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

“I’m sorry?” she bit out, irritated by his propensity to constantly interrupt. “Your inclination?”

“Aye, tae make my addresses tae ye.”

She was missing something here. “I’m sorry, Artair. I guess I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I’m asking ye tae marry me, lass.”

She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d finished the job Maeve started days before and whacked her over the head with a thirty-pound tome. Speechless, she stared at him.

Was the whole family nuts?

“I’ve surprised ye.”

No kidding! What an understatement. There hadn’t been a single word in the handful of conversations they’d shared to indicate he was… what would they call it here? Courting her? His inclination hadn’t even been slightly tilted from her perspective.

Marriage! She’d never even considered it. Not ever. Especially not with him. Oh, she’d had dreams once upon a time. But her personal favorites had never included marriage. Marriage, in her experience, merely tainted the story. As it had tarnished real life. Her father, her stepfather. They’d made her mother miserable and her as well by extension. No, tying dreams to marriage led to inevitable disappointment.

Her fantasies as a teen and young woman centered on the romance. The love. When those dreams hadn’t come to fruition, she’d switched her goals to more practical and achievable academic ones, and satisfied herself with finding love and romance in the thousands of novels she devoured.

Lately, her fantasies had begun to revolve around a man of flesh and blood once more. A certain Scot who was not available to rescue her from this awkward moment. But even those dreams never, ever led to marriage.

Now a man who was perhaps one of the most grating she’d ever known was asking her?

“Allorah? Miss Maines?”

“Uh, Artair. I’m… I’m overcome, yes overcome by the suddenness of your offer. It is umm, most unexpected,” she belatedly managed, worrying her earlobe between her fingers.

“Mayhap, but I hope ye will consider it.” He rocked back on his heels. “I’ve a simple living but one I feel ye would complement and enjoy. Ye’re quite good wi’ people, I’ve noticed…”

Ugh, she was horrible with people. How could he think any different? She could hardly make polite conversation without discomfort. Though perhaps he hadn’t realized that yet.

“…with a true interest in the welfare of others…”

Of course, she’d just had terrible thoughts about him.

“…and a charitable spirit that will make ye an excellent wife tae me and an example tae those of my parish.”

She hadn’t been to church in more than a decade.

Oh, but she was a rotten person. And completely uncharitable. He wasn’t a bad person, or a mean one. He just wasn’t his brother. Even so, he didn’t deserve a broken heart more than anyone else did. If only Keir were around to save her from having to turn him down.

“I ken I’m naught but a simple cleric,” he continued. “Nae an heir tae an earl, for example. I’m certain ye considered looking higher.”

There was just enough of a reprimand in his tone for Al to forget her discomfort. She narrowed her eyes, unaware that her fisted hands had taken up an offensive position on her hips.

If she wasn’t going to be saved, she would save herself.

“How much higher do you presume I’m looking, Artair?”

He swallowed deeply, shifting from foot to foot. “He won’t marry ye, ye ken?”

“You’re not the first to tell me that.”

“He’s the heir tae Dingwall and now the Duke of Ross tae boot. Father would nae allow him tae wed wi’ someone like…”

Of all the assumptive, judgmental… She took a step forward. “Like what?”

He took a step away. “Ye mistake my meaning, lass. I find ye tae be a most agreeable… er, a woman of agreeable temperament. Normally. I dinnae mean tae imply anything other than yer compatible fit intae a lifestyle of more modest social… er, ranking.”

Her brows shot up to her hairline before dropping into a scowl. “First of all, I don’t give a damn about any social ranking. People are people. Period. Second: even if I cared about that, I wouldn’t let anyone, including your father, keep me from reaching as high as I liked. Love has no rank. And third: I have absolutely no interest in marrying. Anyone. Not you and not even the freakin’ heir. I am my own woman. I do not need a man to complete me.”

He blinked, stunned by her tirade, but Al felt exhilaration all the way to her toes. She’d never really let go like that. Her only regret was that it’d been Artair and not her mother she’d finally stood up to. It might have ended up being just a tad on the rude side, but she wouldn’t apologize for it.

Be it her education, gender, size, hair color or even her newly acquired questionable social status, she was exasperated by the notion she couldn’t achieve any goal she set out to because of some social barrier.

When she gained her footing in this world—and she damn well would—she was going to break them all down and knock this century on its ass.

“Complete ye?”

She ignored the question. “Thank you for your offer, Artair. It was most kind and while I appreciate the sentiment and motivation behind it, I’m afraid I cannot accept.”

It was as kindly said as she could manage. She could try to explain things to him, but the honest confusion written all over his face told her he’d never really understand.

“If ye should reconsider—”

“I won’t. I’m sorry.”

With a bow, he turned and strode down the hall. She barely realized he’d gone, marveling inwardly at herself.

*

“‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’”

She spun around to find Keir at a pair of double doors down the hall, his shoulder propped against the casing. A smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“That’s Shakespeare.”

“I know who it is. How much?”

“Most of it,” he told her, pushing off from the door frame and striding toward her in long, confident steps, kilt swirling around his calves. “Ye put him in