Page 30 of The Highlander's Irish Bride

“Dearest, perhaps you’d best let Mr. Kendrick keep the broadsword for now,” she said. “It’s heavy and hard to control.”

Jeannie rolled her eyes, a remarkably consistent response to her sister’s interventions. “It’s not that heavy. Besides, I’m just practicing. Kade said he would teach me, and how can I learn if I can’t swing it?”

Grant lifted questioning eyebrows at his brother, who was also standing well out of harm’s way.

Kade gave him a sheepish smile. Jeannie was running rings around the poor fellow, and Kathleen was clearly not happy about it. But the girl’s infatuation had evolved with a speed that had caught them all off guard—especially Kade.

Too kind to crush the girl’s sensitive spirit, Kade was struggling a bit to keep her at a friendly but appropriate distance.

Still, Grant reckoned it was all fairly harmless. Jeannie was too young to know what she truly wanted, other than Kade’s attention. As long as he and Kathleen kept an eye on the lass, all should be well.

Unfortunately, Grant found himself wanting to spend most ofhistime keeping an eye on Kathleen—a very close eye. Not that he’d had much chance, given the whirlwind of female shopping that had taken place over the last several days.

Little Jeannie had arrived in Scotland without much of a wardrobe. There was a mystery there that seemed to generate a fair bit of tension between the sisters. Vicky no doubt had a better understanding of the situation, which meant Nick would, too, but Grant had steadfastly resisted making attempts to discover the truth. The less time he spent thinking about Kathleen Calvert and her troubles, the better.

It was a challenge, though, because he found the lass fascinating, charming, and quirky, and a whole host of other adjectives he could conjure up. It was impossible not to notice her, since she talked quite a lot in her sweet voice, with its hint of an Irish lilt, and laughed even more. Kendrick House, almost always a lively place, was even livelier now thanks to Kathleen.

She also had an eccentric habit of leaving her belongings strewn about the house, thus constantly reminding one of her presence. More than once, Grant had found a gauzy scarf draped haphazardly over a chair, or jeweled hairpins or dainty hankies dropped on the floor. For some deranged reason, he found the habit endearing.

Aye, she was a handful, Kathleen Calvert. Along with her rambunctious sister and the madcap Duchess of Leverton, they’d turned Kendrick House into a bit of a circus. Which was why Grant had made a point of staying at the office as much as possible, hoping that everyone had forgotten his impulsive suggestion for an outing to Mugdock Castle.

It hadn’t worked. At breakfast yesterday, Nick had acerbically pointed out to him that everyone else was doing his social duties by the ladies, and now it washis bloody turn. Grant had responded that he was much too busy to be larking about, but big brother had simply ordered him toget it done, before retreating behind his morning gazette.

“You used to like larking about,” he muttered to himself as he placed the broadsword back on its pegs.

“Did you say something, Mr. Kendrick?” Kathleen asked.

He turned. “No, Miss Calvert. Nothing at all.”

Grant felt his artificially polite smile suddenly turn into something genuine. It was a hell of a thing, but Kathleen Calvert just made a fellow want to smile.

When he’d caught sight of her coming down the stairs this morning, he’d had to smother a grin. Because it was another pink outf it—this time, a brightly colored walking dress, trimmed with elaborate red braid on the sleeves that also marched down the front of her bodice. That, naturally, drew his attention to her breasts, curves lovely enough to satisfy even the most exacting of tastes.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to discover that Kathleen exactly fit his particular tastes.

Forgetting for the moment that he had piles of work at the office, he’d gladly handed her into the barouche, where Kade, Jeannie, and Angus were already waiting. Grant could barely remember the last time he’d been out of the city, and found the country drive to Mugdock surprisingly enjoyable.

So had Kathleen, who’d perked up as soon as they left the outskirts of Glasgow, growing ever more appreciative as the countryside rolled by. The steady climb to Mugdock took them through colorful meadows of bracken and heather, and a sun-dappled forest of oak and birch. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and flashes of red and yellow sparked out in the clear light of an early autumn day.

Her pretty features framed by a lavishly trimmed pink bonnet, Kathleen had tilted back her head to catch the sun. Her skin was cream, and her freckles a splash of cinnamon across her nose and cheeks. She’d breathed out a happy little sigh, then her lush lips had curled up in a lovely smile as the sunlight danced over her features. To Grant, she appeared as if lit from within, and that inner glow turned her from pretty to glorious. Quite the most glorious girl he had ever seen in his life.

Unfortunately, Mugdock had so far failed to elicit a similar happy reaction. Grant couldn’t entirely blame her for that. Mugdock was no fairy-tale castle. Rather, it was a grim-looking fortification of gray stone, built for battle during the days when clan fought clan and marauders roamed the countryside.

Jeannie loved it, of course, expecting phantoms to be lurking around every corner. Her favorite room thus far had been the weapons hall of the old manor house. Its collection of claymores, dirks, and broadswords was set on the wall amongst ancient heraldic banners and moth-eaten stag heads.

Kathleen, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed, and was currently inspecting the stags with a critical eye.

“They’re such magnificent creatures,” she said. “It’s a shame to see them moldering away on a wall.”

“They do look rather tatty,” Grant replied.

Kathleen squinted up at an impressive twelve-point buck mounted high over the fireplace. The poor thing had seen better days, alive and dead.

“Still, if one squints,” she added, “I suppose it does convey a certain grandeur of days gone by.”

“TheSassenachsin the family tend to call the style ‘Heroic Highlander,’” Grant said. “It’s not meant as a compliment.”

That earned him a crooked, charming grin. “I cannot say that I disagree.”

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