Page 58 of An Enchanted Spring
“He certainly does,” Emma agreed. “Welcome back, Reilly. Thanks for letting me crash at your house.”
“I’m happy it was of use to you. I hear you’re headed to Aidan’s home tomorrow?”
“Yes! I can’t wait to see it.”
“Sorry I derailed those plans today. But his house—you’ll enjoy it, to be sure. He secured himself a prime bit of land on the coast. It’s his ancestral holding.”
“A real estate deal gone well,” Aidan corrected.
“Whatever you want to call it,” Reilly said mildly, “his family’s owned that spot for hundreds of years.”
“Family history is fascinating,” Emma responded, her eyes shining. “I traced mine back to England in the 1600s, but that’s as far as I went with it.”
“There must besomeIrish in your blood,” Reilly mused.
She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “No reason.”
Aidan drained what was left in his glass. “Ry, no politics. Especially old news politics. Not today.”
“Fair enough,” Reilly agreed easily. “It’s not really politics, though. Merely a bit of discussion.”
“Here we go,” Aidan muttered.
Emma laughed. “While you two start squabbling again, I’m going to head to the ladies’ room.”
After pointing her in the general direction, Aidan watched her until she was out of sight.
Reilly let out a low whistle. “Try not to be quite so obvious in your affections, MacWilliam. I’ve heard it turns the lassies off.”
Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You would know best about turning lassies off, O’Malley.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I suggest you leave it alone.”
Reilly ignored him. “She’s seen your suave side, your business side. She thinks she’s seen the worst you have to offer. But she hasn’t seen your true side. The uncivilized side. Am I right?”
“Enough,” Aidan growled. There was no way in hell she would ever need to know about his uncivilized side. She’d think him daft at best, deranged at worst.
A medieval man, living in the twenty-first century? Oh, aye. She’d laugh herself all the way to the airport.
“It’s a hard tale to believe,” Reilly continued, ignoring him.
Aidan counted to ten, concentrating on his breathing. Sitting in the same room as Reilly O’Malley and not blowing up every time the man opened his mouth was one of his proudest accomplishments. It had taken him almost five years to master the urge to throttle him.
“I honestly thought,” Aidan managed to bite out, “that you and I had come to some sort of peace agreement. Pity. I hate being wrong.”
“Takes a man to admit it,” Reilly offered. “That will serve you well once you marry.”
“I don’t plan to marry,” Aidan grumbled. “Laird’s younger brother. No need.”
“Need. A strong term,” Reilly mused. “If you’ve found your mate, then why fight destiny?”
“Why, indeed?” Switching subjects, he asked, “Care to tell me about your latest escapade into the past?”
Reilly’s face shuttered. “Believe me when I say you’d best not ask.”
For the first time since Aidan had laid eyes on Reilly eight years earlier, he could feel the man’s weariness, as though his soul were tired of its destiny.
“Will you suffer greatly for it?”
