Page 30 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Kyla blinked and gave her a bright smile. “Ye ken, I think I would.”
The two women were silent as they ate, even though Emma was bursting with questions. Kyla seemed a bit curious as well. Finally, as they sipped on their tea, Emma began to ask about her work.
Kyla spoke about the Healing Houses and how folks from all over the Highlands went there to treat their ailments. It was becoming known as a hospital, and people praised Laird Ronson for establishing it.
“Even if…” Kyla shook her head. “Never mind.”
“No, what were you going to say?” Emma pressed.
Kyla sighed. “Och, ‘tis frustratin’ how folk still fear him and call him the Devil of Banrose—despite everything he’d done to improve their lives. He helped me and all me healers find steady work, ye ken. It used to be more sporadic, dependin’ on a laird’s whim—hired when he was home and dismissed the moment he left.”
Emma frowned. “But what about the people left behind?”
Kyla started at that, and then a genuine, wide smile blossomed on her pretty face. She murmured something in Gaelic and then said, “Aye. Would ye believe that is exactly what the Laird said to me when I told him as much? I was confused when he decided to keep us on whether he was there or nae.”
Flushing, Emma toyed with her teacup, unsure what to say.
“Thank ye for the meal, Me Lady,” Kyla said, and Emma jumped up, realizing the healer had risen.
“Oh, you can call me Emma.”
“Hm,” Kyla murmured. “On the right occasion, mayhap.”
With that, she swept out of the room, leaving Emma perplexed. Though not for long, as four or five maids returned to the room, chattering away as they laid out gown after gown.
A tall woman swept in after them and bobbed a curtsey, before lifting her head. “I am Mistress McKibbon,” she announced. “Mistress of Wardrobe.”
Emma gazed around, perplexed by the array of fabric and gowns, unsure what to say.
“Ye see that we have brought ye many sizes and patterns to choose from, Me Lady. And we are all quite clever with a needle. We can alter them to fit ye to perfection.”
“I-I don’t understand,” Emma stammered. “What does this mean?”
Mistress McKibbon blinked. “Why, the Laird has ordered us to ensure that ye have a proper wardrobe. Dress ye accordingly, as his guest of honor.”
“Guest of honor?” Emma repeated. “Orders?” She picked up a gown, awed by its splendor, and unsure why her father’s temper had overtaken her. “No, he means to dress me like a doll to do his bidding.”
Nervous titters rang around the room.
“Nae at all, Me Lady. Only that yer possessions were lost,” Mistress McKibbon said smoothly above the noise.
Emma rounded on the poor woman, who stepped back and lowered her gaze. Guilt twisted in her gut, but she blurted out. “Stolen, you mean. And I’m sorry, I know this is not your fault and you are following the Laird’s orders.” She jutted her chin. “But I am not part of his household, and I won’t bebossed aroundby anyone, much less the Devil of Banrose.”
With that, she swept out of the room and went to seek the man who thought he could buy her favor.
Grant tugged at his hair as he hunched over his desk, rereading the terrible script over and over again. What was the old fool trying to say?
At that moment, the door to his study flew open, and Emma burst in. He stared at her, realizing that he was halfway out of his seat, with his hand on his blade, before plopping back down.
God, she’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.
Her cheeks were blazing red, her blue eyes glittering like the loch at sunset, her dark hair framing her face. In the light of day, the bloodred dressing gown lent a honey tint to her pale complexion while leaving nothing to his imagination when it came to her generous curves.
Shadow and night had hidden enough last night that Grant had been able to control himself, but right now, he wanted to slam the study door shut and shove her against it.
Until he realized she was shouting at him.
“You absolute barbarian, you brute—how dare you?! I ought to have you dragged before Her Majesty for such an insult.”
