Page 57 of Sinful Scottish Laird
“No, Daisy,” he said. He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. “You donna want to do this. No’ like this,” he said. “The moment will satisfy you, aye, but on the morrow, you will no’ like what you’ve done.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then I know I will no’ like whatI’vedone.”
The pressure in her suddenly evaporated, and in its place, overwhelming sorrow rose. She innately understood the sorrow, because she’d felt it once before in her life. She knew that the sorrow she felt was the sort that came from the loss of something or someone she loved.
Daisy folded her arms defensively across her middle. Cailean’s expression was cool now, his emotions hidden behind the mask of the mighty Highlander who had ridden down from the hills that warm summer day.
“You’ll return to London soon. You’ll marry as you must, and, God willing, you’ll have more children, aye? I willna allow you risk it all, here on this path.”
“It is not for you to allow or disallow,” she said coolly, her sorrowful fury so utterly consuming she was afraid she might put a fist in his mouth. “It is formeto allow or disallow. I’ve had a father and a husband and an uncle and a bishop to command me and advise me. I don’t need my friends to do it, too, Cailean.”
“Daisy... I am no’ your friend, aye? I am a threat to you, just as your captain has warned you. Go to him now. Marry him. Be happy.”
She couldn’t look at him another moment. She hated him in that moment, almost as much as she loved him. She pushed away from the tree and started walking, uncaring if he followed her or not. She could scarcely see the path before her, so volatile were the thoughts and images mixing dangerously in her head.
She wished she’d never met Cailean Mackenzie. Her heart had gone out to him, and now she wanted it back.
She couldn’t face Robert just yet, not with her thoughts swirling and building in a bank of clouds as towering as those building overhead. A gust of wind caught her; she gathered her wrap around her and walked around the lodge for her garden. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped since yesterday.
The summer was truly at an end.
“There you are!”
She turned her head, saw Robert striding to her across the terrace. “I’ve been very worried,” he said and shrugged out of his coat, draping it over her shoulders.
“I’m quite all right,” she protested.
“What business did he have?” he asked, peering at her with concern. “You shouldn’t have resisted me, Daisy. You should have allowed me to speak with him. You don’t understand the sort of man—”
“He is my friend,” she said. Or at least, she had believed him to be. She shoved the gate of her garden open with such force that it banged against the hedge.
“He is no friend of yours,” Robert said. “Undoubtedly, he would like you to think that is true, but he is no friend. I will be right glad when we’ve gone from this den of thieves and traitors.”
Daisy halted in her walk and whirled around to him, looking into those brown eyes, so familiar to her after all these years, and yet unrecognizable in some peculiar way. “You do realize that Auchenard is Ellis’s legacy, do you not? He likes it here. And he clearly admires Arrandale.”
Robert made a sound of disgust. “Do you really wish for your son to admire a smuggler?”
Daisy winced and looked at her feet.
“Lord Chatwick is better suited to Chatwick Hall. He’ll be quite happy there, as well.”
“Chatwick Hall?” she repeated, distracted by the sprout of weeds she saw beneath the wild orchids.
“Yes, Chatwick Hall,” he said, looking at her strangely. “I assume you will reside there when you return to England.”
She hadn’t lived at Chatwick Hall since Clive’s death. “Why do you assume so?”
Curiously, Robert blushed slightly. “Well, I...that is where you resided when you and I were forced to part. It’s quite large, room enough for a family and what have you.”
What have you?Did that mean a husband, too? Daisy turned her gaze back to the weeds.
“You do want a large family, don’t you?”
“I have Ellis,” she said simply. “And I’ve lived in London since Clive’s death.”
“But surely you want more children. Another son, perhaps?”
