Duncan stood in mute awe of the fox-like man, who promptly led him to his own great hall.
“Do ye know if Mistress Evina has woken yet?” Duncan asked.
The man’s graceful gait did not slow. “I havena been informed, laird.” He stopped beside the table.
Duncan sat and the man was replaced by a woman as round as she was tall. Her brown hair had been brushed back into a smooth knot save for several tufts floating up about her temples. She turned her overly large eyes upon him and blinked several times. “I hope ye enjoy what I’ve prepared for ye.”
The slabs of salted pork were perfectly browned, the oatcakes as hearty as ever. Exactly as Gillespie typically cooked the food. “Aye,” Duncan replied. “Thank ye.”
The cook inclined her head in satisfaction before waddling to the kitchen. Before Duncan could take his first bite, another figure appeared in the doorway. Curious to identify what new animal might be next in Gillespie’s collection of woodland servants, Duncan paused before taking a bite of the steaming oatcake, and stopped.
Evina sauntered in, wearing a blue kirtle. If he had stared before, he no doubt truly gaped at her. The feminine garb hugged her breasts and waist before flaring out at her hips in a full skirt. Her black hair shone with the same purple blue sheen of a raven’s wing, glossy and arrow straight. She appeared well-rested, her complexion radiantly clear of any discoloration from a night of poor rest.
Duncan’s eagerly racing pulse calmed under the weight of disappointment.
Before he could rise to offer Evina a seat, the fox-man appeared with silent grace and slid her chair out for her.
She cast an uncertain glance at the new servant before accepting the proffered seat. She had settled across from him before the question he’d been longing to ask burst from him. “Did ye sleep well?”
Evina studied him and pursed her lips before answering. “Well enough. Thank ye for the fine bed.”
Her reply was terrible. Duncan found it suddenly difficult to draw breath. “Ye dinna have any discomfort?”
The cook waddled in, and put a plate of steaming food in front of Evina. Irritation tightened the muscles along Duncan’s neck and shoulders. This was why he hated having household staff. One couldn’t engage in a simple conversation without someone stepping between to do something, clean or clear or offer.
Evina cut a square of pork and popped it into her mouth without answering him.
Duncan’s blood simmered with an angry frustration. Didn’t the world know how damn important this was?
“So, no discomfort in yer sleep?” he asked again, hoping the tension straining in him was not evident in his tone.
“I’m a warrior.” Evina said with a shrug. “We sleep on floors without complaint. A bed with twelve mattresses is hardly worthy of complaint.”
Duncan curled his fist around his eating dagger. He wanted to fling it at the wall. Instead, he flatted his hand and drew a long, steady breath. “Ye dinna feel anything in yer bed, did ye?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes and set down the bite of egg she’d been drawing to her lips. “Did ye put something in my bed?”
“Of course I dinna.” He broke his oatcake open, but didn’t bother eating it. The lie sat uneasy with him. He’d tried to trick her for nothing. She was not the woman he expected her to be.
“Ye dinna need to hire the additional servants,” Evina said abruptly. “I intend to leave after I’ve broken my fast. Only I’ll need my clothing. I had naught but this to wear when I woke this morning.”
“It’s becoming on ye.”
She did not soften under his compliment. Indeed, she cast an irritated look at him. “It’s no’ comfortable.”
“Ye’re welcome to stay,” Duncan offered. However, his heart was not behind the suggestion. His world spun and slowed, dragging him into a beast of a mood.
It had been years since he’d allowed himself to be defeated thus by the curse. He’d been foolish to hope.
Disappointment was bitter after over a decade of resignation. Appealing though Evina may be, he wanted her to leave so he could return the abundance of servants to the woods and resume his post at the window. How many leaves had fallen during this useless distraction?
“Is it an enchantment, or a curse?” she asked.
The question was sudden and unexpected.
Duncan frowned.
Evina surveyed their surroundings with exaggeration. “The castle. The tree. This.”
Gillespie appeared in the doorway behind Evina and waved at Duncan with a frantic gesture. Duncan cleared his throat and rose. “A moment, aye?”
The suspicion in Evina’s regard sharpened, but she did not protest his departure.
He grabbed Gillespie’s slender shoulder and drew him into the kitchen. The owlish woman blinked at them in surprise and kept her exceptionally wide eyes fixed on them.
Duncan ignored her. “Evina is no daughter of Morrigan, as I assumed.” He didn’t bother to suppress his bitterness.
“Are ye sure?” Gillespie lifted his hand where he clutched a bunch of linen. A cocky grin spread over his long, thin face.
Duncan took the cloth from him. Gillespie plucked at it and pointed to several dots of brownish red.
“See?” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Blood.”
Duncan dropped his hand, bringing the ruined chemise with it. “She’s a mercenary who recently emerged from a battle where the others all perished.”
Gillespie’s excitement drooped. “She’s already injured?”
“I dinna ask. I willna be asking. She said she’s leaving and I willna stop her.”
The servant shook his head. “Nay.”
Duncan eyed the older man, unsure he’d heard correctly. In the years they’d spent together, never had Gillespie contradicted him before. Aye, he’d encouraged and cajoled and even nagged, but never had he told Duncan ‘nay’.
“I have a feeling about this lass.” Gillespie’s pale green eyes fixed on Duncan, desperation leaving them wide. “Duncan, ye’ll be dead in a fortnight. If she’s the lass, she could save ye.”
“And if she is just an
