”
Angus cracked his knuckles again. This is my damned table.
Anya took the knight’s hand. “Well then, shall we?”
“Bloody hell,” Angus mumbled under his breath while Campbell led her away. Did the knight not know better than to interrupt? And who did he think he was, barging over and asking Anya for the first dance? The Highlander might be favored by the king at the moment, but this was not his keep, nor was he charged with the protection of the O’Cahan lass for Lord only knew how long.
The dancers moved into their places, assembling in two lines. When the music began, Anya curtseyed while a smile blossomed on her face. She skipped and turned as if well practiced, her movement like that of a doe in the forest. That the woman thought she was stout and ungraceful was utter folly. She was delightfully adorable. Though Finovola might be statuesque, Angus could wager she had nowhere near the character of her elder sister.
“Ye have an eye for the O’Cahan woman,” said Mither, nudging him with her elbow.
His mother’s meddling always set him on edge, especially this eve. Worse, it made the gashes on his shoulders ache. “Nay. I have a great deal on my mind, is all.” Angus reached for the ewer of wine and filled her glass before he topped up his own. “And at the forefront is what the devil were ye thinking when ye suggested we hold Miss Anya at Dunyvaig?”
“Humph. I’m surprised ye must ask.” Mither traced her finger along his cheek. “My fair son.”
He batted her hand away. “I’m a man of thirty. Please answer me.”
“Alas, ye are in a sour mood. If ye must ken, I reckon we MacDonalds have far too many enemies.”
“On that we are agreed.”