Page 23 of Highland Renegade
“Sassenachs.” Devon stabbed a piece of meat. “Bloody English—”
“Gabh air do shocair!” Ian glared at his brother.
“Aye, do shut your gab,” Alasdair said. “Nae need to be insulting the ladies.” He smiled at Lorelei. “’Tis nae the lasses’ fault we are in this predicament.”
Devon glowered at him and stabbed another piece of meat.
Lorelei smiled back at Alasdair. “I do appreciate a gentleman with manners.”
His smile widened. “Some of us do have them.”
Emily sighed inwardly. As much as she wanted to find a way to establish an agreeable settlement to the issue of the deed, she didn’t need Lorelei to practice her charms on one of the MacGregors. This was not London where flirtation was a fine art and every male understood the rules. She would need to talk withbothof her sisters.
But not tonight. It had been a tiring day. She couldn’t really tell if she’d made headway with the uncles. They both remained stoic, giving nothing away. Of course, she hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms, but still…
At least she’d won a small battle with her choice of horse. On the way back to the castle, Ian had grudgingly admitted she’d handled the filly well. And she—although she didn’t voice it—had noticed just how well he sat his own stallion, strong muscular thighs guiding the animal. And his hands had been light on the reins. She wouldn’t have expected such a gentle touch… Emily blinked and refocused. Good lord! Why was she thinking about Ian’shands? Or how his touch would feel? She must be more exhausted than she thought because, for her own sanity, she needed to curb any personal reactions to him.
Thankfully, the meal was short, since all the courses were brought in at once. She made her excuses to retire. It didn’t take her long to perform her ablutions in her bedchamber and don a serviceable, warm night rail. Banking the fire, she turned back the thick wool blanket and sank gratefully into the feather mattress that she’d brought with her. Closing her eyes, she burrowed into the pillow. Tomorrow, she would start assuming duties. But for tonight…umm, sleep…
Some hours later, Emily bolted upright in bed, aware that her heart was pounding and her breathing was shallow. She looked around the room quickly, the embers from the fire casting long shadows, but all was still.
She shook her head to clear it. She’d been dreaming of a man standing by her bed, watching her. She hadn’t been able to see his face in the near darkness, and he said nothing. Then, there’d been a small movement of his hand and she’d glimpsed the steel of a blade…
This was ridiculous. There was no one here. To reassure herself, she slid her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the door to look into the hall. Nothing stirred. She closed the door and slid the bolt, feeling rather foolish at taking such a precaution.
Fatigue is affecting me, she thought as she returned to bed. That, and Lorelei’s story about how Fiona’s stepmother had died. Her weary mind had entangled bits and pieces, causing her to have a nightmare.
There had not been anyone in the room.
Chapter Eight
Emily could hear shouting as she made her way down the winding staircase the next morning. It seemed to be coming from the Great Hall, which was unusual, since the clanspeople broke their fasts early to go about their daily tasks and chores. Most of the time she and her sisters had the huge room to themselves.
As she entered, she saw Juliana and Lorelei seated at their table, although neither of them were eating. They were too enthralled with whatever was taking place.
She turned her attention to the group near the dais. Ian, his brothers, and his uncles had circled around a man who she assumed was cursing in Gaelic, while a younger lad wildly waved his arms in what looked like an attempt to explain something.
“Ye say two dozen sheep are missing?” Ian asked when the man stopped for breath.
“Aye. Damn reivers!” He gestured to the boy. “Neither of us saw or heard anything.”
“And we spent the night in the shepherd’s croft,” the boy piped up.
“This morning when I was ready to move the flock, it seemed smaller,” the man continued. “Then I did the count.”
“Could be Camerons,” Alasdair said. “They ken how to be stealthy.”
“Their holdings are a hard day’s ride from here,” Carr said. “Why would they bother coming this far south to take sheep?”
“Colquhouns then? Or Buchanans? They’re both close.”
Ian shook his head. “The Colquhouns would nae have stopped at two dozen. They’d have tried to take the whole flock. And we’ve nae quarrel with Buchanans.”
“Campbells, then,” Rory growled. “The whole bloody lot would like to make sure we doona get our name restored.”
“Excuse me.” Emily stepped up to the men. “What does having your name restored—which is a matter for Parliament—have to do with someone stealing our sheep?”
There was a moment’s total silence as her use ofoursheep sank in. The shepherd and the boy she assumed to be his son turned wide eyes at her.
