Page 48 of Kilty as Sin
Sighing, Barclay and Grace both turned to glare at MacGill, who was struggling upright.
“How can ye speak oflovein a moment like this?” he demanded, even as his awkward flops pushed him to his knees on the floor.
Barclay’s arm tightened around her. “How can I speak of aught else? I love Grace, and never dreamed—”
“Love is for fools!” MacGill gasped. “Furthermore—urrrrrgggghhhh.”
It was an impressive death scene, ending on a little rattle. Grace and Barclay watched for a moment longer, just in case the corpse had anything else to add.
Then they turned back to one another. Grace took a breath and opened her mouth.
“Furthermore!” screeched MacGill from behind her, and they both let out huge sighs.
To her surprise, her father stomped up to the dying laird and grasped the sword hilt. “Oh, for fook’s sake, ye bastard, just die already!” he announced, shoving the blade deeper.
MacGill’s eyes widened and his mouth opened—likely to complain—but his breath hissed out of him and he froze. His eyes were wide with fear when he finally died.
Father nudged him, and the corpse—for real this time—toppled sideways.
Barclay nodded. “Where were we?”
Her father gestured imperiously. “TheI love yepart, I believe.”
“Och, aye.” Barclay turned back to Grace and pulled her closer. “Lady Grace MacDonald, I am but a puir Hunter, so I’ll understand if ye’ll no’ accept my proposal. But ye’ll own my heart until I’m dead.”
She smiled up at him. “Barclay, I would love ye if ye were as puir as a church mouse and will gladly—joyfully—consent to be yer wife!”
“Are church mice puirer than regular mice? I didnae ken rodents had a particularly healthy monetary system—”
“Kiss me, ye brave, braw man.”
Grinning, Barclay lowered his lips to hers.
Chapter 10
When Their Majestieshad conceived the idea of the Hunters—an elite band of warriors and lawmen who would carry with them the King’s Justice and fooking big swords—they set aside a little antechamber behind their throne room.
‘Twas here that the Hunters met, received their assignments, and debriefed after missions.
Today was no exception.
“I never thought I’d see it,” drawled normally staid Payton, his fingers linked behind his head and his chair tipped back against the wall behind him. “Barclay’s gone and fallen in love.”
Craig, the hulking ex-blacksmith with the shoulders—and the brains—of a bull, gave Grace a little bow. “Ye’re pretty enough to tempt Barclay away from all the other lasses, milady.”
As Barclay rolled his eyes, Grace grinned impishly and presented Craig with a curtsey. “I like to think, Sir Hunter, ‘twas my gentle personality and quiet dignity which won me Barclay’s affections.”
Barclay leaned in. “First time I saw her, she smashed a bastard’s ballocks with her knee.”
Craig’s eyes went wide, and Payton began to chortle. “That would win me Barclay’s affections as well, I think.”
“The smashing tits help a bit,” Craig offered.
Thank goodness Grace took this as teasing and began to giggle.
Truthfully, he’d expected worse.
After years of earning a reputation as a charmer at court, he’d thought his friends would mock him mercilessly for finally losing his heart, but he’d been prepared to take it. To find Craig and Payton so level-headed about the whole situation was a relief.
