Page 59 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
“Where did ye buy the Skulleyes, lass?”
“Me Laird?” she asked and curtseyed. “I?—”
“The mushrooms,” he hissed, and she flinched. “Dinnae lie. Yer life is already on the line for allowin’ such a thing to come so close to yer Laird and his guest.”
If Emma died, ye would be dead right now, girl. I hope ye realize that.
“I-I thought they looked strange,” Deidre blurted out, her lips trembling. “And then, when I heard…” She sagged against the table. “I didnae ken they were poisonous, Me Laird. I’m from Edinburgh, and I think they kenned I was a city lass, with nay head for toadstools?—”
“Tell me who sold them to ye,” Granted gritted out, his heart pounding faster.
“A new seller at the market,” Deidre replied. “He swore that they were a new delicacy, for Cook said that we should try and makesomethin’ special for yer guest, Lady Emma. She’s been so sweet to the maids that we—we wanted to do somethin’ nice…” Her eyes overflowed with tears. “We’ve been pleadin’ with the Head Steward and McWirthe for days to free Lady Emma to nay avail—is she out, Me Laird? Is she safe?”
The girl began to weep, and Grant heaved a sigh. At least he could still trust his staff, even if perhaps they’d all gotten a bit too comfortable with other folk. He’d take care of that another time. But for now…
“I kenned it. I kenned it,” she wept. “’Twas all me fault. I should’ve been in the dungeons.” She went down on her knees, surprising him, and held out her hands. “Take me instead of Lady Emma. Or send me away. I deserve it.” Her lips trembled. “But please dinnae kill me. I have to send money to me family.”
Grant crouched down and studied her. “Would ye remember this man’s face if ye saw him again?”
She blinked her brown eyes rapidly. “Aye,” she said slowly. “I would, Me Laird.”
Grant rose and pulled her up with him. “Clean yerself up and meet me outside by the stables in one hour.”
Emma raced down the corridor, wishing she wasn’t so out of breath. But three days in a dungeon, with poor food and littlemovement, had taken more of a toll on her body than she had realized. Still, she did not break her stride as she approached the Laird’s chambers and pushed open the door.
“Who is that?” a startled, hoarse voice shouted, and her heart lurched in her throat.
Earlier, she had noticed how rough and strained Grant’s voice sounded, as though the poison had sapped some of its strength. She felt a rush of bitter anger at whoever had done such a thing, but her temper was reserved for the Laird—wherever he was.
So, in answer, she slammed the door shut and waited for him to appear.
“Whoever is foolish enough to come in here and nae speak, ye should think twice. I am in nay mood for visitors.” A lethal pause. “I suggest ye come back.”
Emma marched toward the arched doorway where his voice had come from, and said hotly, “And I suggest you—oh!” She whirled around and slapped her hands to her face. “You are in the bath.”
“I should’ve bloody kenned,” Grant muttered behind her. “Good day to ye, Me Lady. Somethin’ on yer mind that cannae wait?”
Emma whirled around again at his maddening tone, and he arched an eyebrow at her. Enough steam was rising from the water that she could not really see anything, and the window behind him cast the bottom half of his body in shadow.
Have you lost your mind?screeched a voice in her head.That does not make it any less improper.
“Yes,” Emma said, staring at him.
His dark hair was wet and clinging to his face, and water trickled down his broad, bare chest. Every line of muscle was hard, peppered with dark hair, and her eyes followed the water droplets, wondering at their final destination.
The sight of him sent a bolt of dizzying heat through her, even more potent than the one that assailed her when she’d first seen him. Perhaps it was because she’d been too caught up in the relief of seeing him alive and getting out of the dungeons.
Or perhaps it was because he was fully naked, soaked, and sitting in a tub less than a foot away.
“I must say, I appreciate yer boldness, but–” Grant shifted, as though to cover himself, and seemed to realize he could not. Emma swallowed hard at the big blur of shadow under the water, then darted her eyes up to his face. A smirk played along his lips, but his eyes were hard. “Even a Scottish laird named after the devil has his limits. Ye should go, lass. Now.”
“Not until you agree to take me with you.”
Grant frowned and gave his head a slight shake. “Sorry, where?—”
“I know you are going after the man who tried to kill you,” she said.
“Nay.”
