Anya covered her mouth and held in a chuckle at the image his words conjured. “If ye didn’t like to be called Fairhair, why did ye allow it?”
“Ha! Growing up in my brother’s shadow, I was oft used as his proverbial whipping post. The older lads teased me because my face was too bonny. Och, and my hair was as white as the snow still falling out there.” Angus stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “Alasdair’s heckling made me tough. I strove to prove myself at every turn, until I grew taller and stronger than my brother, then I set him to rights.”
“How did ye do that?”
“We had a row. I was about twenty at the time. I cannot recall the cause of our argument, but we came to blows.” Angus tore a bite of bread with his teeth. “He took the brunt of it. Afterward, he started calling me Fairhair the Terrible.”
“With the devil’s heart,” she mused.
“Aye, that as well.”
Here all along she believed His Lordship’s enemies had marked him, spreading rumors about his vile temper and ruthlessness, but it had come from his own kin. “If ye ask me, ye have a kind heart.”
Angus stopped mid-chew. Had he just heard Anya say she thought him kind? After the shipwreck, and the way his men had dispatched the English sailors? Even the mere fact that she was being held at Dunyvaig against her wishes made such a statement unlikely. Aye, she was there on the king’s orders, but Angus was the man responsible for carrying them out. When so many referred to him as a fiend, this curious, charming, imaginative, yet opinionated woman saw the good in his heart despite all the forces working against her.
The lass had most likely missed her chance at wedded bliss because of him. Perhaps not bliss, but if her intended chose to move on, Anya had foregone her opportunity to bear children and raise a family. And after watching her read to the wee ones in the hall this morn, she would make a fine mother.
When Anya cringed, he realized he hadn’t acknowledged her compliment.
He swallowed. Hard. “Ye’d best not repeat those words at the keep, else my men will reckon I’ve gone soft.” He meant to intone a bit of humor into his voice, but it came out more like a whisper.
She shifted her gaze away and a cold shiver coursed across Angus’ skin. His mind whirred with so many things. First of all, he’d been a fool to bring her out here where they’d be alone together—miles away from any soul.
Yet he’d done it all the same. He’d wanted to show her the beauty of the Oa.
Lord knew he wouldn’t tell her about the nights he lay in his bed wondering if she was still awake. Wondering if she had kept the picture she’d drawn of him on Nave. Though he liked having Anya at Dunyvaig, he abhorred the reason for her presence, at least the reason she had not returned home. If only she were there by her own choosing.
But that would never happen, would it? Sooner or later, she would return to Ireland and would be out of his life—reduced to nothing but a sweet memory.
“Why did ye bring me here?” she asked.
Unable to look into those stunning eyes, he shifted his gaze to her lips. Och, by the flutter of his heart, staring at her lips wasn’t the best alternative. But he owed her the truth. “Your captivation on Islay is not your doing. Ye hid in my birlinn thinking it was safe, and now ye are away from your sister and all ye hold dear. Worse, I fear your dreams are ruined.”
She brushed her fingers over the back of his hand. The mere friction of her touch made his breath hitch, and yet again when she leaned nearer. Though it was snowing and the wind blustering, she smelled as sweet as fresh grass covered with dew on a spring morn. “Mayhap my dreams have changed,” she whispered. “In fact, a great deal has changed, but I have not been unhappy here.”
He deigned to gaze into those eyes while she tapped her upper lip with her tongue. Angus wanted to kiss her so badly, his mouth grew dry.
But Anya was no meek lass, nor was anything she said or did predictable. Before his next blink, she placed her palm on his cheek and ever so lightly swept her lips across his.
God strike him dead where he sat, he could no sooner resist such a temptation than cease to breathe. His mind filled with an all-consuming desire to return her kiss and show her exactly what she did to his insides. He pulled her onto his lap and sealed his lips over hers. Closing his eyes, Angus claimed her mouth as she sighed and returned his kiss with a fervor as passionate as her lust for adventure. Defying all the voices of logic that had been torturing his mind, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly and possessively.
When breathless, he tapped his forehead to hers. “I pray that was more enjoyable than the last.”
She cupped his cheek with a gloved palm made icy by the chill in the air. “Unbelievably enjoyable, but it is I who must apologize this time.”
Angus pushed a lock of her hair beneath her veil. “Nay.”
“Aye. After all, ye are a sworn enemy of the O’Cahan Clan.” With a sigh, she moved off of his lap. “We’d best head back afore the snow begins to stick in earnest.”
Angus’ heart sank like a stone. What the hell am I doing?
12
Anya completed rolling a newly spun wool into a skein and placed it on the shelf in the solar. “’Tis hard to believe your tapestry is nearly finished, my lady.”
Angus’ mother sat at her loom and drew the shed stick through the tight rows of thread. “Aye, and it has been a long time in the making.”
Anya examined the detail of the three birlinns sailing on dark blue waves crested with white. “It is one of the most beautiful works I have ever seen.”
“Ye are kind to say so.”
“Nay, I am but honest.” Anya pointed to the spindle and distaff. “I’ve finished with the wool. Is there anything else ye need of me?”
Her Ladyship inclined her head toward a linen garment folded on the table. “Angus’ new shirt is ready. Would ye mind taking it to him?”
Gulping, Anya quickly turned away so the Dowager Lady Islay wouldn’t see the color rushing to her face. “To His Lordship?” she squeaked.
“Please.”
Anya moved to the table and traced her finger around the expertly stitched collar. It warmed her to know this shirt would be worn by Angus. If only she could keep it for herself. Then she’d have something she might wear to bed while she dreamed of being in his arms. The problem was every time she was alone in his presence, she did things that were positively audacious and scandalous. Like kissing him or wishing him to kiss her.
“Should I deliver it to his chamber?” she asked.
“Nay, he ought to be in the lord’s solar.”
Oh, dear. Anya had grown up the daughter of a lord and it had always been unwise to broach anything with Papa when he was within. “But I doubt he’ll need a new shirt in there.”
“Nay, however, I want him to see it now.”
Anya curtseyed. “Yes, my lady. I shall return anon.” She collected the shirt, careful not to unfold it before she hastened out the door. The Dowager Lady Islay was so much different in comparison to Lady Ulster. The former certainly did not need a lady-in-waiting and seemed to dream up things for Anya to do. The countess, on the other hand, always had the two O’Cahan sisters attend her every whim, insisting it was good experience so they would know what would be expected of them when they married into noble families.