Page 53 of Highland Renegade
Ian couldn’t help but smile. Fiona was proud of how accurate she was with a knife. “I doubt he would dispute that.” Nor would anyone else who’d seen her practice, but that was neither here nor there. “As castellan, he hears and sees things we doona. Servants talk. I had to tell him so he’ll ken what to listen for.” And, Ian wanted the castellan to provide protection for Fiona, although that was something best left unsaid.
“Hmmm. Well, ye need to think what ye’ll say to Emily. She caught Hamish standing outside her door this afternoon. She dinna ask me why, but I could see she was thinking on it.”
“Could ye nae have made an excuse?”
She glowered at him. “I tried to get to the door first so I could wave him away, but Emily was closer. She had it open before I could get there.”
He sighed. “It was nae yer fault. I’m sorry.”
Her expression softened. “Keeping Emily in the dark is nae going to solve matters.”
“I suppose ye are right.” Ian rubbed his eyes, which burned from lack of sleep. The clansmen were working from dawn to dusk to harvest the barley, and he worked alongside them as any worthy laird would. He spent his nights thinking about who would hate Emily so much as to attempt to kill her. Unfortunately, there were scores of his clan who hated Sassenachs.
“Ye need to talk to her.”
“I ken.” He sighed again. Not all of his tossing and turning at night was because of the accident. A large part of his restlessness was due to recalling the kiss he’d given Emily. A kiss she was unaware of, but would live in his mind for months, if not longer. He suspected the memory might be permanently embedded in his brain. The warmth of her mouth, the soft fullness of her lips, the silky texture of her skin… When he finally slept, his body reacted like that of a green lad with his first maid. One lustful dream followed another, like tumbles in the hay. He’d managed not to see her since the first day, determined to get his reaction to her under control. Yet, he couldn’t avoid the situation forever. And, as Fiona pointed out, Emily could not be confined to her room forever, either.
He took a deep breath. It was time to confront his fantasy.
…
Emily managed to escape her sickroom the following morning, although perhaps “escape” was too fanciful a term, since Fiona had, for some reason, left her alone and the castellan was not standing out in the hallway. Actually, she had just opened the door and walked out.
Shefeltlike she’d escaped, though, which was somewhat ridiculous considering she’d been confined for only three days in a very comfortable room, and Strae Castle was her home.
Passing the Great Hall that was empty now, since the workers had already left for the fields, she made her way to the smaller dining room. She doubted her sisters would be there. Juliana generally forewent breakfast and Lorelei tried to keep London hours, albeit Emily made a point of making her rise before nine o’clock. Since she’d been stuck in her room, Lorelei had probably taken full advantage and was still sound asleep.
Emily expected Fiona to be in the room. Instead, Ian sat alone at the table, half turned away from her, looking out the window. Sunlight glinted off his raven hair, the strong outline of his jaw made prominent by a shadow beard. He was dressed simply in doeskin breeches and a white linen shirt, open at the throat and its sleeves rolled up. No doubt he was getting ready to leave for the fields, yet the informal attire and his rather tousled look seemed almost intimate.
She paused just outside the doorway, unsure what to say to him. He’d left her room that first day while she had still been somewhat groggy, although she recalled every detail of his kiss. Even now, three days later, the memory was strong enough to send a quiver to her stomach, as though a bevy of quail had taken wing. For a wicked moment she wondered what he’d do if she confronted him with the fact that she was aware of it? Would he kiss her again? Shetskedat herself. When had she become a romantic ninny?
He must have heard the sound, for he turned away from the window to look at her. He rose, his whisky-colored eyes turning slightly darker. Or maybe they looked that way only because he’d moved away from the sunlight. She gave him a tentative smile.
“Good morning. Do not blame Fiona for letting me out,” she said quickly. “I was about to go stark raving mad.”
He smiled. “I willna have Fiona flogged then.”
Emily felt her eyes round before she realized he was teasing. Or, at least, she thought he was. He must have sensed her hesitance, because the smile widened into a grin. “Ye need nae fear that will happen, lass. If any fool were to attempt to try, my sister would likely turn the whip on the man. And I am nae a fool.”
He’d called herlass. She knew it was a common term, but she’d heard it used only to describe Scottish women. Did that mean he was beginning to accept her presence here? Maybe one day, she’d no longer hearSassenach?The more she learned about his people, the more she wanted to be a part of them.
He sobered. “Do ye think me a fool?”
“What?” She blinked, aware that she’d been woolgathering and felt warmth flood her cheeks. “Of course not.”
“Well, ’tis good then.” He pulled out a chair. “Would ye sit?”
She took the chair and watched as he drew his own to the table. “Are you not going to the fields today?”
“Aye, but a bit later.” As if he’d rung some invisible bell, Effie and another maid appeared in the doorway with two covered trays. As they set them down, the fragrant aroma of cinnamon porridge wafted up along with the smoky-sweet smell of roasted boar dribbled with honey.
“This smells delicious!”
“’Tis a hearty meal.” Ian picked up the basket of freshly baked bannocks, their still warm scent assailing her nose as well, and offered her one. “’Twill strengthen ye now that ye are up and about.”
She gave him a wary look. “Then I am not going to be sent back upstairs?”
He swallowed the bite of bread he’d taken before he spoke. “Fiona told me ye felt like a prisoner there.”
