Authors: Johanna Lindsey
“D
id ye frighten the poor lass tae death then, Lachlan?” Gilleonan asked as soon as Lachlan returned to his room. “I dinna hear her screamin’ for help, so she mun be shocked into silence or dead o’ fright.”
Lachlan gave his cousin a dark look. “And why would she be screaming for help? I didna lay a blasted hand on her.”
“Och now, maybe ye should have, a soft hand that is. Ye’ve always been able tae cajole and seduce much better’n ye frighten, and wi’ less complaints. At least when ye set yer mind tae it ye do.”
“Wi’ lassies familiar tae me, aye, that may be true. But those who dinna ken what a nice lad I am tend tae run if I look at them wrong.”
Ranald, sprawled in a comfortable reading chair, hooted with laughter over that contention. “Nice, he says? They can call the laird of the MacGregors many things, but nice?” More laughter followed.
At the darker scowl that produced, Gilleonan said, “Dinna mind him, Lachlan. He’s had one ale tae many, I’m thinkin’, but wi’ reason.”
The censure in Gilleonan’s tone did not go unnoticed and Lachlan found it vastly irritating. Ranald had been hitting the ale ever since he’d learned who their hostess had turned out to be. Neither of his cousins was one bit happy that he’d found his Megan again. And Ranald was too far gone in drink to even notice that the subject had subtly changed back to where it was before they were interrupted by that uppity termagant next door.
In fact, Ranald went on to say, “When that one gets her courage back, she’ll be raisin’ hell again, I dinna doubt. Burned me ears off but good at that inn when ye and Gill were still abed, and me barely awake tae even ken what she was after complainin’ about. If she werena so blasted loud about it, I might’ve enjoyed meself just lookin’ at her, for she’s got a right fine figure on her, that she does.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes. Gilleonan, standing with a pint of his own ale by the slow-burning fireplace, was now softly chuckling.
Ranald was partial to fine figures. A woman could be ugly as sin, but if she was shaped exactly the way he liked them, then he’d be panting after her right quick. And Lachlan had to allow, even he’d taken note of those shapely curves that had been cinched in so tightly.
Actually, he’d noted a few other things as well that he’d overlooked earlier when she’d been wearing her drab, loose gown. She had quite hefty breasts that hadn’t been apparent before. And she was tall. For a man who usually topped
a woman’s head by more than a foot, it was rare to find one with a bit of height on her, so he didn’t feel like a blasted giant next to her. And spectacular green eyes, she had, all sparkly with her ire, as well as a complexion as silky smooth as fresh cream. Also noted was her splendid golden hair, loose and flowing to her waist, which gave her a somewhat wanton look that was quite sensual.
Unusual woman, she was. She’d seemed so unassuming at first glance, the shy little wren easily awed, easily ignored. Yet she had some hidden plumage apparently. And she certainly had no qualms about brandishing a scolding tongue on a stranger, which took a degree of courage on her part—or a complete lack of good sense.
Aye, Ranald would definitely find her of interest. Lachlan might have himself, if he weren’t already smitten with his sweet Megan. But he was, and Megan was the one he meant to have and to hold for the rest of his days. There was just the wee problem of her already having a husband. And his cousins seemed to think he wasn’t aware of that fact.
When Lachlan had confided earlier who the Duchess of Wrothston was and that he was going to win the lady for himself, Gilleonan had asked quite plainly, “Are ye daft, mon, tae be thinkin’ o’ stealin’ a duke’s lady? Or perhaps ye’re forgettin’ she’s already spoke for?”
It wasn’t something Lachlan could forget, but he didn’t give it as much importance as his cousins seemed to think it deserved. He’d simply replied to that, “She made a mistake in her choice. I mean tae convince her of that. Divorce is no’ unheard of.”
“For the gentle folk, ’tis ruination,” Gilleonan had pointed out. “And ye’d be askin’ her tae give up a dukedom. I canna see any woman doin’ that.”
“Och, well, a true test of love—”
Gilleonan had snorted. “A true test o’ idiocy, I’m thinkin’. And besides, Lachlan, ye’re forgettin’ ye’re here tae find ye a moneyed miss with deep pockets. What if she has none tae speak of?”
“A duke marryin’ a poor lass?” Lachlan had likewise snorted at that possibility. “’Tis more like she comes from a line of dukes herself, or marquises. Dukes dinna marry verra far beneath them.”
“’Tis more like dukes would marry anyone they please, and a mon as rich as this one wouldna care if the lass were poor. He’d no’ be needin’ aught from a wife but herself and the bairns she’ll give him. And this one he’d be wantin’ regardless, just as ye do, because she’s such a bonny lass. But ye, on the other hand, are needin’ the money. Or have ye also forgotten that wee fact?”
Their disagreement had been interrupted at that point by the loud pounding on the door and the annoying complaints that had followed from the curvacious wench next door. If Lachlan hadn’t already been exasperated with his cousins for not seeing his point of view, he might have given in to the lass’s demands. On the other hand, she’d jumped right in with an insult, a look meant to fry him on the spot, and a belligerent tone guaranteed to raise a man’s dander, so he still might have taken offense, no matter the mood he’d been in to begin with.
He was still in that mood, which prompted the
remark now, “If your voice didna get louder and louder wi’ each pint of ale you down, Ranald, we wouldna get angry visitors in the wee hours complaining about it.”
“Och, aye, ’tis all me…fault then…I suppose?” Ranald slurred. “Ye werena shoutin’…right back at me…I suppose?”
“Only tae be heard over your own racket.”
“If ye havena noticed,” Gilleonan interjected calmly, “ye’re both shoutin’ again.”
They both glared at Gilleonan for pointing that out, but then Lachlan ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, grumbling, “Faith, now I’ll
have
tae be apologizing tae the wench come the morn, and as like receive another set-down for the effort.”
“As if ye wouldna have done so anyway,” Gilleonan chided, reminding Lachlan, “When ye let yer temper guide ye, ye always regret it after and correct any bad feelin’s that get left behind.”
“No’ always,” Lachlan replied. “Just when I ken I’m in the wrong. And in this case, having that lass attack first, instead of requesting, cancelled any wrong I might have felt. That we’re still disturbing her rest puts me right back in the wrong.” Gilleonan and Ranald both got a glare at that point, to tell them where Lachlan placed the blame. “Faith, why canna you two just be happy for me, that I’ve found the lass of my heart?”
“Because the difficulties ye face tae obtain her, Lachlan, are more than any mon can surmount lightly. ’Tis more reasonable tae assume ye’re going tae fail and be crushed.”
“You’ve no faith in me then, is that it?”
Gilleonan had the grace to blush. “’Tis no’ a matter o’ faith, just the facts before us. Would she
have wed the mon if she didna want him?”
“A duke?” Lachlan snorted.
“Och, well, there’s that, yet this duke has more’n his title and position tae recommend him. Ye forget that we’ve all had a good look at the mon, Lachlan, and ’tis certain sure he’s been turnin’ the lassies’ heads wi’ the same ease as ye do, and for just as many years. ’Tis verra likely she’s in love wi’ him. So ye’re expectin’ her tae forsake her love and her exulted position, tae run off wi’ an impoverished laird instead? If ye were usin’ yer head instead o’ yer—er, heart—it’d be as plain tae ye as it be tae Ranald and meself that that isna going tae happen.”
“There be other things I can offer her that her stuffy Englishmon never will.”
“Such as?”
“Such as joy and laughter.”
Gilleonan rolled his eyes. “Not every lass appreciates those things. And ye dinna even ken if she’ll suit yer purpose for being here.”
“As tae that, I’d find another way tae obtain the silvers afore I’d give up my Megan.”
“We had no luck coming up wi’ any other way, Lachlan, or has that, tae, slipped yer mind?”
It was the sarcasm that earned Gilleonan another glower. “I
will
win her, Gill,” Lachlan asserted, “and I’ll have the bonniest lass in the kingdom tae call my own when I do. So leave me be on this.”
Gilleonan shook his head. “I canna do that. I’d no’ be doing me duty if I didna point out tae ye the folly o’ this decision ye’ve made. And furthermore, a bonny-lookin’ lass doesna always make an agreeable wife, Lachlan. Aye, this one be bonnier than most, as I recollect. No one can
deny that. But she be worse’n Nessa in her blatherin’, as I also recollect. Yet there’ll be other lassies out there who’ll be just as fine tae look upon, but no’ so irritatin’ on the ears. But ye willna even search them out.”
“Because it would be a waste of my time tae do so, now that I’ve found Megan again. And the circumstances under which we met her, Gill, is no’ an indication of the woman’s true temperament. She was understandably upset at that time, wi’ my carrying her off as I did. That doesna mean she has a high temper all the time.”
“Or it means just that.”
Lachlan narrowed his eyes on his cousin. “Then we’d be well suited in that, I’m thinking,” he said in a dark tone. “And ye’ll be givin’ it a rest now, Gill, afore I do something I’ll have tae apologize tae you for as well, come the morn.”
Gilleonan smiled innocently, “Och, now, ’tis time I found me bed. And I’ll see tae our cousin here for ye.” To that he hefted the now snoring Ranald over his shoulder and headed for the door. But there he turned to add one parting shot. “I’ve every faith ye’ll come tae yer senses in the morn, Lachlan me lad. ’Tis a fine quality ye have, yer ability tae avoid mistakes afore ye make them.”
Lachlan snorted as the door closed on his cousins. The mistake would be if he didn’t pursue Megan, and that would be a mistake he’d never outlive the regret of.
W
hen Lachlan strolled boldly into the breakfast room the next morning, a room quite larger than most formal dining rooms, though much smaller than the formal dining hall at Sherring Cross, it was with the assurance of a welcomed guest. Devlin, at the head of the table, mumbled beneath his breath as he eyed the man with a degree of vexation and resignation, because the fact was, the Highlander
was
welcome now—at least by the ladies in his family
Megan had convinced Devlin to her way of thinking, of course. He didn’t know how she managed it, but she did. And obviously, she’d wasted no time in informing the Scot of that change this morning. But Devlin wasn’t going to pretend to be happy about it, and the cold look he gave MacGregor left little doubt of his true feelings.
Lachlan didn’t miss that look or misinterpret it. He assumed it was his Aunt Margaret who had changed St. James’s mind. He would never have
guessed that only Megan had that ability, and he would have been appalled if he knew her reason for wanting him to stick around. The same reason had prompted her to have the servants remove half the chairs at the long table, so that when Lachlan arrived, the only seat available was next to Lady Kimberly.
Kimberly and Lachlan noticed the shortage of chairs at about the same time. She blushed profusely at what she considered rotten luck. If she had been the one who had just come in to find the only chair empty would force her to sit next to the Scot, she would have made an excuse not to stay, no matter how hungry she might be.
But it would be too rude of her to make an excuse to leave now, too obvious that her exodus was a result of the Scot’s arrival, no matter how good an excuse she could have mustered. Not that she wouldn’t have hesitated to do so if only she and the Scot had been present. But Their Graces were both there, as well as the rest of their family, and she wasn’t about to embarrass them just because she found one of their other guests so odious.
Lachlan could have spared them both, but he gave no thought to doing so, not with Megan in the room. Instead, he flashed their hostess a brilliant smile, kissed his aunt on her cheek as he passed her, then plopped down in the only empty chair. There was an uncomfortable moment when Margaret, unaware that they’d already had bad feelings and words between them, introduced them to each other.
Kimberly survived that, but as soon as protocol allowed, she proceeded to ignore the man next to her and started up a discourse with the nice Lord
Wright, whom she’d met the night before and who now sat across from her. That didn’t last long, however, since some remark by the duchess drew Lord Wright’s attention to her.
Before Kimberly could follow that conversation enough to join it, she sensed MacGregor leaning toward her just before he whispered, “I owe you an apology, for disturbing your sleep last night.”
She was surprised, surprised enough to glance toward him. Considering that he’d frightened her back to her room and threatened further rudeness of that kind, an apology had been unexpected. And considering that she had paid him back in kind—at least she hoped she had and that he wasn’t such a sound sleeper that she’d stayed up the rest of the night for nothing—his apology was unwanted too.
He sounded sincere, yet she had to wonder about that, as badly as he and his friends had behaved. And he seemed to be waiting for a like apology from her. Not bloody likely, she thought to herself.
To him, all she said as she looked back at her plate was, “Yes, you do,” in an equally hushed tone.
She didn’t have to glance at him again to know she’d caused his cheeks to flush with color. Whether in anger or embarrassment, though, was undetermined, nor did she particularly care. His apology, after the fact, did not erase the sleepless night she’d suffered through. And she sincerely hoped that he was just as exhausted as she was this morning, though to look at him, that couldn’t be determined either.
“I had my kinsmen on my back, lass,” he said by way of explanation, “due tae a decision I’ve
made that they dinna like. What was your excuse?”
It was Kimberly’s turn to flush with heat again. Of course, he was referring to the noise she’d made as soon as his side of the wall had quieted down. And she had no excuse for making that noise, other than pure retaliation. Yet she still wouldn’t apologize.
He and his kinsmen
could
have taken their arguments elsewhere, after they had become aware that they were disturbing her peace. But no, they hadn’t done that, they’d continued to keep her awake…and she did
not
have to justify her own behavior. She was the one who was still sick and could barely keep her eyes open to finish the meal set before her, while he had come in seemingly in great good spirits and in perfect health.
“Trying to justify your behavior last night does you no credit, MacGregor. I have had very little sleep in the last three days, two of those days due to your own lack of consideration for others.”
“Och now, so that’s your excuse, is it?”
“I am
not
apologizing to you,” she hissed, “I am merely pointing out that your behavior was even worse than you supposed it to be.”
“Had you asked nicely for some peace, darlin’, you might have got some, but that wasna the case, now was it?” he drawled rather smugly.
She gasped. He actually dared to place the blame for his behavior on her shoulders. But that was no better than one could expect of a…Kimberly nipped that thought in the bud as she realized what she was doing, letting her father’s prejudice affect her own thinking. She knew better. And besides, she needed no prejudice whatsoever to dislike this particular Scot. He managed
to instill that emotion in her all on his own.
His comment didn’t deserve a reply. To continue in this vein was letting him bring her down to his level of rudeness. Yet she still couldn’t resist saying, “Is it necessary to remind you that had the disturbance you were making last night been of a tolerable level, it wouldn’t have been necessary to speak to you a’tall. And you may address me as Lady Kimberly. I am
not
your ‘darlin’.’”
“And ’tis glad I am of that,” he retorted.
She had an urge to stand up and slap him soundly. But she recalled where she was and with whom, and made an effort to keep the heat out of her cheeks instead.
“So we are agreed, MacGregor,” she gritted out, then added in a mild mimic of his lyrical brogue, “And ’tis glad I am that I will not have to suffer your company again after this meal is over.”
That got her a chuckle and a cheeky grin. “You’re leaving Sherring Cross then, are you?”
“No, you are.”
He shook his head. “I hate tae disappoint you, lass, surely I do, but I’m no’ leaving.”
She frowned at him. “You’re lying. I distinctly heard His Grace—”
“His Grace has had himself a change of heart,” he cut in and was frowning himself now. “And ’afore I take offense at being called a liar, I’ll be having an apology from you.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll allow that changed circumstances do not make you a liar in regards to this, but considering your profession, MacGregor, I have little doubt that lying comes as naturally to you as stealing. And since you will, unfortu
nately, be staying on here, I will be sure to put my belongings under lock and key.”
She could not have insulted him worse if she’d tried to. But in fact, she hadn’t been trying to. She was simply so flustered and chagrined to be having this conversation with him at all that she was answering him without giving her responses full consideration.
But he was insulted, gravely. It was one thing to be called a liar when he was lying, but something else again to be called a liar when he wasn’t.
“The only thing I’d be stealing from you, lass, is that vicious tongue of yours. You’d be wise tae put that under lock and key as well.”
She gasped for the second time, then in a tone as stiff as dried leather, said, “This habit you have of threatening women speaks for itself. You might have gotten away with intimidating me last night, but you may be sure that you won’t manage it quite so easily again. So might I suggest that you refrain from speaking to me at all, and I will in turn be glad to spare you my ‘vicious tongue.’”
“’Tis what I deserve for trying tae apologize tae a shrew,” he mumbled to himself.
She heard him, of course. He meant for her to hear him. But the silence—finally—that his remark produced had him feeling somewhat ashamed. Trading insults with a lady was unique for him. Not that he minded so much, not with
this
lady in any case. But it was his habit to charm and tease, not to provoke hostility, and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing it.
This morning, in her frill-less, serviceable brown morning dress that hung loosely on her
frame, her hair in an unbecoming, plain style that merely emphasized the redness of her nose, Lady Kimberly was infinitely ignorable, and yet—Lachlan couldn’t seem to ignore her. She rubbed him wrong, she truly did. Every word out of her mouth pricked at his ire and had him hot to retaliate in kind.
She had managed to disturb his sleep a number of times throughout the night. This morning he had awakened as tired as he was when he’d finally gotten to sleep. That hadn’t annoyed him, had amused him actually, that an Englishwoman could be that vindictive. He’d merely accepted that as his due and came down to breakfast hopeful, after a servant had delivered the message that he would be welcome at Sherring Cross indefinitely. Yet he’d been tired, and even the sight of his beautiful Megan hadn’t perked him up as it should have. But damned if he wasn’t wide awake now, after exchanging barbs with the spiky lady next to him.
Refrain from speaking to her at all? The devil he would. The MacGregor wouldn’t back down from a challenge like that. But he’d won this round. So he could desist for the moment.
Guts she had aplenty, although she was bolstered by the presence of others, he didn’t doubt. She’d likely sing a different tune if they’d been alone, one not so grating on the ears. Then again, maybe not. But he’d find out. He wasn’t leaving, had all the time he needed now in win his heart’s desire. And in the meantime, he had little doubt that he and Lady Kimberly would cross swords again.