Page 5 of Highlander’s Fruit of Eden

Meeting with the Laird

I t had been a few days since Amelia arrived, and she seemed to be fitting in rather well.

And every time Jon seemed to interact with her, it was a battle of wits that he didn’t mind entertaining.

For a woman to be so open with her tongue was arousing to him.

He liked a woman who spoke her mind, despite what leading thinkers had to say about the fairer sex.

So, when she all but marched into the study, Jon knew what his uncle was in for with the Englishwoman.

But her brown eyes were cold as they narrowed down at him.

He had forgotten to correct her , he remembered.

As far as Amelia knew, Jon was the Laird.

And he thought about sparing her the embarrassment, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Jon waved for his uncle to remain seated, and looked at her from where he stood behind the desk, “Dae ye believe it is important and that I care?”

“Yes, and it concerns how you run your estate,” she started with a proud tilt of her chin, “so I would hope that you care.”

Jon looked at his uncle, who just smirked at the woman.

It was clear that she wouldn’t change his mind much more than Jon had tried to.

So he was going to let her keep rambling, letting her think that she was only talking to Jon.

It would be interesting to see how this all played out.

But he had to admit, she was stunningly attractive worked up and angered.

Amelia Cooper had him thinking in knots and his kilt in twists that Jon had stopped believing were possible anymore. And now as she stood in front of them, her cheeks ablaze with righteous fury. Her brown eyes were stern, a flicker of something passing over them as she met his eyes.

Her blonde hair was braided down her back, and her pert little nose was pointed indignantly at the end.

Amelia was both plain, yet somehow absolutely stunning.

She wore a simple gown, one that hugged her form just enough to make a man lust after her.

Jon had never been so taken with a woman before, much less a maid.

Perhaps it was the way she didn’t chase after him, or the smart remark that was always on her lips.

Those damnable lips , he thought.

Perfectly fit for her face, her lips were pert and full.

The bow of her upper lip was exquisite, and the color was as rich and red as strawberries.

Jon had a fleeting thought about their taste, if Amelia’s mouth tasted the same as supple fruit.

Or what her mouth would look like in the throes of ecstasy, open in a silent pant for Jon to continue to make her writhe under him as she—

“I have never been so displeased at the state of such a house,” she started with such ferocity, snapping Jon out of his thoughts. “You are cruel and heartless to have your staff worked to such states of exhaustion.”

Jon was content to let her keep going, berating him as he kept his look of an easy smirk.

He was going to correct her—tell her that he was not, in fact, the Laird of Montgomery—but he knew it would annoy her more if he kept his face amused.

And based on the sensual way her eyebrows knitted down in anger at his aloofness, it was working.

“I can’t fathom how you think such a small staff can keep a castle,” she continued. “It is idiotic. I know that even King Charles kept a better head about his staff than you do now. You are an awful Laird if you let this continue as it is, and I simply will not stand for it.”

Wisps of her hair stood out from how it was pulled back, as if charged with a force from her anger.

Jon mused that he could offer her a chair but thought better of it.

This Englishwoman would have no qualms kicking him in the bollocks, and he was already stiff as it was.

For her to potentially attack his anatomy in its current state may send him to his knees in pain.

He remembered finding her wandering about, looking for a library.

That had practically done him in right then.

She was educated, that much he had known when she had been hired.

His uncle wouldn’t let someone who couldnae read or write make up schedules and things.

It was too high of a station for her to not at least be impressive to guests.

But there was something about the way she had been so gentle in talking about such a place.

Only barbarians and savages don’t have libraries, she had whispered, almost like a prayer.

Though he had told her not to search for it, that reading was unladylike, he much preferred a woman that read versus one that didn’t.

His words were to deter more himself, making her hate him was the easiest way to get over his attraction to her.

“And if it is not fixed within a fortnight, then I will find employment elsewhere,” she finished triumphantly.

I was right , Jon thought wryly. It would only take two weeks for her to be gone.

Hell, it had only been a few days so far and she was already making demands.

But the fact that she cared so deeply already hit a soft spot in Jon’s armor.

He wasn’t one to show too much affection to anyone—his uncle had made sure of that, given the example he led by.

So, Jon didn’t let many people see anything else than some other copy of his uncle.

However, Jon always thought there was something more to Lairdship than being intimidating.

Despite what his uncle thought, there was room to be kind as a Laird.

That an iron fist didn’t always yield great results besides obedience.

But as the Man-at-Arms, there was nothing Jon could do or say that would make a difference.

“What? Do you not have anything to say for yourself?” Amelia demanded, snapping him back to the present conversation.

She was staring at him harshly, and he realized he had been staring at her like a trite dobber of a man.

He quickly refocused, changing his features to be the mask of stern will that he used with all the other staff.

But it was clear that Amelia was not going to be taking any shite from either man today, and that she was steadfast in her belief.

He gave his uncle a glance, seeing him in awe at her brazen and bold tirade.

So Jon walked easily around the desk, knowing how much it would anger her.

His calm stance seemed to get under her skin and seeing her so worked up was doing things to his body.

He lazed against the side of the desk, watching her intently.

She didn’t back down from his stare, and instead met his eyes with her own steely resolve.

Jon appreciated the spitfire nature of the housekeeper.

Maybe things would actually change now. He respected and loved his uncle, but he loathed how he ran the estate.

The staff were treated horribly, and Jon had tried and tried to get his uncle to change, to show him a Laird can be tough in some ways but understanding and compassionate in others.

But the older man was a force to be reckoned with, and one that Jon had to appreciate the lass would want to take on.

Jon wasn’t sure the rules of propriety in England, though he was sure that marching in and demanding an audience was not allowed there either.

No matter who she thought he was, Jon was slightly impressed that she had the gall in the first place. However, it was time to tell the truth.

“Actually lass,” Jon smirked, pointing to his uncle. “He’s the Laird of Montgomery, so ye can give yer tongue lashin’ to him.”

Amelia paused. What had he just said? Because if Jon was truly not the Laird, and the older man was, not only had she broken almost every rule of propriety and courtesy, but she was also surely out of a job.

Her eyes landed on the actual Laird of Montgomery.

He was older, perhaps a little younger than her faither had been when he passed.

But she could tell that he and Jon were related.

They had the same curly brown hair, though the older man’s eyes were brown, and his hair and beard were streaked with grey.

He stood up, walking over to her with slow, menacing steps.

Her breath hitched in fear, and she squared her shoulders.

Laird or not, she had meant what she had said.

Though if she had known that Jon was not the Laird, she would have been more polite in addressing her employer.

The real Laird was just a hair bit taller than her, with an athletic frame for his age.

“Aye, I dinnae believe we have met,” he smirked cunningly. “Vincent Nelson, the Laird of Montgomery.”

“Amelia Cooper,” she curtsied, slightly embarrassed. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ye have met my nephew and Man-at-Arms,” he waved to where Jon stood. Amelia sent the younger man a pointed look, to which he just matched with a knowing grin. “But I am vera sorry to hear that ye are nae happy here.”

“Well, my Laird,” Amelia said, her spine stiffening in resolve.

She met the older man’s eyes. Ashamed and embarrassed, sure.

But Amelia was not scared. “The servants have worked tirelessly. And one of my ladies simply collapsed from exhaustion, and I immediately sought you out. There is no reason they should be toiling through the night because you will increase the work the next day.”

“Aye, but without their work, nothin’ would get done,” he reasoned arrogantly.

“Then you ought to hire more hands. With only ten people, including myself, there is no way the castle of this size could be maintained efficiently,” Amelia responded.

The Laird of Montgomery paused, contemplating her stance. Amelia knew when she was being weighed under someone’s gaze, a silent test of courage and resolve. And she always succeeded, and today was no exception. She didn’t back down from the stare, and soon the Laird softened, just a bit.

“Aye,” the Laird said finally. “Ye can hire as many servants as ye need.”

She noticed Jon’s shocked expression from over the Laird’s shoulder.

Whatever the younger man had been anticipating that his uncle would say, this was apparently not it.

Amelia tried not to seem too haughty at the fact that she had succeeded where others had failed.

But there was no denying the boost to her confidence.

“Thank you, my Laird,” she curtsied.

Amelia walked out of the study with her head held high. She felt victorious, like she had just won a large battle. This is what Cromwell must have felt like , she thought. Jon followed her out, walking hurriedly behind her with loud steps. He grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him.

Amelia took a sharp breath, looking into his deep blue eyes that froze her on the spot.

She tensed, feeling his strong hand where it held her.

The skin-on-skin contact sent chills down her spine.

The air around them became charged, and Amelia felt her heart begin to race.

She wasn’t sure what Jon wanted from her, nor what exactly she wanted from Jon except that she wanted him closer .

“Dae ye think ye can just burst in and start demandin’ things?” he demanded. “I refuse to be disrespected in such a manner, and ye are lucky my uncle showed some grace for ye.”

“I wouldn’t have been so disrespectful then. But I didn’t say a word that was untrue,” Amelia said crossing her arms over her chest. “And I would argue that is was just as rude for you to not tell me you weren’t the Laird.”

“Well, if ye had shut yer mouth for more than a second, I may have had a chance,” he fired back. “Not to mention, ye are nothin’ more than a maid.”

A thought struck her, as she remembered the face of the younger man throughout the conversation.

He was staring at her, soft and not harsh.

Whatever cruel things he purported weren’t his true thoughts and intentions.

And she highly doubted the comment he made about women reading was really what he thought.

She smirked, knowing that she was going to reveal him to himself.

“And yet I have been more successful in changing your uncle than you have been yourself,” Amelia fought back. “You may have the rest of the staff fooled, and I admit you played a clever game. But I saw it your face. You’re not your uncle, and your cowardice prevents you from being true.”

His face darkened, and Amelia had to take a deep breath to calm her nerves.

She knew that she had hit a sore spot, that was obvious.

But she knew more that she was right, and Jon was just as keen on not hearing the truth as the Laird was himself.

There was nothing more than a man scared to stand up for anything.

“Keep talkin’ like that and I will show ye how cruel I can be,” he growled.

“Well, I have never— ”

With a powerful surge, he pressed her against the well.

His body was flush against her. Whatever rules of propriety Amelia thought that the Man-at-Arms had, there was no hint of such now.

She felt the hard planes of his muscles, and her breath hitched.

Amelia had no experience in relationships or with desire—nothing prepared her how to feel with Jon in that moment.

His lips were inches away from hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

Jon inched closer, but instead of pressing his lips to hers, he went to her neck.

Amelia could feel herself getting hot, her thighs clenching involuntarily.

His beard was coarse against the soft skin at her neck, and it wasn’t unpleasant.

Amelia knew she should push him away, but it was as if she was drunk and couldnae think clearly.

“If ye ever speak to me like that again,” he ground out hoarsely. “I will punish ye myself.”