Page 31 of In Love With the Wrong Highland Sister
“You wanted to see if I would take you seriously.”
He laughed. “No. I wanted to back you into a corner so that you could not get away from me. I wanted to give you nowhere to go but into my arms. I was stupid, but I could not think of anything else. Forgive me, Laria.”
He looked so downcast that she smiled. “Of course.”
They sat in silence for a while, for how long they did not know, before Laria said: “I really should get out of these very smelly clothes.” She sniffed herself and wrinkled her nose, then sighed. They had been sitting on the straw-covered floor of the shed, and Laria should have felt uncomfortable, but instead, she was experiencing something else. She felt safe in a way that she had not since Robbie’s death, nestled against the hard chest of a strong, kind man. It was glorious.
James did not want to let her out of his arms, and she did not want to leave them, but eventually, they stood up, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then took her hand, and they walked into the castle.
He escorted her to the door of her bedroom then smiled at her again. “I will see you at dinner tonight,” he murmured, as he dropped a soft kiss onto her lips, then he turned and walked away. He could feel her gaze on his back until he was out of sight.
16
Dinner that night was a very merry affair since Laird Elliott was not just a hospitable host but a wonderful raconteur and a natural comedian. He kept the flow of conversation and laughter going throughout the meal while making each member of the company feel as if they were the only person in the room.
His wife, Lady Flora, was much quieter, but it was clear that she and Lady Margaret had bonded as soon as they met each other. They sat next to each other at the table and chatted while they ate, only occasionally joining in the boisterous conversation being carried on by the others. It was obvious that they had much in common, not least the work they both did for charity.
“Laria,” Laird Elliott said suddenly, “your father tells me you do some wrestling.” He frowned. “I must confess to being absolutely astonished. Is that not a man’s sport, much more suited to brutish creatures like us? You surely do not want to take the chance of some big lump of a man injuring your beautiful face?” His expression was a mixture of curiosity and amazement, and Laria laughed.
“I mostly fight with a punch bag, M’Laird,” she replied. “It does not hit back, and on the rare occasions when I do spar with men, they take pity on me and pull their punches, even though I am stronger than I look. I fought with James today, but he beat me.” She gave him a mischievous smile.
“That is not, in fact, true. In fact, it is a complete falsehood,” James spoke up and wagged a finger at her, his eyes twinkling. “This woman ismuchstronger than she looks. She seriously injured me today.”
There was a chorus of both mock outrage and amusement as James rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to show them his newly bandaged arm, pretending to grimace with pain.
“She is a menace!” he said huffily, trying not to laugh. “I am still suffering.”
Laird Elliott gave him a playful punch. “It is hardly a mortal wound, you big baby!”
“It is very sore.” James stuck out his lower lip like an infant.
“How did it happen?” Gavin asked. “That is not the normal place for a cut.”
“I am afraid it was more than that,” Laria said, sighing. She knew that everyone else found it funny, but she felt genuinely distressed about James’s injury. “James stumbled backward against a wooden post and got a splinter in his arm—a big one. I tried the best I could to bandage it, but it was quite a long splinter.”
“How big was it?” Eloisa asked curiously.
James indicated the size with his hands. “About two feet, more or less,” he replied, shrugging and grinning.
“How did he stumble?” Gavin asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.
“She pushed me.” Gavin’s voice was petulant.
This made everyone roar with laughter.
“I hope you kept that splinter,” Laird MacLean remarked. “I want to see it!”
Laird Elliott clapped his hands, which turned into a round of applause as the rest of the party joined in. “To Laria!” he cried, raising his glass of wine. “The best lady wrestler in Scotland! Sláinte Mhath!”
“Sláinte Mhath!” came the answer, before the laughter and conversation started again.
Laria was exhausted. The physical and emotional events of the day had taken their toll on her, and now all she wanted to do was sleep. She longed to dream happy dreams and to relive the feeling of safety and security she had felt while she was wrapped tightly in James’s arms. She stifled a yawn, but her mother had already seen the tiredness on her face.
“Bedtime for you, Laria?” she asked. “You look exhausted. Perhaps all that wrestling has taken it out of you.”
Her mother’s tone was playful, but Laria was not fooled. She had always hated Laria’s hobby and took every opportunity she could to discourage it.
Eloisa jumped to her sister’s defense, as she always did. “Yes, I am tired too,” she chimed in, also yawning. She turned to Lady Margaret. “And I have not been wrestling .”
