Page 37 of Sweet Home Highlander
Idiot.
Thankfully, her husband had made himself scarce over the last two days following the feast. Aisla could not have borne seeing him, though she did wonder at his whereabouts. A tight-lipped, lace-capped Fenella had informed her that he was in the mines. It wasn’t the first time since her arrival that she’d heard the mention of them.
“Where are these mines?” she asked.
The woman sneered at her. “Here, o’course.”
Aisla had realized then that the mines belonged toNiall. “What do they yield?”
Fenella had stared at her sourly, muttering something about a month under her breath. “Cairngorm.”
“Scottish topaz?” Aisla perked up with interest, remembering Makenna’s stunning brooch.
“The very same.”
“How successful are the mines?”
Fenella glared. “Ye’ll have to ask the laird.”
Aisla finished her breakfast and informed a hovering footman that she wanted her horse saddled. She would ride up to Maclaren and search out Julien, as she’d done for the past few days. She’d used Julien shamelessly as an excuse to avoid any interaction with Niall, spending hours on end with him, and though they were usually accompanied by Makenna, Aisla knew her behavior bordered on being cowardly. It sickened her, but she refused to lose the wager because she couldn’t control herself, or her inconvenient attraction to the dratted man.
Such a thing had gotten her pregnant and wedlocked.
Aisla had thought she’d well and truly weaned herself, considering that in Paris she’d felt nothing for anyone. Not even Julien. She’d taken pleasure in small things—conversations, people, food, but never in matters of the heart or of the body. The part of her that had understood the pleasures of lovemaking had simply disappeared. Until now.
Now, it was all she could think about.
Desire. Lovemaking.Pleasure.
In the bath the night before, her fingers had drifted from her breasts to her aching thighs as she’d imagined Niall touching her. He had been the one to teach her about the secrets of her body, after all. Though he was different now. Even through layers of clothing, she’d felt the changes in his unyielding shoulders, his brawny arms, and his…his… She went up in flames at the thought ofthatunforgettable part of him. Even through the yards of fabric, his heat had branded her.
“Stop, Aisla,” she growled harshly to her image after her maid had helped her into a forest-green riding habit and secured her hair.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Pauline said. “Is anything amiss?”
Aisla pinched her cheeks, hoping for some color to hide the fact that she looked like a corpse. Her face was gaunt, and dark shadows smudged below her eyes. “No, not you, dear. I look a fright, don’t I?”
“Have you not been sleeping well, my lady?” the maid said with a critical look. “Your eyes are a bit swollen. Perhaps I can fix a poultice to help with the swelling?”
“Thank you, that would be lovely, Pauline.”
Her puffy eyes also had a slightly feverish look about them. Aisla scowled. She recognized that wild look intimately. It was the same one she’d worn early in her marriage when Niall had been too drunk to do anything but collapse on top of her after lovemaking. Only this time, she’d brought it upon herself.
A brisk ride, she decided. That would take the edge off.
Then she would seek Julien out and perhaps pay a visit to these mines of her husband’s. Somehow, she would have to find a way to regain control. She took her horse the long way around the loch to Maclaren through the wild Scottish countryside, letting the fresh air soothe her agitated senses and the horse’s gait rock her tense body into grateful fatigue. By the time she arrived at the castle, her legs were weak and her chest heaving from the exertion. She threw the reins to a waiting groom and took herself up to the hall.
“Where is Lady Dunrannoch?” she asked a footman.
“She’s in the village, my lady.”
“And Lord Leclerc?”
The footman bowed. “I believe his lordship is in the conservatory. I can escort ye there, if it pleases yer ladyship.”
Aisla declined his assistance and made her way through the halls of Maclaren toward the spectacular indoor greenhouse that was Lady Dunrannoch’s pride and joy. The differences in decor were marked between Maclaren and Tarben Castle, but that was mostly due to the duchess’s lovely touches. When she’d lived here, she’d loved the keep. The warmth of it had reminded her of her own home at Montgomery. It hadn’t been enough, however. Not to combat the loneliness. Still, she had fond memories of the place.
Pushing open the door to the conservatory, she thought she heard raised voices, and Aisla frowned. But before she could follow the sound, Makenna came hurrying around the side of a row of potted orchids, her face screwed up in anger, the threat of furious tears glistening in her eyes.
