Page 72 of The Highlander's Princess Bride
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Angus was up to something, but she didn’t have leisure to parse the bizarre turns of his mind.
“You’re both crazy,” Royal said as he picked up the night lamp from the small table by the door.
“That we are, laddie,” Angus said with a suspiciously cheerful demeanor.
They carefully picked their way around the side of the west wing. It was a dark night, with only a waning crescent moon to cast a pale shimmer over the gardens. The old tower house loomed like a ghostly remnant from ancient times, a few of its casement windows glowing with soft light. A cold wind gusted off the loch, the waves pounding against the shore with a distant crash.
All around them, the mountains were massive, inky blots against the sky, craggy peaks outlined by faint moonlight. It was a primitive, forbidding landscape, and Victoria couldn’t repress an apprehensive shiver. Nor could she rid herself of the sense that something monumental was about to happen. If the king of the fairies had risen up from the ground before them, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
Of course, she didnotbelieve in premonitions, apparitions, fairies, silkies, or any other such Scottish nonsense. She was simply cold.
Royal voiced her thought. “You’re not dressed for this weather.”
“How perceptive of you to notice.”
His only reply was a chuckle.
Angus, who’d gone ahead of them, peered into one of the library windows. “I canna see a bloody thing.”
Victoria went up on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. The only light in the room came from the fire, which had burned low. It barely penetrated the Stygian gloom. She could make out the outlines of the big leather club chair in front of the grate, and the gleam from the polished leather of large booted feet.
“I believe his lordship is sitting near the fire,” she said.
Royal elbowed Angus aside. “He’s not moving, from the looks of it. Probably drunk as an emperor by now.”
“Then we can only hope he’s fallen asleep,” Victoria said. “If so, I can open the door and let you both in. Then you or the footmen can carry him to his room.”
“If you can find the key to the door,” Royal said. “He might not have left it in the lock.”
“Oh, blast. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Ye can search his body,” Angus said in a helpful tone. “I’m sure Nick wouldna mind.”
“I will do no such thing, Mr. MacDonald.” Victoria couldn’t help blushing at the idea of running her hands over the earl’s brawny form. Thank God it was too dark for anyone to see her color up.
Royal smothered a laugh. “If it’s not in the door, it’s probably in his waistcoat pocket. I’m sure there will be no need to violate my brother’s dignity in any comprehensive way.”
“Please just open the window,” Victoria ordered.
She saw the gleam of Royal’s teeth as he smiled. Then he wrestled with the sash for a moment before opening the window.
“Last chance,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in?”
Her nerve failed for a moment, then she shook her head. “No, the earl is probably asleep. And if he’s not, he’s less likely to fire up at me than he is at one of you.”
“She’s right, lad,” Angus said.
“I don’t like it, but I suspect that’s true,” Royal said. “Up with you, then.”
He took her by the waist and boosted her up onto the sill. She perched for a moment, getting her bearings, then swung her legs over and dropped down to the floor. Treading as softly as she could, she made her way toward the fireplace.
The earl’s lanky body was stretched out in the club chair, his boots propped against the firedogs and his hands laced over his stomach. His chin rested on his chest, his posture deeply relaxed. Even before hearing the slow, steady rhythm of his breath, she’d known he was asleep.
She spied an empty whisky decanter on the floor beside his chair, along with a crystal tumbler on its side. The earl had obviously drunk his way into blessed oblivion. Still, a frown marked his brow and worry lines bracketed his mouth, signs that restless dreams disturbed his slumber. She wished she could smooth them away with a gentle stroke of her fingertips.
Or her mouth . . .
Victoria almost jumped out of her shoes when Angus’s stentorian whisper echoed through the silence. “What’s happening, lassie?” he hissed.
