Page 25 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

Thank goodness. Marjorie breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Her whimsical speech had really been quite reckless. She was certain she’d hear about it later.

She glanced up at Cormac and pursed her lips not to smile. Reckless maybe, but how it had been worth it. The man needed to learn a little humor, and if ducks were the thing to chisel through that stony facade of his, then so be it.

“I may not know birds,” Forbes continued, “but I do know business. And the plantations of the Indies are quite the opportunity. Your brother-in-law sounds like a very generous man indeed. But I’m afraid I didn’t catch his name . . . ?”

Panic skittered up her spine. She hadn’t reckoned on the bailie actually knowing anyone in Jamaica.

She forced a brittle smile onto her face.

“His name is John. Oh, John! Our dear, lovely John!” With exaggerated dismay, Marjorie brought a hand to her nose and mouth.

“But Hughie, I’m afraid this stench is getting to me. Shan’t we be on our way?”

As much as Cormac wanted to watch her flail in her own verbal traps, he knew he needed to get them away from there as soon as possible. “I see I’ve been remiss, my wee trout. If you’ll excuse us, Forbes.”

“But of course,” he replied grandly. “The docks are no place for the fairer sex. I shall send my own carriage for you, tomorrow at six, at the . . . ?”

“Cross Keys Inn. Dockside.” Cormac whisked Marjorie around, putting space between them and the bailie.

Fairer sex? How about more unruly, more taxing, more maddening .

. . He strained to keep their charade while Forbes was still in sight.

Mustering affected cheer, he called over his shoulder, “Tomorrow at six then!”

When they were out of view, he dropped her arm as though she were leprous. “What in blazes were you thinking?”

“Well, nothing, obviously.” She shook her arm, flinching away from him even though he’d already separated from her. “Seeing as mere wives are good for naught but thinking about the weather and—”

“And don’t forget flora and fauna.” Blasted woman. He didn’t know where she came up with such nonsense. “Seems as though you had much to say on that particular topic.”

“You provoked me.”

“I?” Cormac stopped in his tracks. “ I provoked you ?”

“Yes. You’ve been goading me since we left Dunnottar, in fact.”

He merely stared at her. She’d dressed as a wealthy lady would, in a blue-green gown that set off the color of her eyes. The tight bodice pressed her breasts into two perfect globes; all day it had been an effort to keep his gaze above her chin. And she claimed he provoked her ?

She stormed on, toward the inn, and he jogged to catch up.

“How, exactly, have I managed to so bedevil you? By helping you on this mission of yours? By keeping you safe? Or was it when I fed you and gave you a bed while I slept on the floor?”

“You didn’t have to—” She stopped herself from saying something, and Cormac couldn’t help but imagine her completed thought.

“Didn’t have to what, Ree?” he asked in a low whisper. Stepping closer, he took her arm, and he might as well have stepped before an open flame, so much did her proximity scorch him. “Sleep apart from you?”

She blushed, giving him a breathless look that made him wild and wishing he had crawled into bed with her.

Marjorie pulled away and strode on, entering the inn with an angry sweep of her skirts. “You didn’t have to speak for me at the docks. I am perfectly capable—”

“Of getting yourself into trouble.” He lowered his voice so as not to be overheard, nodding a perfunctory greeting to the innkeeper as they passed.

“Oh Hughie , I know a fine husband like you would never allow that to happen.” She stormed up the stairs to their door, fumbling with the lock.

Cormac snatched the key from her to open it.

“And Hughie, how wonderful that your little trout has such a great man like you to open doors for her.” She stomped into their bedroom. “To make her decisions, and to speak for her.”

“Och, Ree, stop this.” He closed the door. The woman had lost her head. Force decisions upon her? The concept was laughable. Cormac would be first in line to swear there wasn’t a man alive capable of taking control of Marjorie. “I only worried—”

“You worried I’d mess it up, didn’t you?” She struggled to unlace her shoes and finally just kicked them off. Standing, she panted before him, lips parted and cheeks flushed. “You worried I couldn’t handle a simple act.”

He worried she’d get hurt. He worried she’d never find her Davie. He worried the lad was already dead. He worried her heart might break as irrevocably as his had so many years before.

He worried that the sad look in her eyes would never go away.

“That’s not it at all.”

“You worried I’d ruin everything like I always do.”

“Stop it, Marjorie.” She was intentionally misunderstanding. She’d whipped herself into a lather, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. He stepped closer.

“Isn’t that it, Hughie ?” She tore the comb from her hair, and slammed it down on the table. Long curls cascaded over her shoulders. “You didn’t think I’d be able to carry on a simple conversation without—”

“Stop.” He took another step.

She sneered. “Oh Hughie , am I bothering—”

Another step. “Stop it with this Hughie business.”

“Make me!”

He did—with a kiss.