Page 23 of Sweet Home Highlander
“She put herself there quite willingly,” he replied, peering into his mug and swirling the dregs. “And for what it’s worth, I was completely unaware of your existence when I made my offer of marriage.”
That got Niall’s back straight. He sat forward. “I thought ye and Aisla had kenned each other for some time.”
“We have.”
“And yet, ye didnae ken she had a husband?”
“No onekenned,” Leclerc said, finishing his drink and setting the mug down. He peered at Niall, his expression shifting again, this time to something calculating. Though he kept his mouth sealed, patiently waiting for Niall to say something. To rise to the bait he’d dangled.
Had Aisla pretended to be single in Paris? Her aunt had to have known, of course, but…no one else? The knowledge uncoiled low and fierce in the pit of his stomach, making him feel like a cornered animal ready to strike. Niall knew very well who its target would be. His beautiful, perfidious wife.
“Learning she had a husband didn’t deter ye at all?” he asked, instead of reacting to the fact that Aisla had pretended he didn’t even exist.
“Nothing much does,” Leclerc answered. “I want what I want.”
An image, unbidden, of this man and Aisla sharing kisses…in bed…the intimacy Niall had known with her, caused a tremor to shake out into his arms. He pulled them off the tavern table so Leclerc wouldn’t see. But the man missed nothing. A blond eyebrow hiked.
“She told me about your hand.”
“Did she?” Niall drawled, his missing fingers aching to curl into a fist. Somehow, he still felt them there at times, like unseen spirits haunting him.
“I admit, I would not have noticed if she hadn’t said anything,” Leclerc said. “You are a man whom someone would underestimate at their own peril. She said you never let your…infirmity stop you, and I admire that courage.”
He wanted none of this man’s cajolery, sincere or otherwise.
“Why her?” Niall asked. “Ye could have any woman. Why chase a married one?”
He took no time at all to contemplate. “I’m not chasing at all. And I chose Lady Montgomery—”
“Maclaren,” Niall growled.
Leclerc canted his head in apology. “Forgive me. It’s only that I’ve grown used to addressing her as such the last few years. I chose Lady Maclaren for the same reasons I imagine you did. She’s quick on her feet, intelligent, funny, kind. We get on well.”
Was that so? They got on well. What the bloody hell did that mean? Niall wasn’t sure he wanted to know, though it didn’t sound much likelove. Already, he could feel the dormant anger frothing up from where he’d buried it. This Frenchman…he was greener pastures. Just like Dougal Buchanan had been. Aisla had never admitted to breaking her vows, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been with Dougal before she and Niall had eloped. It didn’t mean she hadn’twantedto be with him.
Niall stood from his chair, his muscles tight. Restrained. “Ye willnae be getting on so well the next several weeks, ye ken. While she’s here, on my land, she’s stillmywife. And I dunnae take kindly to sharing.”
He’d kept his voice low, but the conversation in the tavern had tapered enough to allow the other men to listen in. Niall didn’t mind. These were his clansmen, and they would, without doubt, side with him if they thought Leclerc was overstepping his boundaries.
Leclerc bit back another smug grin, though this time, it held less amusement and more concern. “I’m not entirely sure what you expect to gain during Aisla’s forced stay here, but it isn’t going to be her heart.ThatI know for a fact.”
Niall braced himself against the table, his right hand curled into a fist, knuckles digging into the pitted wood. Leclerc was only fishing for Niall to ask just who did have her heart…but Niall wouldn’t cave. He only glared at his wife’s silver-tongued lover and kept his pulse steady.
“Ye may be welcome at Maclaren, but if ye set one foot on Tarbendale lands, I’ll have ye shot.”
The murmuring inside the tavern went flat. Leclerc met his glare, and finally, that maddening smirk he wore disappeared. “That sounds like something I’d rather avoid.” He studied Niall with a contemplative look. “You’re not at all what I expected, Laird Tarbendale. But have a care. I may not be welcome, but if the lady feels threatened in any way, she will leave under my protection.”
Niall had to admire the man’s sheer ballocks—he hadn’t even flinched at the threat leveled at him and had the nerve to issue a warning tohim. In any other situation, he might have bought the man a pint. Leclerc stood and went to where he’d hung his hat, by the door. After the slight incline of a bow, he left.
Silence stretched on for another handful of seconds, all eyes on Niall.
“Another round, I think, Tandry,” he said, and it had the effect he wanted. The men cheered and got back to their conversations.
Niall joined them, shaking his head at a mug of ale offered up every now and then. It was only polite, he supposed, and Niall was polite in return, listening to their talk and shaking off the confrontation with Leclerc.
Niall wouldn’t shoot him, of course, but he’d needed to warn the Frenchman away. He was going to outmaneuver his clever, calculating little wife. So adroitly that she would be begging to stay. And once he’d won Ronan’s bet,then, he’d send her back on her way to Paris where she belonged.
Chapter Seven
