land tomorrow.”
What in hell was Macauley up to?
“Ach, ’tis all the same to me,” MacDuffie said into his glass. Then he downed its contents. “Do what you will.”
Aye. As soon as he explored the island, he was going to recruit men who wanted to train as warriors, in spite of the laird’s belief in perpetual peace.
Lachann did not know how the man remained upright after so much whiskey. But then Anna’s retreating form caught his eye, and the laird’s tolerance for drink became no more than a passing thought.
Anna’s face and form were as fair as any Lachann had ever seen, but naught was seductive about the lass. She did not make flirtatious eyes at him, nor give any coy smiles to invite his attention. The clothing she wore was hardly alluring, no different from the attire worn by the servants at Braemore Keep. She wore no beguiling jewels, nor was her hair arranged in some intricate fashion designed to draw a man’s eye.
And yet—
“Our wee isle has little to boast of,” Catrìona said, thankfully breaking into Lachann’s musings. But her tone and expression indicated a surprising distaste for her island home. “We have fishermen who make the pier reek of rotting fish entrails, and the paltry farms scattered among the rocky hillsides are hardly worth your time.”
“The only thing of value on Kilgorra is the distillery,” Macauley added, and Catrìona gave him a warm smile. An encouraging smile.
“I’ll take your word on that. For now,” Lachann responded, mystified by their attitude. Was it possible they did not understand the vital importance of grain in the production of Kilgorra whiskey? And that the more widely known the whiskey became, the greater the necessity of armed men to protect it?
Ach, this conversation was making Lachann’s head throb. He’d have left the table in disgust, but he knew he needed to remain with his hosts and be convivial. Macauley was as irritating as ever, and Catrìona—well, she was purely puzzling.
’Twas obvious she was partial toward Macauley, and yet she flirted with Lachann. . . .
Gesu, he hoped Catrìona did not intend to play games of her own.
Mayhap he could convince her to spend time with him after supper without Macauley’s unwelcome presence. There, perhaps he could declare his intentions directly to her and ask for her answer.
He had had no illusions about her comeliness or lack thereof, but he’d hoped she would at the very least be biddable. Mayhap even glad to have a suitor of her own status to woo and wed her. Without Macauley’s influence, ’twas entirely possible she would be more agreeable—
“Come back here, Anna,” Catrìona said. “Build up the fire, else Father will take a chill. And take that manky cat with you when you leave.”
Lachann sensed some animosity from Catrìona toward Anna, but from what he had seen, the lass performed her duties well. He found no cause for complaint. On the contrary, she moved about almost silently on her bare feet, serving the table efficiently, without intruding.
Lachann remembered the passion he’d seen in her eyes during their earlier encounters on the pier and at the healer’s cottage. He could easily imagine her fiery response if he should kiss her.
Gesu!
He took a large gulp of ale and pointedly turned his attention from the maid. What in hell was he thinking? Once he made Catrìona his bride, he would reside in the keep. Anna would continue to serve him and his wife.
He needed to keep that in mind.
C atrìona did not miss the quick appraising look of appreciation that crossed Lachann’s face when his eyes alighted upon Anna, and the anger that always simmered just below her surface when Anna was near threatened to bubble over.
She should have drowned the wench when she’d had the chance years ago.
Anna had been worse than a thorn in Catrìona’s side since the day she and her mother had arrived on Kilgorra. Catrìona had been on the verge of gaining some fatherly
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