Page 7 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
He was not sure if the exertion of fighting off that lowlife had gotten to him, or the sight of this woman had raised his body temperature.
“I handled the situation just fine, m’ lord. It didnae happen,” the Scot replied, her brown eyes flashing red as her words brought him back down to reality. “You’re the one bleedin’ after all, sir.” She pointed to his knuckles.
“Your sharp tongue will land you in trouble one day,” Richard warned as he took out a handkerchief and began dabbing the blood on his knuckles.
“And yer fists will land ye in jail,” the Scot snapped back.
“Hardly a ladylike response, madam.”
“A real lass can stand up for what’s right, and ye’d do well to remember that. I am more lady than a brute like you could ever understand or dare to handle.”
“Handling you is not something I will ever have to be concerned with,my lady,” he said, regretting the double entendre as it escaped his lips.
Lydia tugged on Richard’s sleeve, her small face tilted up at him. The tension in Richard’s shoulders eased slightly as he lookeddown at her and away from the Scot, focusing his energy on her. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave a tight squeeze. She leaned into him comfortably.
“Clearly, ye care for yer daughter,” the Scot observed, her voice softening slightly as she tested out the word to see if it would take root.
“She’s not my daughter,” Richard corrected, “She is my niece.”
Catriona’s gaze shifted to the girl, who nodded in confirmation but didn’t seem in the least affectionate. Did he tend to her out of affection or merely out of duty? she wondered. That he cared for the child was evident, but there was no warmth in it. He was as cold and unmoving as stone.
“We need to get back,” the stranger said, his voice clipped.
He took the girl’s hand, but she slipped away, running towards Catriona.
Then, she offered Catriona a small, shy smile and patted her chest, a silent thank you.
Catriona felt a smile creep up her mouth.
With slow, tentative movements, the little girl pulled a hairpin from her own hair and offered it to Catriona, the shy smile broadening.
“Och, that’s nae necessary,” Catriona said, her voice gentle. “I was happy to come to yer aid, lassie! And I would do it again, although I surely expect that willnae be necessary. I can see that deep inside that heart of yers is a warrior, just waitin’ to come out. Aye, ye’ll be just like Scáthach.”
“I think we are getting ahead of ourselves here,” the stranger growled.
The little girl pressed the hairpin into her palm again, insisting. Catriona didn’t want to insult the child; clearly, this was a big gesture. She was grateful, and Catriona wanted to honor her appreciation and wisdom. She knew this could have been bad.
Catriona’s eyes softened. “Thank ye,” she whispered as she closed her hand gently around the beautiful hairpin. “I will treasure it, always.”
It was a lovely little thing, the delicate filigree and gold adornment with tiny stones. No wonder it had caught the thief’s eye.
The girl’s uncle watched the exchange. If he had the slightest particle of sense, he’d respect his niece for the gesture, clearly, she knew the position she had been in today.
With a final, lingering glance at Catriona, he took the girl’s hand firmly and led her away. There were no more words to say.
Catriona watched them go, the hairpin clutched in her hand, her gaze lingering on the man’s retreating figure.
Chapter Four
“Chan eil tuil air nach tig traoghadh.” There is no flood that does not ebb.
“Lydia,” Richard said, his voice sharp as he prepared himself to lecture the girl.
He had been the recipient of many a lecture from his father. Those lectures were always at the forefront of his mind, their emphasis on the importance of duty, family, and obedience. He hoped that the quiet walk home had given his niece time to consider the position she had put herself in.
“You cannot wander off like that. Do you understand what could have happened to you? How actions like this can affect other people? Your maid was frantic!”
Richard’s voice, while heated, remained measured, his expression unreadable, as though any flicker of feeling might be a step too far.
