Page 53 of Wedded to the Twisted Highlander
A smile danced on his lips as he tried to pick up her voice. And as he stood there, he realized that wooing a woman like Astrid would require more than flowery words and grand gestures.
What she needed was a champion.
18
Astrid lay beneath the heavy quilt, but the heavy fabric did little to thaw the chill that seeped into the cockles of her heart. She let out a long, forlorn sigh, causing Melody to shift beside her. The soft rustle of the sheets was just one more gentle reminder of how Melody was sound asleep and she wasn’t.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the dying fire in the grate as her thoughts drifted to the Laird. His letter, despite it being short, spoke volumes.
Resigned to getting very little sleep, Astrid slipped out of the warm embrace of the blankets and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She glanced over her shoulder at Melody, ensuring that the child hadn’t been disturbed before rising. Melody let out a soft murmur as the mattress shifted.
Astrid pulled her robe over her shoulders and tiptoed to the double doors that led out to the balcony. The moonlight filtered through the window like silver, casting dancing shadowsthat flickered like memories long since buried. She gingerly pulled open the doors and stepped outside. As she untangled her braided hair, the cool night air wrapped around her, reinvigorating her like a crack in the dead of night.
The world outside was cloaked in darkness, and the stars twinkled like distant fires in the vast expanse of the sky. She leaned against the balustrade, the rough stone cool beneath her forearms, and let her eyes wander over the sprawling hills and the moors. Their silhouettes rose majestically against the inky night. The air was thick with the scent of earth and heather, a fragrant reminder of the land she loved.
The Laird’s letter had stirred a tempest within her—one that raged against the confines of her heart. She hated the fact that her plans with him had been ruined, but at the same time, she was grateful that she didn’t have to go. Her mind was a mess as she warred with herself. If only her head and heart could agree, then maybe she’d know how she really felt about the Laird.
“I have had a most rare vision,” she whispered to the dark.
“Shakespeare. And here I thought he’d bore ye.”
Astrid gasped as she whipped around to find the Laird standing in his doorway. Her lips parted when she noticed that he wore only a thin shirt that barely covered his thighs. She should have turned around—it would have been the polite thing to do. Instead, she stood like a statue, admiring the man before her. She swallowed hard as she tried to tame the wild flutter of her heart.
“Laird McFair,” she whispered.
He was as striking as a tempest. Astrid couldn’t help but notice the way his shirt hung loosely over his chest. The very sight of him shrouded in the silvery light of the moon stole her breath. Heat flooded her cheeks, and before she could think, she turned back to her room, too flustered to think straight.
“Forgive me, I didnae see ye there. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”
“Nay,” he answered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the stillness. “Stay, I’ll take me leave.” He turned his back to her.
“But ye were here first, Me Laird. ‘Tis I who should take me leave,” she insisted.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Why do ye nae let yer hair down more often?” he asked, the wonder in his voice seeming to soften his jagged edges.
The compliment had struck her like lightning, causing her to recoil slightly. The vulnerability in his gaze was too intimidating, too piercing. It was as if he could peer into the very core of her soul.
Warmth spread through her body, causing every nerve to feel as if it were on fire. She fought to find the words to mask the unease that seemed to want to settle in her stomach.
“I—” she began, but the words were lodged in her throat, refusing to come out.
The Laird furrowed his brow as his expression shifted from one of admiration to one of concern.
“I didnae mean to cause ye distress,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Really, enjoy the respite—ye’ve earned it.”
“And ye havenae?” The question burst from her lips as she clung to some excuse to keep him there with her.
He paused, his fingers curled around the door frame as if he were debating whether to slip back into the shadows or remain in the moonlight.
“Surely, Me Laird, if anyone should be able to enjoy the night alone, it is ye. I have another place I go.”
“Do ye now?” The Laird arched an eyebrow. His expression was filled with wonder and awe. “And pray tell, where might that be, so I can find ye there?”
Astrid couldn’t help but smile as her hair fluttered freely in the breeze. She reached up and tucked it behind her ear before it could become a tangled mess. “I dinnae think it would be wise for me to tell Me Laird such things.”
“Och? And why is that?” the Laird asked, the corners of his lips twitching.
“How is yer faither farin’ this evening, Me Laird? Is he well?” Astrid asked, purposefully avoiding his question.
