Page 29 of Sweet Home Highlander
“But Lady MaclarenisScottish.”
Niall let out a gruff, flat laugh. “No’ anymore she’s no’.”
Stevenson nodded. “I see.” He stood, and shook Niall’s hand. “Then perhaps it will be necessary to remind her of that fact.”
Niall could see why the crafty old dodger and his father were friends. “I will take that into consideration. Thank ye for yer help.”
Once done, he decided to make his way to Ronan’s club, hoping he’d run into his brother along with a nice, accommodating bit of muslin.
Ronan had been at Maclaren when Aisla had arrived, but he’d been off to Edinburgh the next day for a meeting with the laird of a neighboring clan, the Campbells, after his continued refusal to marry one of the laird’s daughters for the sake of an alliance. Still, strained relations with a neighboring clan could prove jeopardous, and so this meeting in Edinburgh, taking place on mutually agreed neutral ground, would hopefully smooth the rift.
When Niall, climbing the steps to the club, met his brother on his way out, he noticed Ronan’s face was twisted into a menacing scowl. The meeting hadn’t gone well, then. Niall stopped him with a raised hand. “The Campbell?”
His brother’s expression relaxed, if only slightly, when he saw Niall. “Aye. And that bounder, Dougal Buchanan.”
Niall hadn’t expected to hearthatname, and the very sound of it made his insides twist. “Buchanan? He was here?”
“Aye, the Buchanans and the Campbells are soon to be allies, ye ken, now that Dougal is betrothed to Rose Campbell, and they’re pushing for an alliance with Maclaren.” Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “What did ye do to him? Dougal.”
“No’ a thing,” Niall said. “Why?”
“I got the notion he hates ye.”
Niall’s jaw clenched. The feeling was mutual. “What did he say?”
“Nothing outright. But he made a habit of bringing up yer name, and each time he looked like he was choking on it.”
Niall chuckled darkly. “He was supposed to marry Aisla. Her father, the Mad Montgomery, had championed the match.”
“An alliance with the Montgomerys would have been a powerful one.” Ronan nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “No’ to mention fruitful in the extreme, combining land and sheep. Far better than the one he’s about to form with the Campbells. Does he carry a grudge then?”
“I suppose,” Niall answered, thinking of the last time he’d seen the man. “I had him thrown off our lands years ago, when he came sniffing around Aisla during the summer festival.”
“Did ye make him angry enough to make him want to cause trouble now?” Ronan asked.
Niall shrugged, frowning as he recalled the loosened boards at the mine and the slew of recent accidents. But it had been ages since he’d caught Dougal standing too close to Aisla at the festival, whispering in her ear and making her blush. Aye, he’d tossed him off their lands, and surprisingly, the bastard hadn’t put up a fight, though he’d smirked all the way to the Maclaren border.
Before leaving, Dougal said something strange about feisty women with the devil’s kiss, and to watch Aisla’s back closely. At the time, Niall had been half pissed and the comment had sounded like nonsense. Later on, however, the meaning had smacked him in the head. Devil’s kiss…it was what some called a birthmark. And Aisla had a delicate, strawberry-colored mark on her lower back, right above the curve of her buttocks.
Had he deciphered Dougal’s words immediately, he would have likely throttled him. Over the years, the fury over knowing Dougal Buchanan had seen his wife in the nude had tempered, though not by much. Still, all that was in the past.
“If so, what does he hope to gain? If it’s Aisla, he’s welcome to the lass. But he’s already betrothed and she plans to marry another. As it stands, maybe we can just offer her up in a trade.”
Ronan raised one of his dark brows at his thinly veiled sarcasm, and with a wide grin, waved on the men who’d accompanied him for the meeting. “Losing the wager already,bràthair? I take it yer wife has whipped things up into a froth back at Maclaren. I’m looking forward to enjoying my profits.”
“’Tis early yet. And she’s ensconced at Tarbendale, so dunnae get yer hopes up.”
Ronan led Niall back inside the gentleman’s club, where they sat themselves near a faro table and ordered a whisky and a coffee. Ronan sipped the first while Niall grimaced at the strong black brew of the second. The coffee left its bitter trace on the back of his tongue. Of course, that could have been from thinking about the mess he’d gotten himself into with Aisla.
“She’s staying with ye?” Ronan finally asked. He leaned forward, true surprise lighting his usually stoic gaze. “How did ye manage that? I thought she was staying at Maclaren with that…” The muscles along Ronan’s jaw rippled, and Niall could only imagine the brutal things his brother was imagining doing to the Frenchman.
“Jackanape?”
“I can think of harsher names for that clinker,” Ronan muttered.
“Dunnae forget she plans to accept his proposal,” Niall said, the bitter coffee sliding into his stomach and making it sour. “Even if I win our wager, I intend for her to leave.” He drank a gulp of coffee. “And there’s more.”
Ronan sat back in the chair, his bright gaze receding into its usual contemplative state. Niall took a breath, and explained all that had passed since Aisla had made her own unexpected wager…to see who could seduce whom first, with the victor receiving a nod of defeat from the other.
