“She didnae ask for one. She ordered a good amount of food, and I left her tucking in.”
Evander nodded, and the servant withdrew. He glanced at Skye, frowning. “Perhaps we should send Leah to her.”
Skye pursed her lips, wiping her fingers on the napkin. “Me maither doesnae need a healer, because she isnae sick. She ismatchmaking.”
“What?”
“Oh, ye heard me. She found an excuse to leave us alone. I ken it because she did the same thing with every eligible woman who came to our keep. She wants Hunter to wed, so she kept throwing women in his way. I daenae ken who I felt sorry for, me braither or the women. And now she’s doing it with me.”
She growled in annoyance, folding her arms tight across her chest.
“I will have a word with her tomorrow, I promise,” she added, casting an uncertain look at him.
Was he annoyed? Offended? Or simply amused?
It was impossible to tell just from looking at him.
Evander stared down at his plate, his face impassive.
“Well,” he said, “yer maither clearly wishes for us to enjoy our meal together, so I suggest we do so. I’m ravenous, and it’s already clear thatyeare.”
“True enough,” Skye huffed, a smile fighting its way onto her lips. She leaned forward over her plate, and Evander did the same.
For a few moments, they ate in companionable silence, satisfying their appetites. The fire crackled, the candle flames danced, and Skye realized with a jolt that there was nowhere else she would rather be.
I’m happy. I’m happy here.
“Thank ye for the flowers,” she blurted out, suddenly desperate to say something, anything, to make him look at her. “They’re beautiful. I put them in a wee vase by the window.”
“I’m glad ye liked them. Fergus—I daenae ken if ye remember him—suggested I start with flowers.”
“He has good taste.”
“I would have rather brought ye the head of whoever did this to ye, though.”
She jolted, shooting him a wide-eyed look. “I think I prefer the flowers.”
He chuckled, reaching forward to grab another slice of pork. The movement meant that he leaned toward her and across, his shoulder brushing hers.
She flinched at the touch, warmth spreading through her chest. A quick glance up at him, however, showed that he was focused on his food.
It’s all in me head.
“Here, try one of these,” he said, lifting something red and glistening to her lips. “One of our own strawberries. They’re fresh in season and delicious.”
Skye opened her mouth without thinking twice about it, her eyes meeting his. His pupils dilated, his eyes darkening.
The warm berry nudged her lower lip, and she opened her mouth wider. He slipped the treat inside, the soft weight of the fruit landing on her tongue. She closed her mouth, his fingertip skimming her lower lip as she did so.
Sweet tartness exploded across her tongue. The berry tastedfresh, like sunshine in a tiny, concentrated package. A shiver rolled down her spine.
He watched every movement on her face, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Good?”
“Aye,” she whispered, swallowing. “It’s good.”
Was it her imagination, or did the air crackle between them? He stared at her with that unblinking, half-amused gaze, and half-completely unreadable. Her chest tightened, and an ache of something suspiciously like arousal pulsed through her gut.
“Try some of these,” she burst out, turning at random toward a dish of roast glazed vegetables. Without waiting for a reply, she shoveled some of them onto his plate, her heart pounding.
