Page 21 of Highland Sword
“The ladder is unsteady. I’d hate to have you fall on whatever deadly weapon you’re concealing tonight.”
“Good point… and I don’t use that word lightly.” With a quirk of her lips, she accepted his offer and descended. Her hand was warm and strong and had none of the softness of most city lasses. The skin had clearly been toughened by hours of work in the training yard. And he knew from personal experience, the time had not been ill-spent.
He watched her. She ignored him. Studying the volume, she headed toward the table.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll be happy to come back later.”
“Not at all. My work is done here. I have what I need. I’ll take the books back to my room.”
Aidan eyed the stack. Each of the volumes was heavy. Altogether, it would require more than one trip. “Allow me to carry them for you, then. That’s quite a collection.”
She separated two of the books from the others and added the one she’d just retrieved. “I don’t need any help. These three should suffice.”
“I’m a highly skilled beast of burden.”
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying them, thank you. But since you insist on being useful, you can help me put the others back on the shelves.”
“As you wish.” He studied the bookcases. Spaces between volumes made it obvious where the books had been pulled from. “You tell me where they go and—”
“If you’d like to help, then please hand them up to me.”
She was a woman who knew her mind. He was wise and would never remind her that he was taller and had a greater reach. But he also had no desire to curtail this unexpected encounter.
Morrigan climbed the ladder and stretched a hand down to him.
For a moment Aidan stared, admiring the loveliness of the woman before him. Her hair spread like a blanket of soft curls around her shoulders. Her eyes were magical. Her face, when healed, would be the kind poets wrote about.
“Do you intend to help or just strike a pose, Mr. Grant? I’m not planning to paint your portrait.”
Her wit was as attractive as the rest of her, but he’d be a fool to give her a compliment on it. She’d cut him to ribbons.
Aidan picked up the first book off the desk and read the title aloud. “Hungarian and Highland Broad Sword.I see you have a devoted interest in the martial arts.”
She took the volume out of his hand and slid it on a shelf.
“The Military Adventures of Johnny Newcome.” He read the second title. “What British fort do you plan to storm?”
“Any suggestions?”
“Fort George? It’s handy, a wee bit more than half-a-day’s ride.”
She found the spot for this book, as well.
“Or are you going right for the heart of the empire. Parliament itself.”
“I was thinking St. James Palace. I believe we should roust that fat little Hanoverian king.”
“Very ambitious,” he said as he picked up two volumes. “Reft Rob; Or, the Witch of Scot-Muir, Commonly Called Madge the Snoover.”
She reached for it, but he held back for a moment. “A classic of modern literature, to be sure, but it won’t help you with your military ambitions.”
“You don’t know how useful snoovering is in a campaign.” She crooked a finger at him.
Aidan grinned and handed it up to her. “What does snoovering mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“But you pulled it off the shelf.”
