Page 157 of The Highlander's Irish Bride

Grant stood and reached out to his grandfather, carefully pulling him up from his chair.

“Och, ye big oaf,” Angus exclaimed. “What are ye doin’ now?”

When Grant wrapped his arms around him, his heart wrenched at the feel of his grandfather’s skinny limbs. They’d always thought the old fellow was invincible. Right now, though, he seemed so frail in Grant’s arms.

“I’m hugging you, you old goat,” he said. “And telling you how much I love you. We never would have made it without you, Grandda. We owe you everything.”

“Aye, that,” Graeme softly said.

For a moment, his grandfather returned his embrace before shoving his way free.

“Apologies are all well and good, laddie boy,” he said with a scowl designed to cover his show of emotion. “But that nae fixes the problem.”

“What problem is that, again?” Graeme asked.

Angus pointed a gnarled finger at him. “That yer twin needs to stop bein’ a bloody ninny and ask Kathleen to marry him.” Then he rounded on Grant. “And I’ll nae have more excuses from ye. Get the job done.”

Then the old man turned on his boot heel and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

“What the hell just happened?” Grant asked.

“Angus happened, as usual.”

Grant couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I just bared my soul to the man, and he called me a bloody ninny.”

“That’s our grandda.”

“Our entire family is completely deranged.”

Graeme’s smile was wry. “And we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I thought I’d find you here,” Grant said.

Kathleen put down her trowel. Of course he would find her grubbing about in the dirt, even though she’d picked a secluded corner behind the gazebo. “I suppose I have become entirely predictable.”

“Just a lucky guess.”

She scoffed. “Sabrina told you, didn’t she?”

“Och, yer too smart for me, lass,” he teased.

“I thought I would be safe out here.” When his eyebrows shot up, she flapped a hand. “From David, not you.”

Never you.

She eyed him, feeling a little annoyed. Grant looked perfectly wonderful in his tailored coat, form-fitting breeches, and polished boots. Even his cravat was starched to a nicety and crisply folded.

“I do wish that just once we could have a conversation where I wasn’t covered in dirt,” she groused.

“You look beautiful. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, love.”

Kathleen felt a flush rising to her cheeks. “That’s hard to believe, given how dreadfully I behaved yesterday. May I have a hand up, please?”

Grant cupped her elbows, lifted, and set her on her feet.

“Which part of yesterday are we talking about?” he asked. “Because I distinctly remember some very delightful behavior, too.”

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