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

better with a thick Scottish brogue to bring it to life. He must have agreed because after a brief pause, he nodded, looking her up and down. “It suits ye, I suppose, for all it is a masculine moniker. Concise and forthright as ye appeared in yer other garb.”

The scrutiny in his eyes changed, becoming more speculative, and Al knew he was going to be changing the subject with that segue.

“It’s short for Allorah,” she rushed to extend her reprieve. “That’s my name. Allorah Danaan Maines. It’s ridiculously whimsical, I know. My mom was like that.”

“Nae a’tall like ye, I gather?” he said. “Are ye nae given tae whimsy, Allorah? Ne’er?”

Al couldn’t help but warm under the knowingness in his eyes. As if he knew every stray thought running through her fanciful mind. If he only knew how prone to fancy she really was, he might be the one blushing.

She’d had a long four days in that cell with not much else to occupy her.

Still, she couldn’t have him thinking he was all that. In her admittedly limited experience, men, no matter where or when, couldn’t be allowed that much of an upper hand.

“And your name? Keir MacCoinnich, if I heard right.”

He frowned at her standoffish tone and stepped away, politely holding a chair out for her near his at the end of the table. “Aye, ye heard it right.”

“And just who are you, Keir MacCoinnich?” she asked, taking the glass of wine one of the servants put before her and sipping deeply. For strength of nerve.

Her bold inquiry must have struck one of his nerves because his brows snapped together as he resumed his seat. Tenting his fingers, he leaned forward and spoke. The low timber of his voice holding a note of that old menace she remembered so well from the dungeon.

“Enough. Questions ye may hae but I’ll be getting the answers tae mine long before ye’ll be getting yers. Or shall we put aside this fine civility and return tae the dungeon?”

Fear renewed, her hand shook as she set her wine glass down on the table.

Chapter 9

Irritation pummeled Keir. He snatched up his own glass, swallowing his Scotch in a single gulp before thrusting it toward his waiting footman for a refill.

Irritation at her… Al, but mostly at himself for being diverted by her.

And for putting forth the effort to show her just how un-barbaric he actually was.

Or at least, could be.

Wearing clothes he’d never touched beyond court, dining in this little used state room. All to impress the lass.

But he was the one impressed. She’d managed to take his breath away the instant she’d walked through the door. Her bonny face clean and warmed with a pink blush. Blonde hair, shiny clean, upswept into a loose knot with a long spiraling curl bouncing seductively on the rise of her bountiful bosoms with each step she took. The low square neckline exposed half of her creamy mounds to his suddenly ravenous eyes. He could hardly stop ogling long enough to appear the gentleman.

He could as yet hardly say what the color of her gown was for all the other distraction she provided.

Distraction from everything but the pleasure of looking at her. Just as he’d allowed himself to be sidetracked by her bedraggled appearance earlier, though his anger over her mistreatment had been real enough. She was too tiny, too delicate to suffer so many days in a dungeon that hadn’t been used for that purpose in nearly two centuries.

She was a constant distraction from his purpose.

Anger with her and with himself bubbled to the surface.

“Enough of this toying wi’ me, lass.” The words emerged coarsely, showing his annoyance with no attempt for courtly manners. “I’ve played the gentleman for ye. A kind host. But if ye dinnae want tae find yerself returned to the cell below, ye’d best be telling me what I want tae ken.”

She gasped at his threat, her fingers rising to the fluttering evidence of her racing heart at the base of her throat. “Well, I… You didn’t… Geez, you didn’t need to get all…”

Geez?

“I was going… I was planning on… Before you…” Al broke off her flabbergasted sputtering to pin him with an affronted glare quite unlike anything he’d yet seen from her. “I guess you really can’t hide a brute in gentleman’s clothing, can you?”

Abashed, Keir looked away. Toying with his tumbler, he lifted it to his lips. The liquor mended his fraying mood. “I’ve a temper, lass. I always hae. Ye’ve been naught but a spur in my side for days. Ye ken what I need tae ken. It’s wi’in ye even if ye want tae speak of it nary a wee bit more than I want tae be hearing it, in truth.”

“And I’m building up the nerve to talk about it,” she shot back. “You didn’t have to be so mean.”

She thought that was mean? Ha, he could show her a thing or two. “I’ve ne’er been the charmer in this clan. I left that for Hugh.”

As his cousin’s name sprang from his lips, Keir felt a pang of sorrow score his heart. A part of him didn’t even want the confirmation that Hugh was gone. Perhaps that was why he’d allowed himself to be so easily distracted. Distracted by his father’s fate. By grief for his brother.

By this lass’s charms and unexpectedly vibrant character. Along with her other attributes.

He’d let it go, for now. He could wait a minute longer if only to pay brief homage to his cousin. He lifted his glass once more, speaking more to himself than to Al. “Hugh could charm a turtle out of its shell… and more than one lass out of her virtue, if truth be told.” He chuckled and caught his companion’s involuntary wisp of a smile before it was gone. “We went on our Grand Tour together. We traveled Europe,” he clarified, when a crease marred Al’s smooth brow.

“I know what it is. I just never