Page 35 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

“My lass!” Laird MacLeod took her in his arms. “Oh, I’ve missed yer wee face.”

Evanna gave into the embrace. She had missed him dearly. On her travels she had carried him in her mind’s eye as the giant she had always known—indestructible, larger than life. Seeing him now left her bereft. There was more white in his hair and beard than there had been before. The bags under his eyes were dark as if bruised. And he had lost a considerable amount of weight. As she hugged him, she felt the absence of that strong rock of belly. Her larger-than-life father had shrunk to the size of regular men.

She regretted staying away so long. It was obvious he needed her. He was incapable of taking care of himself.

“Ye can see my sorry face as much as ye want now. I’m back for good.”

“Good?” he asked. His eyes crinkled up in suspicion. “Didnae find an English suitor then?”

“Nae,” she lied.

“Grand!” he exclaimed. “The feast shall be much sweeter for me now.”

“I’d like to rest a little before the feast, if ye dinnae mind.”

“Look at the lass.” Laird MacLeod boomed with laughter. “Ye’ve become a proper lady, eh? Portia did well. Go, lass. Get some rest. We’ll be ready for ye when yer done and looking to dance with yer Da.”

Evanna kissed his bristly cheek and took her leave of the rest of the people present in the hall. The castle was the same as before. She caressed its stone walls as she walked to her room. Each corner held a memory.

Her room was exactly as she had left it, preserved in that moment for nine months. The bed waited; it had waited a long time to receive her. She pulled off her cloak, and then the rest of her clothes, laying them gently on the chair by the window. Uncoiling her braids, she brushed her hair till it crackled. Once she was satisfied, she slipped under the covers, but it was much harder to slip into slumber.

The image of her diminished father competed with the image of Aleck and Isla kissing. Which would win the battle to torment her? She had so much to atone for, but the knowledge that she was here only temporarily made the jabs of guilt so much sharper.

Evanna sighed, pulled the covers above her head and shut her eyes. Eventually, sleep followed.

Chapter Thirteen

The great hall glowed like a fairy bride. Candles winked and flickered from every surface. One of the maids had devised a clever trick. She had placed two mirrors facing each other across the hall so they illuminated the candles on and on and on till the place shone like the sun had sent a beam to attend the party.

Evanna had decided to dress up for the occasion. It was a feast after all. All the nobles that served Laird MacLeod had been invited, as well as the tenants of the farms. They were all coming to see one thing - the metamorphosis of Evanna MacLeod.

Evanna wasn’t one to deny anyone a show.

She dressed in one of the dresses she had acquired in Paris. The height of fashion; blush blue, it had a cinched-in waist that highlighted the bodice which was decorated in pearls and shiny beads. The same bead work was repeated on her sleeves, which were then finished with ruffles of delicate lace. It was less heavy than other gowns present at the feast, but the cut, and the color made it exceptional so that all heads turned as she walked by and greeted her guests.

At her throat rested the beautiful necklace of sapphires and diamonds that her father had presented to her as a welcome present. It went well with her dress, and matched the sparkling blue of her eyes.

She took a seat beside her father at the high table, and the feast began.

“So,” Laird MacLeod filled her plate with food, “how was the rest of the world?”

“It was lovely, Da.” She took his hand and held it. “But it’s ye I want to talk about. Ye dinnae look well. Have ye been ill while I was away?”

“What are ye talking about?” he blustered. “I’m the most hale and hearty man in the room. Ye dinnae believe me? Ask the ladies.” He winked at her, but she could tell he had been perturbed by her comment. “Now, eat. And tell me all about yer travels. Which city was yer favorite?”

“Venice,” she said, making a mental note to speak to cook and his valet about his health.

“Eh? Didnae mind the stink did ye?”

“I’m sure it was a breeze after the Thames.” Aleck joined them at the table. He bowed his apologies to the Laird. “Sorry for being late. The gypsy needed some talking to before the feast.”

“Good man!” Laird MacLeod raised his glass to him.

Aleck took the seat opposite Evanna. He looked as handsome as ever, but she could see he had taken special care with his toilet tonight. His hair was pulled back by a black ribbon, and he was wearing the clothes Lord Ashby had gifted him in London. After a cursory glance, Evanna paid him no mind. It was not as if he’d made the effort for her benefit.

“Ye were saying about Venice?” he prompted.

“The city is magic. Aye, there’s a stench to it; aye, the buildings are at the mercy of the water, but there’s something about a floating city, fighting against the odds of possibility, that makes ye think sorcery is involved.”