Page 30 of Bride of Fire
“Well, ifyouwon’t do it…” She tipped her head down to ask the babe, “What about Miles, lad? Do you like the sound o’ that?”
The babe waved his fists. She decided to take that as his approval.
“Then Miles ’tis,” she proclaimed.
The maidservant beamed and gushed, “Och aye, ’tis a brilliant name!”
“Nay!” the Highlander boomed.
The babe stiffened. His lower lip quivered as if he might cry again. Jenefer scalded the Highlander with a look.
“What’s twistedyourtrews?” she demanded. “’Tis a fine Scots name.”
“I’m the laird,” he told her, crossing his considerable arms over his considerable chest. “I’ll be the one namin’ the bairn.”
She let her gaze course over the Highlander. Was that how they did things in the Highlands? Did the laird name all the babes of his clan? It seemed unfair.
But she wasn’t going to argue with him now. Standing like that, he looked quite imposing and formidable. He had the confidence of a man who believed his word was law. And he probably thought he could squash her like a flea.
But all men had weaknesses. She’d find his—eventually.
Meanwhile, she arched a brow. “Do what you will. ButI’mgoing to call him Miles.”
She could see the Highlander wanted to gainsay her. But unless he was willing to cut out her tongue, he couldn’t very well prevent her from calling the babe whatever she wished, whether it was Miles or Methuselah the Miserable.
Just to provoke him, she ignored him to address the babe. “You like your new name, don’t you, Miles? And I’m sure Lady Aelfeva would have liked it as well.”
“Not Aelfeva,” the man groused. “Alicia.”
“Is it now?” For someone who wasn’t in a hurry to name things, it was curious he cared whether she got the mother’s name right. She bowed her head in salute to the babe. “Well, Miles, good even to you. My name is Jenefer du Lac.” She added under her breath, “Soon to be Laird Jenefer of Creagor.”
“What was that?” the Highlander demanded.
“Just telling him my name.”
He lowered his brows in disapproval. “Why? He’s a bairn. He can’t understand ye.”
“’Tis the proper thing to do.” She gave him a scornful glance. Apparently, it was true what they said—Highlanders had no grasp of common manners. “’Tis ne’er too early to learn courtesy.”
Slowly the babe’s eyes drifted shut, and Jenefer handed the drowsy Miles off to the maidservant. The woman settled the babe into his low crib by the hearth and tucked blankets in around him.
Then Jenefer faced the Highlander, mirroring his menacing posture—crossing her arms over her chest—and muttered, “Methinksyoucould have benefited from early lessons in courtesy.”
He looked daggers at her. “Ye dare to insult me?” he challenged. “Do ye know who I am?”
“Nay, I don’t,” she replied, “which is my point. You have yet to properly introduce yourself.”
“Ye don’t know who I am?” He blinked in disbelief. “Do ye mean to say ye’ve decided this land doesn’t belong to me, yet ye don’t even know who I am?”
Itdidsound rather odd when he put it that way.
“I know who youthinkyou are. You think you’re the Laird of Creagor.”
His arms unfolded. He clenched his fists and moved to loom over her. This close, he looked as if he might swallow her whole at any moment.
“Iamthe Laird o’ Creagor,” he bit out.
His quiet words were far more chilling than a shout. Despite her usually indomitable courage, in the shadow of the Highlander, she gulped and felt her fingertips dig into her arms. She’d poked the beast one too many times. And there was something menacing in his intense gaze that made her want to keep her distance.
