Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3) by Angeline Fortin (whitelam books .TXT) 📗

ground against the verbal onslaught, not at all cowed by the harsh words. But, she shifted uneasily as he carried on.

For all he was obviously berating the woman pretty harshly, the guttural turns and burrs of the foreign language had a beauty to it that Al found mesmerizing. Punctuated with a slash of a hand or a roll of his shoulders, she admired the graceful movements though she had to wonder what he was saying.

Then he stopped and turned to Al, holding her gaze until she first squirmed then caved to scratching at the filth that tormented her flesh.

“I owe ye an apology.”

Itches forgotten, Al stared at him incredulously. After the tirade he’d heaped upon the woman, the kind tone was the last thing she’d expected. An apology?

“What?”

“’Tis nae excuse, I was exhausted by battle and grief for my cousin when ye… er, when we met so abruptly.” He pushed away from the desk and bowed. Bowed. “My terrible shock prompted unconscionable rudeness.”

“Rudeness?” Al parroted, unable to come to grips with the pure courtesy spewing from a mouth that before had only been prone to incivility. Who was this guy?

“Let’s call it barbarity, shall we?” He winked playfully but Al wasn’t about to let a bit a charm wash away days worth of misery.

“You left me in a dungeon.”

“’Twisnae my intention to leave ye there.” He gestured to the woman, but Al shook her head. Her irritation and voice building in force.

“Don’t blame her, you’re the one who put me down there to begin with.”

“Aye.” He nodded, looking a bit taken aback by her heated outburst. “Oot of anger. Mayhap tae frighten ye a wee bit. But I’m nae monster, lass. I meant tae free ye from those bonds straight away but for a miscommunication in my absence. Please accept my apologies and allow us tae begin again.”

“Begin again? I had a bucket!”

“Ye’ve found yer tongue most handily, I see. Much tae my disadvantage now.” Though he gave her but a nod, she could have sworn he seemed… pleased by her reprimand. “However, I’d like ye tae ken, ‘twisnae my intention a’tall. Please allow me to extend the hospitality I had originally intended.”

His gaze slid to the woman and Al’s followed. Gone was the malicious pleasure that had washed her expression before. She was so taut with anger now, she practically vibrated with it.

“Hospitality?” she spat… actually spat on the thick carpeting, the ugly gesture a contradiction to her regal façade. “Lecture me all ye like, Keir MacCoinnich, but she be getting what she deserves and there’ll be more of it if I hae my way.”

“Maeve…”

“Nay!” Maeve shouted furiously, spittle flying from her lips. “She killed my brother! She deserves more than a slap on the wrist for it. Mayhap I cannae do it myself, but when Robert returns—”

“Yer husband willnae lay a hand on her.” Keir’s voice was deadly calm but Al was rattled by the woman’s threats.

“Please, I didn’t kill your bro—”

The woman pinned her with a look of such venom that Al wondered how such hatred had been contained before.

“Lying witch! All the men are passing stories of Hugh’s disappearance. Ye were the only one there. Tell me that isnae the truth of it.”

Since it was, technically, Al couldn’t exactly argue the point but before she could offer a defense or even the truth of it all, Maeve rained downed a long string of Gaelic on her before she spun away. She ran from the room, slamming the door behind her with a bang.

Silence echoed through the library as both Al and Keir stared at the door before turning to look at each other.

“Did she just curse me?” she asked, finding her voice at last.

Keir shrugged. “Dinnae take it personally. Such things rarely come tae fruition.”

A squeak of disbelief climbed up her throat and the tiniest smile lit Keir’s eyes. “Come, allow me tae right my wrongs and allow ye a chance to change oot of that curious yet distasteful garb.”

“A bath?” she straightened with pleasure at the thought.

“Aye, a bath, but then…,” the condition rang ominously before he continued, “I’ll be expecting ye tae right yer wrongs as well.”

He didn’t have to explain himself. He’d be wanting an explanation of where his cousin had gone and how he’d gotten there.

Al only hoped the bath might last forever.

Chapter 8

Keir rotated his glass faster, watching the amber liquid climb the sides of the tumbler before he slowed the action and the swirling Scotch settled back into the bottom. Lifting it to his lips, he took a long sip, eyeing the mantel clock over the rim.

Where was she? Surely a bath couldn’t last so long. Her water had to have run to cold by now. She had been rather grotesquely grimy though. He shrugged, silently agreeing with that inward assessment. Her blonde hair—at least he recalled it as blonde from their initial meeting—dingy and half-fallen from its trappings, had been matted and tangled when she’d walked past him into the library earlier. The sight of such a mangled mess had stayed his tongue until she wandered far beyond, absorbing the splendor of the room with open awe.

Obviously she wasn’t accustomed to the sort of opulence his French grandmother had favored when overseeing the redecoration of Dingwall Castle upon her marriage to the old Earl of Cairn. He might not favor it himself, but Keir was more than familiar with such settings. It made him wonder from whence his prisoner came that she would look upon it all with such wonder. She denied being English but she was no Scot with that accent and dress. No woman of his acquaintance, even in the more risqué courts of Europe, wore skirts above her knees.

She was as much a peculiarity to his eyes as his home was to hers. Staring at her would not provide an answer to his questions.

He needed answers. After a long, tiring journey where none had been found, for his own sanity, he