Read Online Highlander in Her Bed by Allie Mackay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allie Mackay
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home. She belonged here and she wasn't going to let some darkly irresistible lout from a backwater London antique shop ruin it for her.
Six foot four inches of hunky Highland manhood or not.
Soul-melting stares and butter-soft burr or otherwise.
Blessedly, thoughts of the ill-humored Scotsman reminded her of her mission.
She had to find the dagger.
Her pulse racing, she rummaged in the wardrobe, snatching the first clothes her fingers encountered and donning them. Black stretch pants and a black top edged around the neck with a wide white band. She ignored her new waxed and waterproofed Barbour jacket and slipped her feet into flat black loafers, arranged her hair in a quick French twist, securing its unruly thickness with a wide tortoiseshell clasp.
Without even bothering with makeup, she began scouring the room, not leaving one inch unchecked. She even lifted the edges of the fancy Turkish carpet. But the mystery dagger remained elusive.
"It has to be here," she vowed, dropping to her knees and glaring under the bed. Regrettably, nothing but highly polished floorboards greeted her.
Not even a stray dust bunny.
Worst of all, someone chose that moment to knock on the door, opening it almost before she caught the soft rapping. Grimacing at the timing, she scooted out from under the bed and scrambled to her feet.
"Good morning." She forced a smile for the pink-cheeked maid hovering on the threshold, a heavy silver platter in her hands.
"And a fine one to you, miss. Cook thought you might prefer breakfast in your room." The girl came forward, set the tray on a table near the windows. But then she hesitated, the color in her face deepening. "I can take it away and come back later if you're busy."
"No, it's all right. I was just looking for my earring. It rolled under the bed," Mara improvised, her mouth watering at the smell of bacon and golden-brown Lome sausages.
"I'll look for it later," she added, eyeing the food.
"It's a full Scottish breakfast," the girl told her, pride in her voice. "Crisp streaky bacon, sausages, black pudding and haggis, mushrooms, tomatoes, and beans." She paused to pull back Mara's chair. "There's mixed toast, too, and a large pot of tea."
Mara gave the girl a smile she hoped was appreciative. She also bit back a request for coffee. She needed strong, black American Java to think straight, but the heavenly aromas rising from the breakfast platter more than made up for the tea.
Even so, she wouldn't be able to swallow a bite until she got a few answers. So she ignored her hunger and took a deep, silent breath.
"Who was playing the pipes just now?" She angled her head, hoped the harmless query would ease her way into asking what she really wanted to know. "It was 'Highland Laddie.' I recognized the tune."
The girl blinked. "Pipes? 'Highland Laddie'?" She looked at Mara, her brow knitting. "Begging your pardon, miss, but you must be mistaken. No one here plays the pipes."
The prickles at the back of Mara's neck turned cold. "No one? But I heard—"
"Och, Murdoch's a piper, that he is. Since he was a wee laddie. But he hasn't played in years. He says his lungs are too auld and weary." The girl glanced at the breakfast tray. "If you aren't hungry, I can—"
"No, leave it, please. I'm starving and this smells very good," Mara blurted, scarce aware of what she'd said. "Thank you for bringing it, Agnes… or is it Ailsa?"
"I'm Ailsa." The girl dipped a quick curtsy. "Agnes is cleaning the library this morning."
"Wait, please." Mara lifted a hand when the girl turned to leave. "I'd like to ask you something else."
"Aye, miss?"
Mara took the goonie from the bed and held it out before her. "Do you know if these rips were in this gown before last night?"
The girl's eyes widened. "Oooh, nay, that's impossible. I brought the gown up here myself. I would've noticed."
Mara's heart plummeted. "What about a jeweled dagger?"
"Sorry, miss, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"A
Six foot four inches of hunky Highland manhood or not.
Soul-melting stares and butter-soft burr or otherwise.
Blessedly, thoughts of the ill-humored Scotsman reminded her of her mission.
She had to find the dagger.
Her pulse racing, she rummaged in the wardrobe, snatching the first clothes her fingers encountered and donning them. Black stretch pants and a black top edged around the neck with a wide white band. She ignored her new waxed and waterproofed Barbour jacket and slipped her feet into flat black loafers, arranged her hair in a quick French twist, securing its unruly thickness with a wide tortoiseshell clasp.
Without even bothering with makeup, she began scouring the room, not leaving one inch unchecked. She even lifted the edges of the fancy Turkish carpet. But the mystery dagger remained elusive.
"It has to be here," she vowed, dropping to her knees and glaring under the bed. Regrettably, nothing but highly polished floorboards greeted her.
Not even a stray dust bunny.
Worst of all, someone chose that moment to knock on the door, opening it almost before she caught the soft rapping. Grimacing at the timing, she scooted out from under the bed and scrambled to her feet.
"Good morning." She forced a smile for the pink-cheeked maid hovering on the threshold, a heavy silver platter in her hands.
"And a fine one to you, miss. Cook thought you might prefer breakfast in your room." The girl came forward, set the tray on a table near the windows. But then she hesitated, the color in her face deepening. "I can take it away and come back later if you're busy."
"No, it's all right. I was just looking for my earring. It rolled under the bed," Mara improvised, her mouth watering at the smell of bacon and golden-brown Lome sausages.
"I'll look for it later," she added, eyeing the food.
"It's a full Scottish breakfast," the girl told her, pride in her voice. "Crisp streaky bacon, sausages, black pudding and haggis, mushrooms, tomatoes, and beans." She paused to pull back Mara's chair. "There's mixed toast, too, and a large pot of tea."
Mara gave the girl a smile she hoped was appreciative. She also bit back a request for coffee. She needed strong, black American Java to think straight, but the heavenly aromas rising from the breakfast platter more than made up for the tea.
Even so, she wouldn't be able to swallow a bite until she got a few answers. So she ignored her hunger and took a deep, silent breath.
"Who was playing the pipes just now?" She angled her head, hoped the harmless query would ease her way into asking what she really wanted to know. "It was 'Highland Laddie.' I recognized the tune."
The girl blinked. "Pipes? 'Highland Laddie'?" She looked at Mara, her brow knitting. "Begging your pardon, miss, but you must be mistaken. No one here plays the pipes."
The prickles at the back of Mara's neck turned cold. "No one? But I heard—"
"Och, Murdoch's a piper, that he is. Since he was a wee laddie. But he hasn't played in years. He says his lungs are too auld and weary." The girl glanced at the breakfast tray. "If you aren't hungry, I can—"
"No, leave it, please. I'm starving and this smells very good," Mara blurted, scarce aware of what she'd said. "Thank you for bringing it, Agnes… or is it Ailsa?"
"I'm Ailsa." The girl dipped a quick curtsy. "Agnes is cleaning the library this morning."
"Wait, please." Mara lifted a hand when the girl turned to leave. "I'd like to ask you something else."
"Aye, miss?"
Mara took the goonie from the bed and held it out before her. "Do you know if these rips were in this gown before last night?"
The girl's eyes widened. "Oooh, nay, that's impossible. I brought the gown up here myself. I would've noticed."
Mara's heart plummeted. "What about a jeweled dagger?"
"Sorry, miss, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"A
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