the bottom of the glen drew ever closer. William McKinly was a proud, stiff-necked man. If he would take payment for their lodging instead of seeing it as charity, Ian wouldn’t feel so bad about accepting food and drink. But he wouldn’t and that was that.
Before he realised what she was about, Selina left his side and cut across the side of the hill, heading for a burn. Cursing, he followed, watching as she stood on the bank, looking down at the water. What the hell was she about now?
Did she have any idea how delicious she looked in her wild gypsy skirts, with her dark hair hanging in a tangled mane down her back? She looked like a lass well bedded, that’s what she looked like. Even if she wasn’t.
The constant arousal that he’d been dealing with since she’d kissed him of her own free will and a night spent curled around the softness of her curves, her scent filling his nostrils, hardened to rock.
He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, kiss those lovely lips and plunge into her heat. Know her, the way a man wants to really know a woman. And if he was honest, it seemed it might be only a matter of time before he gave in to the torment of lust.
Well—apparently he’d made the decision. He could only imagine what she was going to say.
‘Don’t fall in,’ he said, reaching her side.
She gave him a mock glare. ‘I’m not that clumsy.’
She wasn’t clumsy at all. She was graceful, even with the small hesitation in her step that appeared when she was tired. Small and delicate like a wee faery. And all he could think about was getting her in his bed. And there was only one way to accomplish it. Marriage.
It seemed that the seed planted by McIver had taken root.
He watched her balance on a rock, crouch and scoop the water in her cupped palms, sipping delicately as water trickled through her fingers. A sylph who had used her magic to capture him. She shook her hands, wiped them on her skirts before jumping clear.
This was the way he’d remembered her as a girl. A free spirit wandering the hills. Sneaking out of the keep to meet him day after day until he’d been thoroughly enchanted. But she wasn’t a sprite. She was the daughter of a powerful man. His enemy. And if the man had hated his family before, this was going to make things worse.
She looked over. Caught his gaze and smiled. ‘It tastes lovely.’
Hellfire and brimstone, he’d been staring like some besotted calfling. ‘If you are done, we’ll get along or McKinly will think we are no coming at all.’
He hadn’t meant to growl, but it was better than grinning at her like an idiot.
The smile left her lips. She climbed up the shallow bank. He turned and walked down the hill, leaving her to make her way as best as she could. It was either that or take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.
Tonight. He’d reveal her fate tonight, after dinner.
Marriage to a Sassenach. And an Albright to boot. What the devil would his mother say? And the clan? Damn them all, if they didn’t like it, they would have to put up with it. He was their Laird. They would abide by his decision.
Marie Flora and her father were waiting at the croft door, where the heather had been beaten back by soft springy grass. A small vegetable patch behind the cottage was bare of all but a few turnips.
‘McKinly,’ he said, holding out his hand as he neared the man’s threshold. For once, Selina hung back. Afraid of her reception, no doubt.
‘Laird,’ McKinly said. His hair was copper-coloured. Darker than his daughter’s and shot through with silver. The man was stooped and weathered and could have been anywhere from forty to sixty years old, but Ian knew him to be in his late thirties. Crofting in the Highlands aged a man early.
‘Are you well?’ he asked.
‘Aye. Come in. Come in. Take a dram with me. The lass says you’re in need of sustenance.’ His gaze went to Selina, curiosity shining in his blue eyes.
‘Aye, if you can spare it. My wife here is bone weary.’
Wife. The moment he saw McKinly’s measuring stare he realised there was no honourable alternative. Having said it, he had a sense of accomplishment. She’d got herself into this mess trying to help him for friendship’s sake, or out of some misguided sense of obligation, and a Gilvry always paid his debts. They didn’t ruin innocent females, either.
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