Page 13 of A Hot Scot for Christmas
“A romantic notion,” he said, bored.
“But I am hopeful.” Undaunted, she tapped his elbow. “Raise your arm, please.” She wound the cloth under his arm and smoothed it over his ribs. “For now, I shall enjoy my independence.”
“A pretty woman with bulging coffers who doesn’t want to get married…” He hummed again, and she felt the vibration in her hands. “No wonder the men came running. You’re ripe for the plucking.”
She burst out laughing. “Why Mr. MacLeod, you do me a great credit, but there’s the rub.”
Her body flushed as she smoothed linen over his chest. Though she tried to be brisk, facts were facts. Her fingertip brushed his nipple, twice. The tip pricked, a tight point, and she wanted to touch it again.
She forced herself to ignore the silky nub.
“I am not a wealthy woman…merely…comfortable. Therefore, I need the income River Eden Brewery affords me.”
“But why me?”
“Your size, for one. And that I can say we met in London for another.” A small, flustered laugh and, “But your size mostly.”
He scratched his cheek. “You’ve got this neatly worked out.”
“I do. Once my business is established, I can buy more land and build a proper brewery.” She heard excitement in her voice. “And with you around, I suspect men will keep their counsel.”
“Because I look like I know how to brew ale.” His dry mockery was delivered with an arched brow.
“Because you’re a man.” She was exasperated. Didn’t he understand? “Men here on the borderlands seem to think I’m incapable. That I need their advice in matters of business.”
“Tell them to sod off.”
She frowned at him and began to tie off the bandage. “I can hardly do that when I need their business, especially the captain at the garrison.”
“An unpleasant man, I take it.”
“Let’s just say he’s aware of his position.” She finished the knot. “He acts as though I ought to fall at his feet, grateful for his attentions.”
“But you don’t appreciate them.”
Shaking her head, she surveyed her work. “Unfortunately, I need to remain in his good grace, and he knows it. The captain requisitions supplies for the garrison in Carlisle.”
Mr. MacLeod adjusted his shirt and reached for his cravat. “Has he purchased your ale?”
“Yes. I’m delivering seven barrels today. A substantial order.” She planted hands on hips. “He’s promised to put in a good word with other garrisons.”
“Has he lived up to his word?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Hope sparked a lighter note in her voice. “But, once he sees you, he’ll give up his suit. I’m sure of it.”
Mr. MacLeod was circumspect, standing up and tying his cravat when he faced her. She gripped the back of his empty chair and gave one final appeal.
“I could use a strong back like yours. You’ve seen my butler, Digby, and his brother, the stable master. Between them, they have a hard time lifting barrels of ale. I’ve switched to smaller barrels just so I can maneuver them myself. But, it’s difficult.”
Need took little bites of her. The Highlander could do so much to ease her burdens. This was the closest she’d come to admitting it.
Mr. MacLeod slid one arm into his velvet coat. “I’d like to help. I really would…”
His words drifted off. His message was final. He was leaving.
She gave the chair a frustrated shake. How was it she drew men from miles around, men she didn’t want? Yet, this Highlander—the one she hoped would stay awhile—was nearly out the door?
Mr. MacLeod surprised her, touching a fingertip to a lock of hair on her temple.
