Page 100 of The Scot Beds His Wife

Now it was Eammon’s turn to hold his breath beside her, as Gavin’s skin mottled a dangerous new shade.

“Ye have seconds to explain yerself, lass, or I’ll—”

“You’llwhat?” she challenged.

His jaw clamped back together with an audible crack. For a moment, she feared for his teeth.

“You forget, husband, that up until two days ago, we were enemies,” she said with just a touch of pointed melodrama. “You were trying to bully me off my family land, and I was the unwilling victim of circumstance—”

“That’s not what—”

“The day I went to Ravencroft, Mena offered a few workers that the distillery wouldn’t need until the spring who were glad of the work. Though now that my money is gone, I supposeyou’llhave to pay them.”

“I’d rather roll in a mountain of cattle shite than accept anything from the Ravencroft house—”

“Oh, do be smart instead of stubborn, Gavin.”

Eammon gripped her elbow, and she yanked it out of his hold, meeting her husband’s enraged glare.

“You’ve led these men—albeit under duress—as the Ravencroft Distillery foremen for years, haven’t you?” she continued when he seemed to have lost the ability to speak.“They’re used to working for you. I’ll bet they even like it. What if these Mackenzie decide that they prefer a rancher’s life to one of laboring in the Ravencroft fields or with machinery? There’s certainly money in it, we could even offer a profit share like they do back in America.”

Some of the rage on his features was replaced by calculation, and Eammon let go of her arm.

Encouraged, Samantha continued. “To turn a profit come the slaughter, it’s imperative that we track down a herd that’s been scattered for longer than ten years. That means we need men, doesn’t it? Dipping into your brother’s workforce is a fantastic thumb in the eye that will leave him shorthanded and scrambling. But he can’t blame you because his own wife offered them before you and I united. So, either way, we win.”

“Hah!” Eammon cackled. “You married a wee mercenary, Thorne! Leave it to an American to bring economic warfare to the Highlands.”

Her husband peered across at her as though he’d never seen her before, but that self-sure half-smile slowly dimpled his cheek, and his shoulders had somewhat relaxed.

He looked almost as pleased with her as she was with herself.

An unkempt Highlander with long, wild hair, wrapped in layers of wool, galloped up on a pony that was almost comically small for him.

He spoke to Gavin in Scots Gaelic and, though Samantha could barely differentiate the vowels from the consonants, she gathered the news wasn’t good.

Following the man’s gesture off to the west, she noticed one of the cattle on its side in the distance. A few men had gathered around it, and no matter what they tried, they couldn’t seem to get the beast on its feet.

“Another pregnancy?” she queried hopefully.

“I’m not sure,” he answered.

“Take me over there.” She reached for him to pull her aboard Demetrius. “I might be able to help.”

Both men eyed her suspiciously.

“You forget what happened in the forest already?” she pushed, urging him to hurry. “I may not know how to be a wife or a countess and such, but I know cattle.”

Gavin shook his head and regarded her with disbelief, though he did admit with a sly smile, “Ye ken more about being a wife than ye give yerself credit for, bonny.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Eammon groused, as her husband took her in a strong grip, lifting and settling her into the saddle in front of him.

She welcomed his warmth and the strength of his arms around her as they gripped Demetrius’s reins. They moved together in the saddle just as well as they did in bed, she noted with delight as they made their way toward the distressed animal.

Several Highlanders eyed her with different expressions of wariness and curiosity as Gavin dismounted, and reached up to lift her to the ground.

“It’s certainly not pregnancy this time.” She gestured to the bull’s anatomy as Gavin assisted her approach.

“Certainly not,” he agreed. “What say ye, lass?”