Page 13 of Highlander's Secret Heiress
Alyth waited for him to say something, but he seemed to be content to stand and let the atmosphere around them thicken with tension. He was standing only a few feet away from her, and she could smell the peculiar, masculine scent of his body, a mix of leather, earth, and an underlying musk that was all his own.
Despite her dislike of him, the smell aroused sensations in Alyth that she had never felt before. She was not ignorant; she had heard what happened inside a bedroom before, but had never felt the tingles and pulses she was experiencing now.
Abruptly, he shifted his stance, crossing his arms and planting his feet wider on the floor so that he looked even bigger and more intimidating than he had before.
“What did you say to my daughter?” he asked suddenly, his brows descending in a deep frown.
At this distance, Alyth could hear the deep rumble in his chest as he spoke, and she had to keep reminding herself that this intensely masculine man was her enemy, no matter how handsome he was.
“I was reading her a story,” Alyth answered, puzzled. “You were listening outside. Surely, you heard, M’Laird?”
“Did she speak to you?” he continued, unbothered.
Alyth was surprised to hear the eagerness in his tone. Her answer was obviously very important to him, and for a moment, she thought of saying no, but she could not be so cruel, despite her loathing of him. Later she would think herself weak, but at that moment she answered truthfully.
“She said a few words,” Alyth replied. “She pointed to one of the pictures of a rabbit and said, ‘bunny.’ Then she laughed.” She thought for a moment. “She told me the name of her doll. She calls it Bettie. Those were the only words she said.”
Lachlan was stunned as he reflected that he had not heard Davina speak as many words as that since her mother died three years before. His mind was about to drift back to the day of hiswife’s death, but he forced the memory down, unaware that it was showing in the sorrowful expression on his face.
Alyth saw once again the other, vulnerable side of Lachlan Carrick, the one he took great pains to hide from everyone else. In that fleeting moment, all the pain of the last few years became visible, but he quickly hid it as he frowned.
“Davina has not talked to anyone since her mother died, yet she talks to you.” He paused for a moment, and Alyth was silent too, wondering what was going through his mind. “Why? Why are you the only one who can make her speak? What do you do with her?”
“I treat her as I would treat any other little girl,” Alyth replied. “But perhaps she can sense that I relate to her, we have a lot in common. I lost my mother too, and Davina seems to be a sensitive child. She may not be able to express things in words, but she feels and sees, and she can tell you what she needs you to know with her face and her hands. She is very intuitive, M’Laird.”
Alyth paused, then cast her gaze down to the ground before looking into his eyes again, unsure of how her next words would be received. “The other maids tell me I look a lot like your late wife,” she told him. “Perhaps she can see that, and feels more comfortable with me because of it.”
Whatever Alyth had expected, it was not the darkening of his eyes or the thunderous frown he gave her. “Are you comparing yourself to my wife, the woman I loved with all my heart?” He looked as though he might explode with rage.
“No, I merely said I might look like her,” Alyth answered.
Lachlan Carrick leaned forward and put a hand on each of her shoulders, and there was an audible thud as Alyth’s back hit the wall again. Then he put a hand on either side of her so that Alyth was effectively caged in by his big body.
His face was only a few inches away from hers now, and Alyth was terrified; if he knew who she was, he was quite capable of killing her where she stood with his bare hands. Currently, Alyth had no doubt that he would do so without a second thought.
“Listen to me,” he growled. “My wife was one of the best women who ever lived. She was a wonderful mother and wife, and you cannot hold a candle to her. If I hear you comparing yourself to her again I will cut your tongue out then throw you out of the castle to let the wild boars have their way with you. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Alyth replied steadily, refusing to let her voice tremble as she looked into his blue-green eyes. “I understand perfectly, but I cannot compare myself to Davina’s mother, M’Laird, because I never knew her. If we resemble each other, it is by mere chance. If you think I might harm Davina, let me put your mind at rest. Nothing of the sort has ever crossed my mind. I love children, and I hope to have some of my own one day.”
Something in her tone caught Lachlan’s attention. “So you would never harm children.” He paused. “But would you harm anyone else? Me, for example?”
Alyth almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the notion. Yes, she was a fit woman, and well-trained in the skills of fighting, both with and without a weapon, but so was Lachlan Carrick, and he was so much bigger and more muscular than she was.
Alyth bravely held on to his gaze with a great act of willpower. “I am a woman, M’Laird,” she pointed out. “I am much smaller than you are, and I have no skill with weapons. I could insult you, but you give me a means to earn a living, so that would not be a good idea. How could I possibly hurt you?”
Lachlan backed off a little, taking his hands away from the wall. She was right, of course. The only way she could possibly hurt him was through Davina, and somehow, deep insidehimself, he knew that she would never do that. And yet, there was a look in her eyes that suggested something else…
“If you were in love with me, I could break your heart,” Alyth said. “But Lairds do not fall in love with maids.”
Lachlan felt anger boil up inside him again; this woman was insufferable. “Do maids fall in love with Lairds, then?” he asked.
Alyth shook her head firmly. “I have no idea about anyone else,” she told him, “but this one,” she thumbed her chest, “definitely will not.”
Lachlan looked into the deep grey eyes staring back at him. He knew he ought to throw her out because of her impudence, but he had to consider Davina. How would she react to having someone else she was fond of ripped away from her? The fact that this woman could make his daughter speak was something he would have found impossible to believe even a few days ago. For that reason, only, Jeannie Dunbar had to stay, but he would keep a close eye on her.
And there was something else. As he stood looking down at her, he felt himself wanting to reach out to her and touch her. He felt a spasm of guilt, but dismissed it. It was only his weak man’s body reacting to a beautiful woman. He stared at her for what seemed like an age, but no matter how fiercely he glared at her, she would not look away from him, but held his gaze with a steady one of her own.
At last, with an exasperated sigh, he turned away. Alyth’s gaze followed him, and when he was out of sight she sank onto the floor, exhausted by the mental battle she had just fought with him.
