“Och, aye. Pherson. That’s it.” Nichola was still engrossed in her work, as if this line of discussion didn’t matter. “He’s a fine-looking man, for certes, yer falconer.”
“He’s no’—“ Wynda swallowed and tried for a nonchalant tone as she stooped to collect the spilled supplies.. “He’s no’ my falconer. Father pays him to hunt for the castle.” Or, considering their father’s descent into madness, it was more likely their oldest sister, Coira, who handled most of the clan’s business, did the paying. “I barely ken the man.”
Finally, Nichola turned and winked. “But ye’d like to, aye?”
Damnation, Wynda was an intelligent woman, not a ninny. So why did a third squeak emerge from her lips at the thought of Pherson being considered hers?
Nichola’s smile grew. “There’s nae need to feel shame. Robena told me about yer project to quantify attractiveness in men, and that Craig the blacksmith failed yer test. Did ye measure Pherson?”
The quills hit the floor again and Nichola’s smile grew.
“I’ll take that as a nay,” she called as Wynda crouched yet again to pick up the damned writing utensils. “Wyn, Da says we have to marry. Why no’ marry a man who makes yer knees go all weak?”
“He doesnae make my knees go weak,” Wynda mumbled to the floor.
Her sister snorted. “Then why are ye down there, if no’ because yer knees gave out?” When Wynda glared, Nichola laughed out loud.
Straightening, Wynda slammed the quills down atop her desk near the ink. “Because it isnae logical!”
Well, that shut her sister right up, but as soon as the confession was past her lips, Wynda regretted it. The words were an admission that aye, she found the clan’s falconer unbearably mysterious and more than a little…well, arousing wasn’t quite the right word.
Aye, ‘tis arousing. That’s the word ye mean.
Nay, it wasn’t.
Intriguing. Thrilling. Stimulating.
Sometimes having such a large vocabulary was a pain. Now, what had she been saying?
Ye were saying that being aroused by Pherson wasnae logical.
Och, aye.
But she didn’t need to say anything else, because Nichola was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and pity.
“Wynda,” she murmured, stepping away from her worktable, her arms open as if she was offering a hug. “Love isnae supposed to be logical.”
“Love?” Wynda bleated, dodging her sister’s embrace. “Who said anything about love? I didnae. I definitely didnae. I dinnae love the man! I dinnae ken him.”
“Methinks ye doth protest too much,” murmured her sister.
“What? What is that supposed to mean? Have ye been reading again? I’m the reader in the family,” Wynda accused. “Or was that from the bard?”
Nichola waved away her questions with an amused smile. “My point is, there’s naught to worry about, sister. Yer secret’s safe with me.”
“What secret?”
With a put-upon sigh, the healer propped her hand on her hip. “That ye have feelings. Ye’re allowed to have them, ye ken, even if they’re no’ logical. And even if ye dinnae love the falconer, ye’re obviously attracted to him. So why deny it?”
Because…because she had enough to distract her as it was. Father’s ridiculous ultimatum was the least of her concerns.
So why does it keep nudging toward the front of yer brain? Especially in yer dreams.
Thank St. Tiffani she apparently dreamed in Latin!
Hesitantly, thinking through each of her words before she uttered them, Wynda allowed herself to admit, “I…dinnae find him unattractive.”
“And?”