Page 22 of The Highlander's Princess Bride
Nick forced an apologetic smile. “Forgive me if I frightened you, Miss Knight.”
Angus leaned forward in his chair. “If the lass is too dainty to put up with a little brawlin’ and argumentation, then she should leave. We have no need of her fancy English ways here at Kinglas.”
She threw daggers at the old man but kept her lips firmly shut.
Nick hung on to his last bit of patience, because he needed to make this work. He neededher. “Miss Knight, I realize this might be considered something of a challenging assignment . . .”
When she let out a ladylike snort, he ignored it.
“All I ask is that you defer making a decision for another few days,” he continued. “Kade has been under the care of our family physician in Glasgow, but he will be arriving home tomorrow. I hope you will meet him before deciding to stay or go.”
Her full, pink lips pursed sideways in a girlish gesture he found unexpectedly charming. Then she shook her head. “I truly don’t think—”
“Is it not the least you could do for Sir Dominic?” he gently interrupted.
When she flinched, Nick knew he’d scored a hit. He calmly regarded her troubled expression, letting her sense of guilt do the work for him.
“You’ve come all this way, lass,” Alec said, resting a hand on her arm. “What’s the harm in meeting the boy and then making your decision?”
For several long seconds, Alec and Miss Knight seemed to hold a silent conversation, during which Nick had to repress the urge to knock his friend’s hand from her arm. He didn’t like that Alec was so possessive with her and he surely didn’t like that he was so bothered by it.
Finally, the girl gave a tight nod. “Very well, my lord. But I must tell you that I’m not inclined to give a favorable answer unless I’m convinced your family is prepared to welcome both my presence and my guidance. I will not take up a position that is destined from the outset to fail.”
“Duly noted,” Nick said dryly.
When Angus let out a triumphant little snicker, he wanted to dump the teapot on the old codger’s head.
* * *
Victoria was braiding her hair when a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Enter.” She rose from her chair in front of the scrolled walnut dressing table. The carved and gilded pier mirror mounted above it was lovely, but so old that the glass was cloudy. In the soft light of the candles, the mirror made her look fuzzy and rather worn. Or perhaps that was simply the way she truly appeared after the long, gruesome day.
Mrs. Taffy—who Victoria had decided was the only sane member of the household—bustled in, carrying an armful of fluffy white towels. “I came to see that ye had everything ye needed,” she said in her soft, pleasant brogue, putting the bundle down on the washstand by the hearth.
By the critical look the housekeeper cast about the room, Victoria suspected she’d come up to make sure the room was up to her exacting standards. Mrs. Taffy had snowy-white hair, neatly confined under a lace cap, and a wrinkled face that suggested she was approaching her seventies. But she was sturdy and moved with a briskness that would put a woman half her age to shame. When she ran a finger across the mantel, Victoria bit back a smile.
Kinglas might be rather worn around the edges, with furnishings and carpets years out of date, but it was a well-maintained house. She suspected that the servants knew their duties and carried them out with a minimum of fuss. The redoubtable housekeeper was clearly responsible for that, since there was no butler or house steward.
“Yes, thank you,” Victoria said. “This room is lovely. I imagine it’s one of the nicest bedrooms in the castle.”
She’d been surprised by how lovely. From what she could tell, most of the rooms in the tower house—the truecastlepart of the castle—were compact rather than spacious. Like narrow, stacked blocks, each floor held only three or four rooms. The drawing room, where they’d had tea this afternoon, was in the newer, more elegant wing of the manor, as were the dining room, the library, and a number of other public rooms.
Compared to the newer wing, the tower house was positively medieval, with thick walls of stone, low-timbered ceilings, and wooden floors and wall panels mellowed by age to a dark smoky brown. She could almost wish to remain at Kinglas simply for the opportunity to explore such a noble castle.
Almost.
Living with the Kendrick men was a daunting prospect. The idea of spending the winter with them, in the remote Scottish Highlands, was gruesome to contemplate.
Except for the earl. You wouldn’t mind spending time with him, would you?
She squashed the temptation to dwell on Arnprior’s handsome face and compelling gaze.
Mrs. Taffy gave her a warm smile. “This was her ladyship’s room. It’s one of the coziest in the castle.”
Victoria blinked. “This was the bedroom of the Countess of Arnprior?”
“Aye, of the previous laird’s second wife, that is. There’s a suite of formal rooms in the east wing, but her ladyship wanted to be closer to her husband. The laird’s bedroom is directly below this room. His lordship used to just nip up the stairs and be with her ladyship in a trice.”
