Page 5 of Claimed By the Heartless Highlander
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Duncan almost smiled at the stunned look on the young woman’s face. He’d not known what to make of it when one of his scouts had discovered letters addressed to Laird Muir at the ruins of his old home.
The letters had been clearly addressed, left in a location that would be moderately safe from the elements, and wrapped in a beeswax cloth used to weather-proof things for long journeys. A lot of care had been taken with them. And yet the salutation was addressed to “Laird Imaginary,” as if they were a child’s writing exercise.
The first one had amused him, and the audacity of her tone had piqued his curiosity, to say nothing of the fact that he’d received few missives of any kind, and none so personal, since the night he’d become the Laird of his clan. He’d kept it for that reason.
The second one had proved more audacious, and just as entertaining. By the third, he’d come to look forward to the odd letters, even going so far as to send his men out to check for them every few days.
Jack had thought he was going a little bit mad, but he’d agreed to the new patrol schedule when Duncan had suggested it.
Duncan had begun to sense an air of resigned desperation about the last letter, however, and guessed that the game might be coming to an end. It was then that he’d come to the startling realization that he wasn’t quite ready for that. Even more to the point, he’d found within himself a desire to meet the writer, at least once.
It was the first time he’d felt interested in anyone or anything outside his duties. Protecting his clan and caring for his kinfolk since his previous home had perished in the fire, along with his parents and Daisy, had been his priority.
Finding the girl proved easy enough, given how she’d signed her letters—Ailis Anderson, eldest daughter of Laird Clyde. It was a bit of a journey to reach her, too far to expect to make it there and back in a single day. That had given him some pause, but he’d decided to take the chance if only to satisfy his curiosity about the lass who’d dared to “claim” him.
He was glad he had. The lass was pretty, and he hadn’t been so entertained by anything other than Lily in months. He took his time to look at her, returning her frank appraisal.
She was small, barely coming up to his shoulders, but gifted with generous curves. Her hair was the rich gold of afternoon sunlight on ripe wheat, and her eyes were a vibrant emerald green. Her skin was pale but sunkissed, with just the lightest dusting of freckles across her nose.
She caught his eye and blushed a fetching rosy hue, before turning to Laird Clyde. “Faither… would it be possible for me to have a moment alone with Laird Muir?”
“Of course.” Laird Clyde began to shepherd his two younger daughters out of the room. “I’ve plans to make for yer betrothal feast, and I’m sure Grace and Freya can help…”
He finally managed to get his two youngest daughters out of the room, though Duncan noted that the blond lass was clearly reluctant to leave.
The door clicked shut behind them, and Ailis whipped around, her green eyes blazing. “What are ye doin’ here? Ye’re supposed to be dead!”
CHAPTER4
Her first thought,after the words escaped her, was mortification. No matter the circumstances, that was hardly a polite way to greet someone who’d clearly traveled a good distance to meet her.
Her second thought was that she might have offended him, which she had mixed feelings about. It wasn’t in her nature to be insulting or offensive. On the other hand, if he was offended, then he might give up the idea of whisking her off to his castle.
And where is he supposed to be livin’, in any case? Keith was sure Castle Muir burned! And ye cannae rebuild such a place without aid and tools and craftsmen… not even the wealthiest clans in the Highlands can!
The look Laird Muir gave her appeared to be more amused than anything. “In fact,yeaddressed me as ‘imaginary,’ nae dead.” He tilted his head. “Speakin’ of which, ye might as well ken me given name. ‘Tis Duncan.”
Knowing his given name didn’t help her current predicament. “That’s nae the issue.”
“Then tell me what is.” He gestured politely for her to speak her mind.
Maybe if she told the truth, he’d leave her alone. He couldn’t have expected much, no matter how he’d come to be here.
“Ye werenae supposed to be real! The letters were supposed to be a ruse, to keep me faither from marryin’ me off to someone I cannae stand! I dinnae understand how ye could have gotten them!”
She started pacing, too restless and caught off-guard to stay still and demure the way a young lady was supposed to. “I only wanted some time to breathe and escape me faither’s demands. I wasnae after finding a husband, and I’m nae ready to get married, much less to a man I thought was a ghost!”
This time, she was sure she caught him laughing at her briefly, before his face returned to its usual stoic expression. Even then, there was a softness in the lines around his eyes that she thought hadn’t been there before.
“Happens, lass, but I feel the same.” A brief smirk. “I’ll admit, I always kenned ye were a flesh-and-blood woman, but I wasnae plannin’ to answer ye, nae at first.”
That brought her up short. “What do ye mean? What changed?”
Laird Muir—Duncan—stepped closer. “Ye’re nae the only one under pressure to marry. I’ve had little to do with any woman these past years. ‘Twas gettin’ ridiculous, the way me braither and the council were throwin’ every village lass and fourth cousin to a laird at me. I was almost resigned to leavin’ me lands to find a lass to marry. And then I discovered a lass was sendin’ love letters to me castle.”
“Yer ruined castle. I heard it burned and was abandoned.” She saw a spark of anger and melancholy in his eyes for a moment, but it had already faded behind his mask when he replied.
