Page 3 of A Virgin for the Icy Highlander
This man was a sculptor’s fantasy. His cheekbones were chiseled. His jaw was strong and square. His nose slopedsmoothly, and his lips were so full and defined that nature couldn’t possibly have created something so perfect.
His long, dark hair was tied back, though she couldn’t see by what, and she didn’t have much time to investigate, with him still staring at her expectantly.
“So, it’s a wake?” she said, standing to her full height, which wasn’t much in comparison to his. She barely reached his chest. “I thought that was an Irish custom.”
He frowned, turning his cold gaze to Lilian and Maddie, who had darted to the other side of Grace when he had first spoken.
“Is the lass a halfwit?” he asked them.
Annoyance crept up the nape of Grace’s neck. She hadn’t yet returned to Society and London or her father’s house, and already she was being scorned.
Maddie pushed her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose, the glass fogging slightly. “She was joking.”
“A jest is supposed to be funny, is it nae?” the man said, turning back to Grace.
She took a step toward her friends, trying to decide just how bad of a situation they were in. The handsome stranger lookedlike he could blow all three of them down with a single breath, but would he hurt them if they tried to get past him? It was earlyevening, still a reasonable hour, and the sun had not set yet. There would be people walking the streets of Lockton for some time. People who might hasten to the aid of young ladies in trouble.
“Well, we must be off,” Grace said brightly, ignoring his remark. “Congratulations on all the… um… killing, I suppose. I hope the celebrations are adequate.”
The man’s expression darkened. “I wouldnae say so.”
“Is that why you’re hiding from your own festivities? You don’t find them sufficient?” she replied before she could stop herself.
It wouldn’t help to linger when, really, they needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. Miss Sutton’s dare would have to wait. Indeed, the headmistress would have to choose another dare entirely, for Grace knew well enough to know that the headmistress wouldn’t want any of her girls in actual danger.
“After fightin’ in a war,” he replied drily, “the last thing ye need is noise. Those flutes are shrill enough to drill a hole in a man’s skull.”
Grace stared blankly at him, her eyes slowly widening as her mind caught up to what he had said. He wasn’t referring to ordinary noise, but the glorious music that had made Miss Sutton sway and had brought Grace down the alleyway.
“Music isnotnoise, Sir!” she blurted, outrage replacing her self-preservation instinct. “Certainly notthatlively and vibrantmusic!”
Maddie took hold of Grace’s arm. “Perhaps, you don’t share the same tastes.” She offered a thin smile to the man. “Forgive us, we really must be leaving. If you would just… step to the side or back out of this alleyway, we’ll be on our way.”
The man turned, blocking more of the alleyway instead of creating a gap for the ladies to leave. His gaze rested on Grace, cocking an eyebrow as he observed her, as if trying to decide what to do with her.
I could think of a thing or two…
Her cheeks warmed despite herself as her dazed mind transported her into thecèilidh. She fantasized briefly about being whirled around in those impressive arms of his. The temperature was mild for November, but not remotely what one would consider warm, yet he wore just a shirt. The laced-up collar was open as if it were the height of summer, and those muscular arms of his were entirely visible through the light fabric of his shirt.
Yet, it was his kilt that her eyes lingered on. His legs were bare between the hem of the garment and his boots. She knew the ban on kilts had not long been lifted in Scotland, but she hadn’t seen one before. So close to the border, where they were, the people seemed more inclined to follow English fashions—whether bychoice or so as not to antagonize their neighbors, she didn’t know.
I didn’t even notice whether the dancers wore kilts or not.
She longed to look back through the window to find out.
“Sir, if you’d excuse us,” Maddie said more firmly. “We have somewhere to be.”
The man kept staring at Grace until she turned her head away just to avoid the intensity of those blue eyes.
“Aye, I’d say ye do,” he said, at last. “Join us.”
Grace’s head whipped back around. “Pardon?”
“The feast.” He tilted his head toward the cheerful noise of thecèilidh. “Join us.”
“Is that a request or a demand?” Grace asked, her heart already in the smoky room below, among the merriment and the music.
He pulled a disapproving face, as if he hadn’t just informed the ladies that he had killed seventy-three people, including a laird. “Neither. It’s an offer.” He shrugged, striding closer. “Come in or dinnae; it makes nay difference to me.”
