Page 18 of Kilted Seduction
Aedan blinked as he realized that he was considering setting work aside to entertain a lass who, not a day before, he had considered a misguided wench. A woman who’d kidnapped him and forced him into a difficult position, and now he was considering teaching her card games.
‘Tis tae support the ruse o’ bein lovers. Naething more. ‘Twould be expected that I’d entertain me lady in the evenin’, especially if preparations fer a journey mean we’ll have little time taegether in the day. That’s all there is tae the matter.
Aedan swallowed another drought of mead, turned to speak to Christopher, and willed himself to believe his own thoughts with every fiber of his being.
CHAPTER TEN
The days that followed her introduction to Clan Cameron as Laird Cameron’s supposed lover were a bewildering whirlwind for Thora. There was so much to keep track of, so many things to keep in mind, that she sometimes felt in danger of losing her wits entirely.
Ruses within ruses, falsehoods within falsehoods… never before had she found herself in such a complicated and difficult situation. She wished there was some way to simplify matters, but there was none, at least not that she could see.
Rhiannon’s constant need for her presence, as they worked to build her a wardrobe worthy of the new Lady Cameron, was something of a godsend. The seamstress was possessed of boundless energy and was rarely ever still or quiet. However, being in her presence allowed Thora to focus on nothing but fabrics and stitching and dresses.
Though her days in the seamstress’s workroom often left her weary and breathless, the simplicity of her time therewas a much-needed breath of fresh air. Outside Rhiannon’s workspace, she had to remember to be Thora MacTavish, a simple village lass who’d incidentally caught the attention, and the affection, of Laird Cameron. She didn’t dare let herself forget her supposed position, not for a moment, save when she was alone in her rooms, or working with the seamstress.
Thora MacTavish had never had the opportunity to learn chess or play cards. Thora MacTavish was self-conscious and a little embarrassed when servants bowed or curtseyed to her, or when occupants of the castle addressed her as ‘Miss MacTavish’ or ‘m’lady’.
Thora MacTavish was awed by the luxury of the castle - the meals, the soft linens, the idea of a bathing chamber where one could have all the hot water one wanted - or the even greater luxury of having anything she wanted brought to her rooms!
It was an effort, not only to remember the appropriate reactions, but also to remember to make the little ‘mistakes’ that a village lass would likely make, such as attempting to empty her own chamber pot, or make her own bed.
More than once, she found herself wishing that Clan Cameron and Clan MacLeod were not at odds with each other. The whole task would have been far less difficult if it could have been accomplished in her own person, as Thora MacLeod.
In the dark of the night, and only then, she dared to admit that an easier task was not the only reason she wished the clans were not at odds. The other reason, and the one which occupied evermore of her attention and her thoughts as time went on, was Aedan Cameron.
He was exasperating. Stubborn, hard-headed, and unwilling to believe in anything he couldn’t see, smell, touch or otherwise identify with his own senses. He was never unkind, but he made no secret of the fact that he considered her Gift to be a product of tales and superstitions, along with a certain gullibility. His teasing was gentle, no worse than what she’d often received from Kai as a child, but there was an air of patient, bemused disbelief about his words that stung more than it should have.
It didn’t help that, as she grew to know him, she found more about his personality to admire than to dislike.
Aedan was stern, but he was fair with his folk. When he trained with his guards, he pushed them hard, but never harshly. He corrected mistakes in ways that made his men better, without making them feel embarrassed at their own deficiencies.
He gave little praise to his servants, even Mac Sinclair, but he was not dismissive of them, the way some lairds were. When he addressed them, it was clear that while he expected his orders to be obeyed, he regarded his folk as more than tools to be used and otherwise ignored.
He gave himself no special treatment, beyond what convention demanded. He worked as hard as any man or woman in his service, and harder than a good many of them.
He might not believe in Thora’s visions, but once he’d given his word, he worked with her as seamlessly as if they’d agreed on their plan from the beginning. When she’d sworn the oath with him, she’d known that his honor would guide him to help her, even without the curse woven into the agreement.
There were also the things she discovered over the course of evenings spent in his company, getting to know him. Aedan Cameron had a dry sense of humor and a keen intelligence, which he was more than willing to use to fence words with her. He teased her, but it was never the sort of malicious teasing that stung or embarrassed - more a game that dared her to match wits with him.
He enjoyed the strategy involved in a game of chess, the clash of wits and wills and banter that were part of a game of cards, and he was skilled in both. He wrote neatly and swiftly, and everything about his office and his work was carefully organized and very efficient.
He was strong, but his strength was carefully controlled, never using more than necessary. He was kind, even if he was shy about demonstrating that kindness.
In short he was courteous, strong, intelligent, fair and honorable. He was a good laird, every bit as generous and responsible as her own kinfolk. Everything that gave Thora pride in her brothers drew her to Aedan like a moth toward flame.
And like a moth, she would be burned if she permitted herself to go too near.
Even so, a certain level of familiarity and closeness would be expected between them, if they were to pose as husband and wife. She would have to risk the dangers to her heart and possibly her safety, if she wished to have any hope of succeeding in thwarting the future her visions had warned her against.
I dinnae mind the risk… I only hope that when I reach the end o’ this ruse, ‘twill be with my wits and me heart intact.
Thora MacTavish. Aedan saw very little of her in the whirlwind of activity that accompanied his decision to travel for Yule - mostly at meals, and in the evenings, when he invited her to share a game and some conversation before they all retired. He understood, from the reports of his servants, that she spent much of her time holed up with Rhiannon, working on her wardrobe.
That suited him quite well. It kept both his unusual guest and his seamstress busy, which meant he had time and energy to devote to other matters. Even so, he found his thoughts turning to Thora MacTavish far more often than they ought to, even in light of the ruse that they were lovers.
Her beauty was enough to entrance any man - she could hardly have looked more like one of the Fair Folk come to bewitch the minds of mortals if she’d tried - but as the days passed, he found more about her to admire than her appearance.
She was tidy, despite how she’d looked when she arrived at his door. Her clothing was always neat, her face and hands clean, and her long black hair brushed and braided into tail down her back.
