Page 14 of The Lady's Guide to a Highlander’s Heart
The best way had been to keep things quiet.
Fortunately, the first on the scene had been Malcolm’s elderly servant and he’d had the wisdom to come straight to Ragnall. The old retainer, though adamant that she couldnae have committed the act, had agreed that Flora would be likely to take the blame.
From there, the decision had been simple enough. Ragnall’s men had seen to the body, and no-one had been the wiser.
The story put about was that the chieftain had passed in his sleep, content in the knowledge that the clan was in good hands. Only Calder had begun asking awkward questions and, though Ragnall had no love for the man, he’d agreed to let him steward the castle in return for his discretion.
Since then, Ragnall had done all he could to drive that night from his mind, including his sadness over the loss of young Flora. Perhaps only the angels would ever truly know what had happened to her, but the note she'd left had convinced him that she'd nae wish to be found. The winter had been a bitter one. If she'd headed towards the mountains, as she said, there could be no doubt that she'd perish.
He'd become adept, over the years, at pushing down memories too unsettling to live with. Better to pretend some things had never happened.
There were certain events though, that could ne'er be forgot.
What had happened to his mother, for one.
He’d been but a child, and had only heard from others the punishment exacted upon her and her lover, but no one deserved the treatment those two had endured. He’d never been able to forgive his father for making her suffer as she had, nor for the knowledge that, had Broderick been a different sort of husband, his mother might never have strayed.
One thing it had taught him was that there was no point putting a woman in your bed unless she wanted to be there and, once you were wed, it was a man’s duty to ensure his bride was content.
Ragnall sighed as a knock came at his door. He’d asked only for an hour to himself and had been thinking it would do no harm to lay down his head for a while, but he could hardly do so if his word was needed on some matter.
To his surprise, however, it was the lass, Florrie, who entered, looking just as delectable as she had the day before, and with her hair uncovered, the fiery tresses contained within a thick braid. Ragnall was assailed by an image of her writhing naked beneath him, her hair loose, spread silken over pale flesh, a rosy nipple peeking between flame-hued curls.
Damnation!
That way of thinking was what had kept him awake all night!
Either the lass was willing or she wasn’t.
At least, this time, she didn’t look as if she were about to faint with fright. There was a far more resolute air about her—the sort that spoke of a woman who’d made up her mind about something.
Perhaps the day was looking up after all.
* * *
“Clootie for ye, ma lord.”Dipping a curtsy, Flora drew back the cloth from the plate she was carrying. “’Tis nae the main pudding, as ye’ll be cutting in the hall, but the cook thought ye might like a sample, and there’s a wee drop of something on top—for the Yuletide, as is traditional.” Flora gave him a beaming smile. “Ye’ll taste it, I hope, and I can let Mrs. McTavish know how ye enjoyed it.”
“Aye, lass, if ye’ll partake with me.” The laird leaned down to scratch Murdo beneath the chin. “Have a seat, and let’s look tae the new year together, with a bite o' the pudding tae bring good luck.”
Flora’s eyes strayed to the wolfhound, staring at its master with nothing short of adoration. “Och, I couldnae.” She set the plate down beside Ragnall. “’Tis too rich for me. I much prefer a spot o’ porridge.” The last thing she wanted was to end up inebriated herself.
Though she doubted Ragnall was fiendish enough to lift a woman’s skirts when she was under the influence of drink, falling unconscious in the laird’s chamber wouldn’t suit her purpose at all. She needed her wits about her for what she was planning.
Ragnall frowned. "Ne'ertheless, I’d count it an honour if ye’d sit with me a while. I’ve nae doubt they’ve been working ye hard in the kitchens. Ye deserve a rest. Pull up the stool and tell me about yer croft and yer family. What will they be doing this night? A game of horseshoes or skittles, or do they like ‘horseman’s blind’?”
Ragnall broke off a piece of clootie but, no sooner had he placed it in his mouth, he took to coughing. “My, Mrs. McTavish was full-handed with her bottle!” With watering eyes, he swallowed the morsel. “I ken she saves the malt for special occasions, so ’twas exceeding generous of her tae douse the pudding.”
Flora nodded. She could smell the fumes from where she was sitting and those alone were making her light-headed.
Clearing his throat, the laird continued making conversation. “Come the spring, ye might invite yer family tae pay a visit to the castle, seeing as they’ve nae been before. ’Tis always a pleasure tae meet those who reside on Dalreagh lands.”
“’Tis most kindly, ma lord.”
“In ma father’s time, he paid little attention tae those on the outskirts o' the moor but I wish tae remedy that. Everyone is important, and should be made tae feel so.”
Flora bit at her lip. Her father had often said the same, although he tended to keep his invitations to clan members alone.
Ragnall brought the plate closer. “The malt is rather strong, but I’ve nae wish to offend Mrs. McTavish.”
