grasp, watching my eyes as he bit into it with decadent relish. God, that greedy mouth. I had never found such a thing—or such a person—so fascinating.
“My name is Amelia,” I said, almost breathlessly. “Amelia Taylor. I’m—”
“Who are you talking to, Ami?” Hamish’s voice came from far above. I’d practically forgotten he was perched up there. Knox Mackenzie looked up.
“I believe I’ve just met Laird Mackenzie,” I called up to my nephew.
“How do you know who I am?” Knox asked. Actually, it was more like a demand than a polite question.
“Everyone knows Laird Knox Mackenzie,” I said, remembering Katriona’s annoyance at my complete ignorance when his name had first been spoken of, and my thoughts at the time. “From the tribesmen of deepest Africa to the nomadic plainsmen of the Americas.”
His dark eyebrows knitted together as he attempted to gauge whether I was mocking him, or something else. I wasn’t sure either way if I was—I hadn’t meant to—but I smiled at his expression. This man was not at all accustomed to impertinence of any kind whatsoever. Tease him, my little devil was whispering. He doesn’t know what to make of you.
I wondered what he looked like when he smiled, and what his laughter might sound like. I suspected he did not smile often, and I wanted to try to inspire one. But I had no idea how to do such a thing.
Hamish had climbed down and jumped out of the branch above my head to land lightly beside me. He appraised Knox Mackenzie with a critical eye, deciding for himself whether this was the genuine article, the laird with the mightiest weapon. When Hamish’s eyes landed on Knox’s sword, they widened. It was proof enough. “You’re Laird Mackenzie?” he said.
“I am. And you are...?”
“Hamish—” with barely a pause “—Taylor.”
“I’ve heard about you,” Laird Mackenzie said. Hamish appeared stunned by this information, and the laird continued when Hamish didn’t respond. “One of my most trusted officers told me of your nerve and your...creativity. He thinks you’ve the makings of a soldier.”
I thought Hamish might burst with the praise. I smiled, but the laird’s light note of sarcasm did not escape me. Creativity. Hamish’s—our—tall tale might have been discussed between Lachlan and Knox Mackenzie. Knox’s trusted officer had shared his suspicions with his commander, who was also, quite possibly, his friend. Of course he would have. It was wise to voice suspicions, to be alert and aware of newcomers who were residing within the walls of your own keep. This sort of practice, I suspected, was typical.
And Knox Mackenzie was a clever man. “Hamish, I need a message sent to my officer Lachlan, who is over at the barracks. Would you be able to deliver this message for me, lad?” Noticing Hamish’s small wooden sword that hung from his belt, Knox added, “In return for the favor, I’ll see if any of the men have a smaller steel sword that they no longer have use of. You look man enough to handle an upgrade.”
Hamish’s jaw dropped open at the thought: that he might get a steel sword of his very own. It took him several seconds to respond. “Aye, Laird Mackenzie. Aye. What’s your message?”
“Tell him I have a few things to discuss with my new guest. And after we’ve finished speaking, I will be having a similar conversation with her young brother. I’d like Lachlan to give you a tour of the barracks while you’re waiting for Amelia, and see if any small swords are about. The barracks are that way,” he said, pointing. “On the other side of the apple orchard. I will meet you in the grand hall after the midday meal has been cleared away. Have you got all that?”
“Aye,” Hamish said, and he took off in a full run, disappearing from sight.
Knox Mackenzie was going to question Hamish and me separately, to see if our stories matched. A faint flutter of panic squirmed in my stomach, but I forced myself to remain calm. We’d already established the details of our tale, and we were both gifted and practiced with spinning lies, for better or worse. There was no reason we couldn’t sail through our individual interrogations with ease.
But I felt far from easy.
“Would you join me for a chat?” Laird Mackenzie said, without waiting for an answer. The question was clearly not a request but understood in advance to be an order that would be readily obeyed. I almost felt a perverse inclination to refuse, but then he added, “I can offer you food and drink. You must be hungry after your travels.”
Knox Mackenzie had a way about him that intrigued me. He was a blend of contradictions that somehow harmonized perfectly. His face was both rugged and refined, his tall form both relaxed and on guard. His expression showed no trace of humor. Yet there was a glint in his eyes that might have been described as charisma. He was comfortable with the upper hand that he undoubtedly always had, with whomever it was he happened to be with. He was laird of his clan, leader of his army, wealthy beyond belief, blue-blooded to the extreme and, as if that wasn’t enough, he was also endowed not only with a wide-shouldered, perfectly proportioned physique that would intimidate even seasoned warriors, but also a masculine beauty that no doubt caused many women to swoon.
Luckily for me, I wasn’t one of them. I could acknowledge that there was a definite allure to the supreme Laird Knox Mackenzie. If I’d been a hapless debutante with good breeding and a cultured sense of gentility, I might have described him as utterly dazzling. But I was not a hapless debutante. I was in fact a skilled and underhanded cardshark with few prospects beside the strength of my own wit and, perhaps, the occasional use of my own physical attributes. Attributes that had so far brought me more trouble than advantage. I could see the way his gaze lingered on the lavish curves of my body, gliding over my full lips, touching the long, feminine coils of my softly fiery hair and caressing the plush bounty of my half-exposed breasts. It was a look I was accustomed to, for better or worse.
It was glaringly clear to us both that I was at a distinct disadvantage in the universal scheme of things. Despite this, there was some indescribable thread of imbalance, in the opposite direction, as though he was deferring to me on a base level and in a way that flustered some inner sanctum deep within his psyche that had not been flustered for some time. I saw the light touch of craving in his eyes, and it was laced, oddly, with a profound flicker of sadness. Again, a subtle contradiction. He was an enigma and one that, against my better judgment, I couldn’t help being drawn to. Knox Mackenzie was privileged but he was not at all unscathed: this was a pronounced feature of his mien.
So, he was clever. And so was I. I planned to explore these small intuitions, to use them to my best advantage. After all, they were the only advantages I had and were tenuous at best.
“Thank you, Laird Mackenzie. Aye, I am hungry. And thirsty. It has been a long trip.”
He walked over to where my shawl lay on the ground and picked it up. He didn’t just hand it to me but draped it carefully around my shoulders. A gentlemanly gesture—not something I was particularly accustomed to. I left the shawl where he had placed it, not bothering to fasten it yet with the pin. His eyes were on me and, as never before, with a sense of almost bashful amusement, I found I liked that he was watching me, feasting somehow on the look of me. It made me want to grant him whatever pleasure he might have been deriving from my femininity. After years of discouraging or altogether ignoring the forthright attention of men, this was an entirely new response.
He led me through the orchard to one of the side doors of the manor. There were servants and other clanspeople about, all of whom bowed to Laird Mackenzie as he walked by. They
