Read Online Highlander Mine by Juliette Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Juliette Miller
Ads: Link
“Amelia,” he began. Then he paused, looking measuredly into my eyes. “That is your real name, is it not?”
Already he was accusing me of lying and we hadn’t even begun. This riled me. He hadn’t even heard my story yet and already he was distrusting it. It occurred to me, aye, that my indignance was maybe, just barely, the tiniest bit absurd. After all, I was about to spin a partly fictional tale. But still.
“I heard your brother call you something else,” he said. This eased my irritation by a degree. So he hadn’t distrusted me—yet. He’d only heard Hamish’s nickname for me.
“He calls me Ami. It means—”
“Friend,” he finished for me. Something about the tone of his voice, so deep and impressive, touched me in a very strange place. A glowing burn settled below my rib cage, extending in seeping, brazen directions; this burn felt remarkably, and intensely, like longing. His eyes were fixed on mine, only compounding the effect. I was glad I was sitting down, and I took another cool sip of the ale.
“Aye,” I replied softly. “Friend.” Of course he spoke French, and probably twelve other languages besides. No doubt he’d traveled the world and read every book, too.
“You’ve come from Edinburgh. ’Tis a long journey.”
“Aye,” I agreed. “We traveled for six days.”
“Tell me about it.”
His soft command was patient and, even worse, kind . As though he was reading the difficulties of our journey and all that had come before it in the expression on my face. It was this note of compassion that found me uncharacteristically remorseful that I had need to lie to him. I knew with certainty that if he discovered the truth he would likely banish me from the grounds of his keep before I could even finish my drink. In a daft act of defiance, I took another sip of my ale, finishing it. And now I had two things to feel remorseful about. He’d tricked me! By serving me a drink so delicious there was no way I could resist it.
All right, so he’d won that hand. But I had no intention of giving away any secrets, ale or no ale. I knew I could handle my drink better than most. Ale and whiskey were plentiful at my family’s gaming club, and although I rarely imbibed, I had once taken a game, and lost, against a regular client named Burns, a devilish brute who seduced rich women for a living and would frequent our club when he was between heiresses. He’d placed a handful of shillings on my table for a single roll of the dice, mine against his. It was enough money to keep our creditors at bay for at least a week, so I’d taken him on. He’d bet me I couldn’t match him drink for drink and continue to resist his charms. I wasn’t an heiress, I’d argued. For me, he’d said, he would let that small detail slide, just this once. His roll—two sixes—had been unbeatable. I’d taken the drinks, poured by Nora, one of the club’s hostesses. It had helped that Burns had already been well into his cups when the challenge began. I’d taken four shots of whiskey before he’d passed out cold. Well played, lassie, Nora had laughed. You’ve a hollow leg. At the time I’d taken the praise to heart: it took a lot to impress Nora.
To my dismay, I realized that while Burns had merely become blurrier, Knox Mackenzie now had only become more... beautiful with the light effects of the ale. He was too masculine to be called beautiful, but it was a word that came to mind. His black hair framed his face, all thick and glinting. I’d never seen hair that richly black. The gold of the chain at his neck and the thick cuff bracelet he wore only added to his aura of nobility and sovereignty. Damn him. Now he’s trying to undermine my control with his regal allure.
“Why are you traveling north and where were you headed when you were intercepted by my sisters?” he asked.
And so I began, offering as little information as possible, resolved to embellish and rearrange when the story required. I kept
Already he was accusing me of lying and we hadn’t even begun. This riled me. He hadn’t even heard my story yet and already he was distrusting it. It occurred to me, aye, that my indignance was maybe, just barely, the tiniest bit absurd. After all, I was about to spin a partly fictional tale. But still.
“I heard your brother call you something else,” he said. This eased my irritation by a degree. So he hadn’t distrusted me—yet. He’d only heard Hamish’s nickname for me.
“He calls me Ami. It means—”
“Friend,” he finished for me. Something about the tone of his voice, so deep and impressive, touched me in a very strange place. A glowing burn settled below my rib cage, extending in seeping, brazen directions; this burn felt remarkably, and intensely, like longing. His eyes were fixed on mine, only compounding the effect. I was glad I was sitting down, and I took another cool sip of the ale.
“Aye,” I replied softly. “Friend.” Of course he spoke French, and probably twelve other languages besides. No doubt he’d traveled the world and read every book, too.
“You’ve come from Edinburgh. ’Tis a long journey.”
“Aye,” I agreed. “We traveled for six days.”
“Tell me about it.”
His soft command was patient and, even worse, kind . As though he was reading the difficulties of our journey and all that had come before it in the expression on my face. It was this note of compassion that found me uncharacteristically remorseful that I had need to lie to him. I knew with certainty that if he discovered the truth he would likely banish me from the grounds of his keep before I could even finish my drink. In a daft act of defiance, I took another sip of my ale, finishing it. And now I had two things to feel remorseful about. He’d tricked me! By serving me a drink so delicious there was no way I could resist it.
All right, so he’d won that hand. But I had no intention of giving away any secrets, ale or no ale. I knew I could handle my drink better than most. Ale and whiskey were plentiful at my family’s gaming club, and although I rarely imbibed, I had once taken a game, and lost, against a regular client named Burns, a devilish brute who seduced rich women for a living and would frequent our club when he was between heiresses. He’d placed a handful of shillings on my table for a single roll of the dice, mine against his. It was enough money to keep our creditors at bay for at least a week, so I’d taken him on. He’d bet me I couldn’t match him drink for drink and continue to resist his charms. I wasn’t an heiress, I’d argued. For me, he’d said, he would let that small detail slide, just this once. His roll—two sixes—had been unbeatable. I’d taken the drinks, poured by Nora, one of the club’s hostesses. It had helped that Burns had already been well into his cups when the challenge began. I’d taken four shots of whiskey before he’d passed out cold. Well played, lassie, Nora had laughed. You’ve a hollow leg. At the time I’d taken the praise to heart: it took a lot to impress Nora.
To my dismay, I realized that while Burns had merely become blurrier, Knox Mackenzie now had only become more... beautiful with the light effects of the ale. He was too masculine to be called beautiful, but it was a word that came to mind. His black hair framed his face, all thick and glinting. I’d never seen hair that richly black. The gold of the chain at his neck and the thick cuff bracelet he wore only added to his aura of nobility and sovereignty. Damn him. Now he’s trying to undermine my control with his regal allure.
“Why are you traveling north and where were you headed when you were intercepted by my sisters?” he asked.
And so I began, offering as little information as possible, resolved to embellish and rearrange when the story required. I kept
Similar Books
