Page 18 of Sinful Scottish Laird
“Pardon?”
“Since I was a wee lad,” Cailean said, pausing when she sucked in a breath when he dabbed at the cut in her hand, “it has no’ been properly kept, aye? MacNally was no’ entirely responsible for its decline.”
She stared at him, clearly not understanding, eyes framed with lashes light in color but quite long. “Then who is?” she asked.
“TheSassenachwho claimed it, that’s who. Your husband, his father before them—they didna care for Auchenard, much less a bloody garden.”
“Really?” She looked disappointed, as if she believed if she kept digging and cutting, kept rooting out the weeds that choked the life from all other vegetation, she’d discover some secret garden underneath the growth.
He returned his attention to her palm. “Did no one tell you, then? Auchenard has no’ been inhabited in many years.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a weary sigh. “Someone may have told me. In fact, I am certain someone did. But I didn’t listen.”
What a curious thing to say—why wouldn’t she have listened to wiser heads? Ah, of course—because that pretty head of hers was filled with cake. He dabbed at her palm again and she sucked in her breath, wincing.
“You’ve a bit of a thorn or wood embedded in your flesh,” he said. “Shall I remove it?”
She looked uncertainly at him. “I, ah...yes, if you would be so kind?”
He wasn’t that kind, but he pulled a dirk from his belt. She gasped loudly and tried to pull her hand free.
“Be still, lass.”
“I’d rather—”
He didn’t wait for her to refuse. He made a tiny nick. It startled her and she cried out, then bit down on her lip as he carefully worked out the bit of wood. “Oh,” she said, once he had removed the bit of thorn.“Oh.”
He watched her closely a moment to assure himself she wouldn’t faint. Her bottom lip was red from where she’d bitten it, and he was suddenly and annoyingly filled with another unwelcome urge—he wanted to bite that plump lip. Suck it in between his teeth and thread his fingers through her gold hair.
“Thank you,” she said.
He removed his gaze from her lush mouth and moved his hand to her wrist, holding it lightly but firmly as he began to wrap her hand with the handkerchief. “You should have it looked after, aye? There is a healing woman in Balhaire.”
“Where?”
“What, then, did you put yourself on a boat and a coach knowing nothing?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “Oh, of course.Balhaire.Where is it?”
“Follow the loch to the sea,” he said. “Thatway,” he added, pointing. “Ask for Marsaili. And when she’s treated it, ask after passage to England. Enough ships come round—someone will take you.”
She seemed momentarily confused by that, but then something sparked in her eyes. “Why would I do that?” she asked.
“Because you donna belong here,” he said. “It’s only a matter of time before you admit it, aye?”
Her gaze narrowed. “So you’ve said, more than once. But Ilikeit here.”
Barmy and daft and stubborn to boot. He didn’t believe for a moment that a lady of her obvious stature enjoyed rough hands and living without all the comforts her title brought her in England. “This sort of life is no’ for refined ladies,” he said.
“How would you know that? Are you some sort of master of refined ladies? I really don’t care for your opinion, sir, forIthink it’s starkly beautiful here,” she said emphatically, surprising him somewhat. “It’s rugged and strong and...vast,” she said, nodding as if she’d found the right word. “With a bit of hard work, we might be very happy here.”
“With no society?”
Her face darkened. “Society?You cannot know what a relief it is to escape London society.”
He was ready to question her about that, but she continued. “I like everything about this place, with perhaps the exception of the mist.”
“The mist,” he repeated.
