Page 28 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Grant barked out a laugh. “What?”
“I just mean ye are drawin’ a lot of attention to our clan. Why would ye invite bandits to even look in Banrose’s direction? Do ye intend to put our folk in danger for some English wench?”
All of the mirth drained from Grant’s face, replaced by coldness, and he watched as his brother rose from the chair.
Reuben shook his head. “I dinnae like it, Grant.”
“And ye think I do?” Grant snapped. “That’s why I am sendin’ ye to look into this.”
But inside, his gut twisted with guilt. He had not considered the possible repercussions for Banrose. He’d only been thinking of Emma.
Reuben shrugged. “Fine.” Then, a slow smile spread across his face. “Huh… somethin’ else just occurred to me.”
Heaving a sigh as he held onto his thinning patience, Grant asked, “And what is that, Reub?”
“Maybe ye’re nae as scary as ye thought ye were,” Reuben said in a mock-solemn tone, even as his eyes danced. “Nae a devil but a dandelion. What would our folks think?”
Grant picked up an empty wooden goblet and lobbed it at his brother, who ducked it, laughing.
“Ain’t ye in a sweet mood,” Reuben drawled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Then, as Grant slowly folded his arms and glared at him, he gulped. “I apologize, all jibes. I’ll look into it, dinnae fuss.”
“Thank ye,” Grant bit out.
“Strange to keep the English wench, though,” Reuben added, his eyes narrowing. “Why is she here? What business could ye have withher?”
“Hm…” Grant stepped forward and threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders. Reuben stiffened, then relaxed as they walked toward the door. “I’ll tell ye.”
Reuben gave him an expectant look, then a puzzled one as they approached the door. And he let out a shout of indignation when Grant shoved him into the hall.
“None of yer business,” Grant said before shutting the door in Reuben’s face.
There was a shout, then an incredulous laugh, and then Reuben strode off, whistling an old Pirate song.
Such a jester…
Grant shook his head and sighed as he went back to his desk.
Curled up in the window seat, her palm flat against the warm, thick glass, Emma stared out at the loch and mountains beyond. Part of her wanted to go back to sleep after tossing and turninghalf the night, but the other half could not believe she’d slept with such a view outside her window.
The land was austere, yes, not the comely and polite greens of the English countryside, with its tidy gardens and rows of trees. This was… wild and free.
Mist hung over the mountains on the other side of the water, the hills a deep green, with rows of pine running along the shore. A single boat cut through the water, shafts of sunlight illuminating the deep blue depths below, and though Emma craned her head, she could not see the end of the water on either side.
Pressing her hands to her chest, she gazed and gazed, with the sense of never knowing true thirst or hunger—or how it might be sated.
With this, of all things. Of all places. How could I want this?
A harsh breath escaped her lips, and she almost fell as her blankets and dressing gown tangled around her legs. Standing up, she paced and tried to think of London. How she loved the hustle and bustle, the endless allure of the streets and shops, the constant sense of progress pulling one into the future.
But now, all she could think of were the dreary skies, the rain hammering at her family’s townhouse, and the sense of being penned in from all sides. As though one could not fully stretch their limbs—and now she felt the same thing.
No.No. I’m tired and overwrought. This is all new. I’ve always been susceptible to novelty and the excitement it brings.
However, the moment she opened her eyes, she went to the window again and gazed out.
Why did seven days now feel like a cruel jest?
Whirling around, Emma cupped her face in her hands and stood up straight. No, she would focus on getting through these seven days and leaving Banrose behind like the bad, strange dream it was. Seven days and she could go to her aunt’s estate in Yorkshire.
