A Fierce Archer (Clan Ross Book 6) by Hildie McQueen (best story books to read .TXT) 📗

Flora shook her head and smiled. “I will see to it.”

“Thank ye,” Catriona replied as Flora hurried out, her strides sure and purposeful.

Once alone, Catriona went to her sewing basket and pulled out a torn tunic. Immediately, her mind went to the owner, Ewan Ross, who was currently recovering from a horrible injury.

She let out a sigh recalling the handsome face. One day, after noting that most of the tunics he wore had tears or had unraveled at the sleeves, she’d surprised him and herself by insisting on mending the clothing. He’d readily agreed. He was thankful, he’d said, not to have to worry about his arms going out the wrong holes.

Catriona was not about to fool herself into lying and saying that she mended his garments out of pity. The truth was that she found Ewan Ross to be the most alluring man she’d ever set eyes upon.

Since she was very young, she’d convinced herself that she was in love with Keithen. Even now, she found him very attractive and she loved him. But the love she felt for Keithen Fraser was a sisterly one. She could finally admit it. Now that Keithen was happily married, Catriona was glad for him.

As far as Ewan Ross was concerned, what she felt for him was so very different. The attraction to him was almost primal. Every part of her came to life at his presence. It was as if her body recognized his and demanded nearness.

The thought of intimacy paralyzed her with fear. No matter how much her body demanded his touch, it saddened her to know nothing would ever come to be between them.

Chapter Three

Despite glares from the healer, Ewan made it a point to attend last meal. If he could walk, there was no reason to remain cloistered in his room. If he was to leave Clan Fraser as soon as he was able to ride, then he needed to make the most of his time while there at the keep.

A maid hurried to him, placing a trencher in front of him along with a tankard filled with ale. He drank greedily, realizing he was more thirsty than hungry.

The meal was simple that day, lamb in juices with a few root vegetables. The freshly baked bread, however, melted any resolve to not eat much, as it begged to be slathered with freshly churned butter.

“Do ye require anything else?” The serving lass leaned forward, allowing him a perfect view of her ample bosom. She was pleasant to look upon, with bright red hair and a button nose. Her gaze locked on to his lips and hers curved at noting she’d gotten Ewan’s attention.

“Thank ye, nothing else at the moment.” He’d not necessarily turned her down and, yet, he wasn’t sure any kind of intimacy would be prudent in his current injured state. If Ewan was to be honest, as much as he enjoyed bedsport, in the last weeks, he’d not taken any offers from willing lasses.

Movement caught his attention and he looked across the room. Catriona watched him, her brows lowered and lips pursed. Was it possible that the beauty was bothered that he’d been approached by another woman? As much as he hoped so, Ewan doubted she cared one way or the other. In his dreams, she would be irritated enough to confront him, only for them to end up kissing and tangled in bed.

With a soft chuckle, he lifted his cup in her direction with a slight bow of his head. Her eyes widened and she quickly looked away.

“Whose attention are ye seeking?” Keithen lowered to sit across from him, blocking his view of Catriona.

Ewan chuckled. “Someone who barely pays me any heed.”

“Seems the way it is, Friend. Women are complex creatures.”

The lamb was good and Ewan ate his fill. Noting it was only he and Keithen at that end of the table gave him freedom to speak. “I remembered something, and it is not pleasant. I know who attacked me and why.”

Keithen looked around and spoke in a low tone. “Who?”

“Not here. It’s best I am not overheard.”

“Very well,” Keithen said and then changed the subject. “Have ye decided where ye’re going to go from here?”

Ewan nodded. “I will return north to my cousin’s lands. There is much to do there to keep me busy.”

“What of Uist? Will yer father not insist ye return?” Keithen asked.

When his face hardened, Keithen gave him a quizzical look.

Ewan pretended his injury caused discomfort and thus the grimace. He touched his midsection gingerly and then blew a breath out.

“I am the fourth born son, there is nothing for me to do there other than guard. There haven’t been any threats against our clan in the entirety of my father’s life. My father agreed with my departure.”

“What about the Norse? Have they never threatened?” Keithen was curious about the state of affairs in other regions. Ewan understood.

“We are on friendly terms with the ones that do come to Uist. Some have come to meet with my father to propose trades and such. There is actually a small village of Norse on the northernmost portion of the Isle.”

“Interesting,” Keithen said. “I can see why ye wished to leave. Boredom is not good for someone born to be a warrior. I will remind ye that for many years, my clan also had peace. Never forget that things can change from one day to the next.”

Ewan grinned at his friend. “And now ye find yerself married to the enemy’s beautiful daughter.”

“Aye, and very glad for it,” Keithen said as he looked to the head table where his wife, Ava, sat.

Later that evening, Ewan joined Keithen and Broden in the laird’s study. Although Laird Fraser remained distant toward him, the man was anxious to