Page 21 of Kilty as Sin
Grace MacDonald might look like a lady, but she hadn’t once complained about this journey—other than wishing to wash—or about the accommodations. She was as tough as Coira Oliphant, his cousin Doughall’s wife, who was the leader of their clan.
What kind of leader would Grace be? Strong, aye, but proper. Refined. Polite. Her future husband would not just be getting a beautiful and witty wife, but one who would stand beside him and lead their clan into a bright future.
And it willnae be ye.
Aye, aye, he didn’t need his stupid brain reminding him ofthat. He only thought of it every ten minutes as ‘twas! Scowling, Barclay tossed another log onto the fire.
“Ye dinnae eat rabbit?”
“Nay, I dinnae like thinking of ye—”
He cut himself off before he said something stupid.Stupider.
Instead, he sliced off another piece of the roasting meat for her, then served himself. They ate in uncomfortable silence for a while, and he did his best not to watch the way her lips moved around her fingers.
How would they feel around yer cock?
Barclay groaned and tossed the leg bone he'd been gnawing on into the fire, causing sparks to fly up.
St. Pancras protect him! Even his own inner monologue was sabotaging him!
Beside him, she shifted, pulling her knees to her chest and propping her chin atop them. “Ye ken, my father will likely reward ye when ye return me?”
Frowning, Barclay shot a glance at her. Her gaze was fixed on the fire, her eyes sad. “Why would I want that?”
She shrugged without looking at him. “I just thought mayhap 'twould improve yer mood. Ye'll be doing the King's business, like all those other missions ye told me about, and my father will be pleased as well.”
Bah.Barclay hid his response to such nonsense by leaning forward to pull the last of the meat from the spit. “I dinnae want his reward, lass,” he admitted gruffly. “And this mission—ye—are naught like the robbers and murderers I've been set to track down afore.”
“Aye, yer stories were...” She shivered. “Have ye ever considered giving it up? I ken 'tis a fine honor, to be chosen as one of the King's Hunters, but surely there's something safer ye could be doing?”
He snorted softly. “There's dangers all around us, Grace, no matter our role. My mother died, huddled and starving, in the snow one winter.”
Gasping, she swung on him. “Barclay! ‘Tis...” She shook her head and rested her hand atop his forearm. “I'm sorry. 'Tis horrible. Were ye with her?”
Fook. He hadn't meant to tell her of his past. To buy time, he bit into the meat and chewed. “Nay,” he finally admitted. “I was eight, and warm enough beside the hearth of the tavern where she'd left me when she'd gone to beg our laird for more than a crust of bread. Instead, he beat her yet again.”
His stomach soured at the memory of finding her frozen body after the snow had ceased. Of the fresh bruises and the broken arm, courtesy of the man who had sworn to protect them all.
Who should've had reason to want to protect Barclay and his mother.
The meat stuck in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow.
“I'm sorry,” whispered Grace, her hand still on his arm. “She sounds like a good mother. The kind of parent who would give up everything to protect her child.”
“She was,” he rasped.
She was.
“Ye are right, though.” With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around her knees once more. “There is danger everywhere. I ken most women in my position have to worry about the dangers of the childbed, or disease, but the man my father has picked to be my husband...”
She shook her head again, sounding so—sobrokenthat Barclay forgot his own uncomfortable musings and turned to her.
“He cannae be so bad, lass. Yer father would want what's best for ye.”
“My father wants what's best forhim. And for the clan, I suppose I can admit. The laird he's chosen is a close friend of his, whose holdings are no' so far away from ours. I ken 'twould be good for the MacDonalds if we were joined by marriage.”
His palms itched to reach for her, to comfort her. “Then why are ye so against it, Grace?” he whispered.
