Chapter Eleven
Anna could hardly believe she'd just revealed every secret she possessed to Neacal. Maybe that made her foolish, but she couldn't help but trust him. She glanced at him. The expression in his eyes reflected the devastating pain and anger she'd felt. As if he'd been with her, experiencing each disaster as Blackburn lay waste to her life. Ill at ease since she had told him so much, she stared into the fire.
She didn't know how she'd found the strength to drag herself out of the pit of despair. 'Haps she did it for her sister. Nay. Though she did love her sister more than life itself, she wasn't sure that was it completely. She had come to think it was some journey she was destined for and the only thing for her to do was overcome in the best way she knew how, taking it day by day, finding small things to appreciate.
At least she'd spent three wonderful years with her husband. Those memories sustained her, as did the feeling she often got that John's spirit and love surrounded her like a comforting, warm blanket. She'd experienced dreams of him that were so real, she woke up feeling as if she'd just seen him. In one such dream, he was holding their wee daughter, saying her name was Marigold, just as they'd talked about naming her if she were a girl.
John's spirit gave her strength. She didn't tell anyone this, for she feared they would think her a lunatic. Every time she was desperate or at her wit's end, a solution would come to her. 'Twas how she'd met up with the minstrels. She'd been asking herself for days as she'd led Blackburn away from her sister—how will I survive? How can I pay for food and shelter?
The idea came to her. People had always told her they enjoyed her singing. Aye, that was the answer. Sing for her supper. Bring others joy. She was constantly surprised when she came out of her singing trance to find those around her wiping the tears from their eyes, smiling and clapping. She had moved them, and in return, their reaction moved her. She wanted to embrace them all, just as she wanted to embrace Neacal every time after he'd listened to her sing. His reaction appeared even more profound than all others. Though there were no tears in his eyes, no beaming smile, the expression in his eyes was indescribable… a jumble of pain and astonishment. Awe. And, after the last few times he'd heard her, a small glint of happiness.
Lifting her gaze to his now, as he sat on the stool beside hers, she could not decipher his expression. 'Twas a mixture of amazement and determination.
Seemingly against his will, he tore his gaze from hers, arose and moved to the table and then the pot over the fire.
Using the large wooden spoon, he dipped chunks of meat and turnips into a clean bowl, then cut them with a small knife. "Appears to be tender." He blew on the bite, then tossed it into his mouth and chewed. "Um-hum. 'Tis gusty. Try some." He sliced off another small hunk of meat and held it before her lips. "'Tis hot. Blow on it."
She did, unable to help that her gaze automatically lifted to his, grown darker in the firelight. If there was one thing—or rather, one person—who could distract her from the memories of her devastating past, it was Neacal. He was like a warm healing balm to her soul.
Once she thought the bite was cool enough, she took it into her mouth. The tip of his finger grazed her lower lip, near making her forget about food. When she imagined tasting him instead, a delightful shiver coursed through her.
Telling herself to cease her wanton thoughts, she chewed carefully, for the meat was still too warm in the center.
"How is it?" he asked.
She focused on the flavor. The herbs and salt had given it just the right amount of seasoning. "Delicious."
"You see? We're skilled cooks."
"I worried 'twould be far worse since we have no butter."
He dipped out two bowls of the stew and handed her one, along with a small wooden spoon.
While eating, she tried not to watch him too much. She didn't want him to think she was staring, though that's exactly what she wanted to do. Even something so mundane as eating became fascinating when he did it. Had she lost her mind? She couldn't help that his sensual lips drew her attention, as did his throat when he swallowed. She wanted to run her mouth along his neck and kiss him there, feel his pulse beat against her lips. Daft woman. She forced herself to stop imagining and eat.
When she'd finished her stew, she set her bowl aside, while he dipped himself a second helping.
"You should have more," he urged.
"Nay, I thank you. That was more than enough." She needed something to do while he finished eating so she wouldn't stare at him. Remembering she had brought her small flute along, she got up, dug into her pack and pulled out the instrument. "Would you care for some music, m'laird?" She curtsied.
"Aye, 'twould be most agreeable, m'lady," Neacal said, astonished that Anna could be in such a pleasant mood after what she'd revealed earlier. Evidently, 'twas her nature to not dwell on the tragedies and disappointments in life, but instead to pull beauty from the despair.
She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes and pressed her pursed lips to the flute. Saints, how he envied that flute. He craved her lips more than he had ever craved anything in his life. He had tasted her mouth and well knew she was sweet and her lips silky-soft. He couldn't rest until he kissed her again.
Tearing his gaze from her while she played, he stared at the glowing embers in the fire-pit. He found it difficult to eat while she played… or sang; he might well choke from lack of attention to what he was doing.
Exquisite, fairy-like music floated from her instrument. He had heard the ballad played many times, but never so beautifully. The music was composed of pure emotion, and it struck a chord deep within him. Her flute playing affected him almost as much as her singing. He quickly devoured the rest of his stew and set his bowl aside by the time she finished the song.
"'Twas beautiful," he said. Aye, that and so much more than he could put into words. After lighting the lantern from the fire-pit, he picked it up and headed toward the door. "I must go check on Dunn."
"Very well."
Neacal stepped outside in the faint mist of rain, closed the door, and released a breath.
Hell, why did her music rip at his soul? He loved it, but at the same time, it made him feel things he didn't want to right now. Whether 'twas her singing, violin playing or flute music, it made his emotions as raw as a fresh wound.
Thank goodness the rain had slacked off. He needed a break from the intensity Anna filled him with. At the same time, he couldn't wait to go back inside and talk to her, look into her lovely green eyes. When he was out of her presence, he could think of little else.
