Page 12 of A Merry MacNaughton
“Please share, Da. It sounds a braw joke, indeed.” Finley leaned his elbows on the table, chin in his hands, the meal forgotten.
“Aye, I’d like to ken what has our dour father so full of humor.” Hamish rose and walked over to the sideboard. Pouring himself a whisky, he gestured to the table. “Anyone else?”
“Please,” answered Malachi.
Angus joined his son and poured several glasses, handing them around. When he reached Calum, Ailish reached up and took the crystal glass. “Explain yerself, Husband,” she said after shooting back the fiery liquid.
“Weel, Calum and I were discussing the possibility of peace between the Craiggs and MacNaughtons. The subject of choices came up, and I told him the only choices he needed to concern himself with was choosing a mate. So I agreed to consider peace when he considered a bride.” He raised his glass to his guest. “How convenient. Peace and grandchildren with one bargain. That is Scottish efficiency at its best.”
His brothers joined in their father’s renewed laughter. Waving a disgusted arm at his family, Calum had left in search of the injured party. Only to find it wasn’t only her pride wounded. His fragile lambie had tripped on the stairs. Her stubbornness, pride, and tears had landed them in her bedroom, wrapped in a passionate embrace.
He pulled away from her, knowing if he didn’t, they would both regret it. A woman hadn’t lit this kind of fire in him since…nay, a woman had never lit this kind of fire in him. She whimpered, a sweet, sensuous sound that made him hard and hungry for the taste and feel of her. He pulled her closer and claimed that delicious mouth again, a moan creeping up his throat.
How he wanted to drown in those soft, velvety lips, sink his fingers into her silken, auburn waves, bury himself deep inside her until—
A growl penetrated the fog in his brain. He looked up to see Black Angus at the door, watching the woman on his lap with teeth bared. “It appears we have an audience,” he whispered in Peigi’s ear.
She pushed away from him, hands smoothing her disarray of curls.Saints and sinners. She was exquisite. Lips swollen from his kiss, emerald eyes glazed with passion, her face flushed with relief when she realized only a deerhound had witnessed their encounter.
“Thig!” he commended. The dog padded across the room and sat in front of them.
Peigi stood and winced from the pain in her leg, causing the dog to growl.
“I think he prefers ye on my lap.” He grinned. “I think I prefer it, too.”
Black Angus curled his lip in agreement, and Peigi obediently sat back down. “Is he jealous?” she asked, cautiously holding her hand out for the beast to sniff.
“A feistyandbrave lass, I see. He appreciates that in someone. Show fear, and he’ll never let ye forget who is in charge.” Calum held out his hand, palm down. “Suidh!”
The dog sat and dropped his head. “Go ahead, ye can pat him now. He’s slow to befriend people, but once he does, he’s loyal to the end. Or until I tell him otherwise.”
“A true Highlander then,” she said with a laugh. In a more serious tone, she asked, “Are ye the same as yer companion?”
“Aye, once ye have my affection, there’s no getting rid of me.” His smile faded as she stared at his mouth, turning him hard and aching for her again. “Let me call my mother to have a look at yer leg. I think we’ve had enough impropriety for one evening.” He grinned at her red cheeks and planted another kiss on her sweet lips.
“I’m in full agreement,” Ailish said from the hall. “Kindly remove our guest from yer lap and take yerself to the study for a whisky. Yer father is making plans without ye.”
They both started at the sound of her voice. Peigi scrambled with little grace onto the mattress as Calum shot off the bed like a stray cannonball. It was his turn to be embarrassed.
“It’s no’ what it looks like, Ma. She tripped on the steps and needed help up the stairs.”
“I’m glad to see I’ve raised suchhelpfulsons. Now off with ye, and I’ll tend to the lass.”
He gave Peigi an apologetic look and escaped the accusing eyes of his mother, the hound close on his master’s heels.
*
Ailish sat downon the bed and held out her arms. “Come now, lass. Tell me what has happened here and at home. Yer poor shoulders are sagging from too much responsibility.”
Peigi fell into the woman’s arms as if she’d done it a hundred times. Wrapped in the maternal hug, she drew in a ragged breath and let the words tumble out. It cleansed her soul to tell her troubles to a sympathetic, unbiased ear. Well, mostly unbiased. She knew from the embrace, the expressions crossing the older woman’s face, and the intelligence in those amber eyes that Ailish would give sound advice without a crumb of pity.
“So, yer choice is to marry a stranger or give yerself to an English earl?” She snorted. “The Lord help them, but men can have the brains of a tattie.”
Peigi chuckled. At least a potato was useful.
“What did my son say to ye?”
“I wasna in the mood for conversation. The anger had my tongue and then he picked me up and carried me.” She shrugged, picking at the embroidery on the counterpane. “I cried all over his waistcoast and made a mess of his silk neckcloth and then he…”
