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

Keir’s desk. Moving the sword and scabbard to the side so that he could spread it over the center of the surface. He meant for it to be noticed, not forgotten. “Perhaps this evening, we can…”

Keir pinched the bridge of his nose. “Later, Artair. Please.”

With a brisk nod, Artair shuffled to the door. Pausing, he looked back, his lips parting as if he meant to speak again but eventually, he disappeared through the opening.

“Thank you,” she said. “You saved a life today.”

“Yers or his?” he asked with a half smile, as if producing a whole one might take too much effort. “Allorah is it, now?”

She shrugged. “He’s a mind of his own.”

“Aye, he does.”

A wave of concern washed over her. “Are you all right? You look tired.”

“It’s just been a long day.”

“I’m sorry.”

Acting on instinct, she rose and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He hesitated only a second before wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and simply held her for a long while.

After a while, his arms relaxed somewhat and he shifted to loosen his hold enough to give her space to put her arms between them. She ran her hands up over his chest, marveling at his size and sculpted muscles. Up and up, until her arms were looped around his neck.

His hands ran up her back before tangling in her hair and drawing her head backward, forcing her to look up at him. Smiling invitingly, she complied, expecting him to take the kiss she had evaded last night.

He brushed the hair from her temple, tucking it behind her ear. “Ye’re such a bonny lassie,” he whispered, the gruff rumble sending a thrill down her spine. She wiggled closer.

She tightened her arms behind his neck encouragingly, but he didn’t take the hint. Instead, he drew her back into his embrace, tucking her head beneath his chin.

Confused but not disappointed by his display of affection, Al lowered her arms to his waist. It had been a great many years since she’d been so well hugged. Most hugs were brief squeezes in greeting between friends. Some awkward like those she shared with her mother. Being lost in his arms was paradise.

With a sigh, she melted against him. His heartbeat was strong and steady beneath her cheek. “So what did you do today?”

“I went tae see if I might retrieve Frang’s body from the mass graves there. Och, it was truly horrific, lass.”

How awful! She tried to pull away to look at him but he only held her tighter. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nay.” His chin brushed back and forth across the top of her head. “Nae now. I’ve other news as well. I’ve found us a witness who will attest tae the fact that Hugh was killed in battle on the Drumossie Muir by some unnamed Hanoverian redcoat.”

Stiffening, she tore herself away and stared up at him in shock. “What?”

“It had tae be done, lass. There will ne’er be peace until he was put tae rest.” He sighed heavily, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. There was a sadness in his voice Al hadn’t heard in days. Another bout of mourning for the brother of his heart.

She was a piss poor substitute for an affection like that.

Chapter 17

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, lass.” Keir peeked beneath the wadded handkerchief he was pressing to her arm, then pulled it away. “I think the bleeding has stopped. Ye shouldn’t need tae be stitched.”

Al twisted her arm and craned her neck to squint down at the bloody nick across her upper arm. It was still oozing slightly but didn’t look too bad.

“I can’t believe she came at me with a knife.”

The fierce frown which had only just begun to fade from between his eyes returned with a vengeance, burying his narrowed eyes beneath his drawn brows.

“I’m ne’er imagined she would react so violently hearing the news. ‘Twas meant tae ease the threat against ye. Nae intensify it.”

His heart had stopped beating when Maeve had thrown herself at Al from across the drawing room. He’d gathered the family there together to hear of Hugh’s death from the witness he’d bribed to deliver the news. He’d thought it the perfect solution, a way to end the animosity running so rampant in the castle. To douse the suspicion of servant and cousin alike.

He’d flung himself into Maeve’s path even before knowing she wielded a small dagger. But he’d been just a fraction of a second too late, succeeding in deflecting the weapon from its path to Al’s heart at least. Despite his effort, the blade had sliced her arm right through the sleeve of her dress.

“Where is Archie wi’ the cluidy bandages?”

“Probably halfway to China by now,” she murmured under her breath. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a little blood.”

A little blood? The sight of her precious blood had nearly turned him into a madman. He’d flung his cousin away as if she were nothing more than a sack of barley. Caught her under his arm, when she shot forward again, intent on completing her task. Wrenching the knife from her so violently, he probably sprained her wrist.

Whether it was too many years living in the uncivilized wilds of the western isles or true madness afflicting her, he could no longer welcome his cousin in his home. It was only Al’s plea which had stayed him from clapping Maeve in irons and sending her to the dungeon for a bit of her own medicine.

He wasn’t feeling so kind. Two of his strongest, ergo youngest footmen had taken her away, to be locked in her rooms and guarded. On the morrow, Oran would accompany her home to the western isles. Gone from Dingwall, taking her threats with her.

That she would not be about to witness her own brother’s funeral was no issue with him, but he’d have to speak with Maeve’s husband about her