Page 12 of Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides 8)

“Aye,” Geordie allowed. “But a good man canno’ stand idly by and allow evil to grow and spread across the land.”

They both fell silent for a moment and concentrated on eating, but once the cheese and bread were gone, she heard the rustle as he dug in the bag again, and then he asked, “How old are yer sisters?”

“Una is sixteen, and Aileen fourteen,” she answered. “And both o’ them act twice that.”

Geordie chuckled and then said, “So ye’ve seen twenty-four years?”

Dwyn stilled with surprise, and then realized that he’d worked it out from what she’d told him. Clearing her throat, she said, “I will be in a month.”

“Ah. Put yer hand out,” he ordered, and when she did he found it and placed a round, cool peach into it, and then asked, “How long ago did yer betrothed die?”

“Seven years ago,” she answered, and then raised the peach to take a bite. A soft “mmm” of pleasure slid from her throat as her mouth filled with the sweet juice and peach meat.

“Good?”

Dwyn opened eyes she’d closed in pleasure, and peered at his dark shape. His voice had sounded husky, and she wondered why, but said, “Aye. Very. Peaches are the loveliest fruit . . . Except for the mess they make,” she added as she felt a trail of liquid slide down her hand. “I do no’ suppose they put a scrap o’ linen in the bag or something?”

“I’m afraid no’,” Geordie said on a chuckle. “Ye’ll just have to lick away the juices.”

“That’s no’ very ladylike,” she said primly.

“Lass, ye’re up a tree,” he pointed out with amusement. “Is that very ladylike?”

“’Tis if ye do no’ get caught,” Dwyn assured him.

Geordie burst out in laughter at that, and she smiled at the sound as she ate her peach. When the laughter faded, he commented, “Ye’re an interesting woman, Dwyn Innes.”

“Aye,” she agreed easily. “Una is always telling me I’m a strange one.”

“I said interesting, no’ strange,” he protested.

“Is it no’ the same thing?” Dwyn asked innocently, and he chuckled again. They stopped talking then to concentrate on their peaches, and the night was filled with chomping and slurping sounds as they did their best to eat the fruits without getting completely covered with the sticky juice. At least, that’s what Dwyn was trying to do, but her peach was so ripe and bursting with the sweet liquid, she feared she’d made a terrible mess. Certainly her hand was wet and sticky when she was done.

“Here,” Geordie said suddenly when she’d finished. “Give me yer pit and I’ll put the sack in yer hand in its place. Ye can use the sack to mop up the mess.”

“How do ye ken I made a mess?” she asked archly. “Mayhap I managed to not make a mess.”

“Aye, mayhap,” he allowed. “But ye did make a mess, did ye no’?” he asked, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

“Aye,” Dwyn admitted on a sigh, and held out the peach pit. “I think I even got some juice in me hair.”

Chuckling again, Geordie found her hand in the dark, took the peach pit and replaced it with the cloth sack. Dwyn quickly wiped her hands, listening as he tossed the pits the way of the chicken bones and the splashes followed.

“Tell me what it’s like at Innes.” His voice came out of the darkness, deep and soft as the night air.

“Innes,” Dwyn sighed the name, wishing she was there. “’Tis flat compared to your Buchanan, but lovely just the same.”

“What’s lovely about it?”

“The water,” she said at once. “I miss the water when I’m away from Innes.”

“Do ye spend a lot o’ time by the water?”

“Oh, aye, I take Angus and Barra and we walk the beach often.”

“Who are Angus and Barra?” he asked at once, his voice sharp in the night.

“My dogs,” Dwyn explained. “They’re brothers, a mix o’ boarhound and deerhound. They’re both big boys.”

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