“To yer future,” Ian toasted.
“Thank ye, it means much,” Flynn said.
Two servants appeared in the door carrying trays. Ian nodded at them and they entered setting up a feast on the table.
“Shall we?” Ian motioned.
“Aye,” Flynn said.
Ian sat at the head of the table with Arianna to his left and Flynn to his right, with Melissa sitting beside Flynn.
“Tis a fine feast, me Laird and Lady,” Melissa said.
“Well ye are eatin' for two now,” Arianna replied.
“That is true,” Melissa said.
Ian watched Arianna as the food was served. He could smell her floral scent. His gaze moved to her creamy skin. The urge to reach for her brought a deep frustration. With every breath, her bosom heaved up and down, begging for his attention.
“Flynn, have ye considered names for the bairn?” Ian asked, attempting to distract himself from the temptation beside him.
“Aye, we considered Nicholas for a wee boy and Fiona for a girl,” Flynn said.
“They are fine names,” Melissa added.
“Indeed they are. Ye have chosen well,” Arianna said.
Ian looked to her.
Does she consider names for our own bairns, or does she hope we never have heirs?
She did not return his gaze, however, and pushed her food on her plate. Ian felt his blood boil. He wanted to snap her out of it. To demand that she look at him and speak with him, but he did not.
Tonight is about Flynn and Melissa, and as loyal servants, they deserve some joy and peace.
The clash of steel rang sharply across the training yard as warriors circled one another in the morning light. Ian stood near the edge of the packed earth, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the drills unfold. A pair of younger men lunged clumsily at one another, their blades meeting with a dull scrape.
“Hold!” Ian called sharply.
Both men froze mid-movement and looked toward him.
“Ye’re swinging like drunkards at a harvest feast,” he said, stepping forward. “Keep yer feet steady and watch yer opponent’s shoulders, and his blade.”
One of the warriors wiped sweat from his brow. “Aye, me Laird. We’ll do better.”
Ian nodded once and gestured with his hand. “Again.”
The two resumed their practice, circling warily this time. Nearby, several other warriors leaned against the wooden rail while discussing patrol routes for the western hills. Ian turned toward them, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel.
“What news from the border?” he asked.
A broad-shouldered man named Callum straightened. “Quiet enough these past two nights, though the men swear they saw movement along the ridge.”
Ian narrowed his eyes. “Raiders?”
“Mayhap,” Callum replied with a shrug. “Or shepherds strayin' farther than they should.”
Another warrior chuckled. “If it’s raiders, they’re ghostly ones. Never leave a trace.”
