Page 42 of Taken By the Highland Villain
It is comfortable.Perhaps the most comfortable garment I’ve ever owned.
Jude leaned back in the chair behind his desk, studying the tartan across his lap. He’d returned from his ride and retired to change into fresh garments, only to find a new kilt lying on his bed—the same kilt Valerie had been working on when Moira had locked them in the gallery together.
He’d tried it on, not expecting much difference between the new kilt and the ones he usually wore, only to be astounded by the difference. There was nothing he could articulate, no single reason he could pinpoint forwhyit was so comfortable, but it was true nonetheless.
He took a moment longer to revel in the way the kilt felt, then leaned forward to pour himself a measure of whiskey—for once, as a measure of his contentment rather than as a way to ease his pain.
He was just taking the first sip when Moira bustled into the room, a bright smile on her face. “Och, My Laird, congratulations! I’m so pleased ye and the lass worked things out that day in the gallery! I’d hoped lockin’ ye in might push ye to reconcile, but I didnae imagine it would work so well!”
Jude frowned. “What are ye talkin’ about?”
“Ye and Miss Blackwood, My Laird. The whole clan is practically buzzin’ with the rumors.”
Jude’s gut tightened with unease. “I dinnae ken what ye’re talkin’ about. I havenae seen the lass since she left the gallery yesterday.”
“Even so, My Laird, the whole clan is talkin’ about how Miss Blackwood announced yer betrothal to Lady MacAllister and Laird MacOlley earlier today.”
Whiskey sprayed across the desk as Jude spat out the mouthful he’d taken. He coughed twice to clear his throat before turning a shocked gaze to his maid. “She did what?”
“Announced yer engagement when Laird MacOlley offered to escort her back home at the end of his visit.”
“That’s what I thought ye said.” Jude took another swig of his whiskey, shock giving way to a tangle of emotions he could scarcely name. Anger, but mixed with it was pleasure, irritation, amusement, and perhaps a bit of anticipation.
“Thank ye, Moira.” He gave her a thin smile, a wolf’s smile that made her blink. “It seems I need to have a word with my… betrothed.”
I dinnae ken if Valerie’s returned or nae, but as soon as I find her… Och, aye. We will definitely be havin’ words—nae the least about her failure to talk to me afore tellin’ everyone else that we’re betrothed!
Valerie wasn’t sure what she anticipated when she rode into MacFinn Castle. She was certain that word had spread about the ‘betrothal’—rumors could spread faster than a fire in the right conditions—but she wasn’t certain if Jude had heard yet.
She had scarcely considered the question when two strong arms wrapped around her and dragged her into a nearby chamber. She yelped, and was released to spin around and face her attacker.
“What are ye…?”
The words died in her throat when Jude crossed his arms and gave her a dangerous smile, one that made her gulp and would have had her stepping back, had her pride permitted it.
“That’s what I wondered, lass. I believe ye have somethin’ to tell me regarding what happened at MacAllister Castle today?”
“Och… I…” Valerie’s face felt like it might burst into flames at any moment. “I might have…”
“Laid claim to me? Were ye so desperate for my touch then, lass? I had nay idea.” Jude raised a mocking eyebrow, and her anger flared, burning away her mortification.
“When did I ever say that?” She stalked closer to him, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind that suggested it might be wiser to keep her distance. “I’ll have ye ken there was nothing of the sort on my mind! It was just a… a slip of the tongue, nothin’ more!”
“Was it, now? So ye didnae tell Laird MacOlley—nae once, but twice—that we were betrothed?” Jude loomed closer.
Valerie glared up at him, unsure whether she wanted to slap the dangerous smirk off his face or do something else entirely.
“I might have, but it had nothing to do with ye,” she shot back. “I simply couldnae think of anything else to say, once I’d said it the first time. And it was the most convenient excuse.”
Heat flared in Jude’s eyes, and he leaned closer, close enough for the heat of him to envelop her. “Is that all I am to ye? A convenient excuse?”
“What else would ye be? It isnae like it matters to ye,” Valerie snapped. “I’m just a seamstress, after all, and I’ll be gone soon enough.”
Jude caught her arms. “Did I nae tell ye nae to mention that again?”
“Ye’ve nae mentioned that specifically—only that I shouldnae mention my intended. But either way, what does it matter if ye did say I shouldnae talk about leaving? Ye were the one who said I would only stay for seven days.”
Jude growled. “Doesnae mean I want to be reminded.”