Read Online Snowy Night with a Highlander by Julia London - Free Book Online
Authors: Julia London
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impossible to reach Blackwood by nightfall now. Frankly, he feared they would not reach any place by nightfall.
He sent Fiona into the trees to gather wood before it became too wet from the snow in the event they needed to build a fire. He had her stack it in the back of the wagon, under the tarpaulin awning. He was both amazed and relieved that she did not argue, but only voiced her opinion that she was being sent on a fool’s errand so that she’d not be underfoot while he tried to repair the wheel, and went off cheerfully to do as he’d asked.
She wasn’t wrong. It was difficult enough to repair a spoke in the wheel cog, particularly when one arm refused to cooperate. It took him much longer than it would an able-bodied man, and as a result, the lady had stuffed the wagon with as much wood as she could find without wandering too deep into the woods, and was now sitting on a rock beneath the bows of a towering Scots pine.From his position on his back beneath the wagon, where he was working to force a spare spoke into the fittings on the wheel, Duncan could see a pair of ankle-high boots that were attached to a pair of very shapely legs covered in thick woolen stockings. Legs that disappeared beneath the dirtied hem of her gown and cloak.
Her arms were wrapped around her knees, drawn up to the chest, and her chin perched atop her knees. She watched him work, chattering on about something to do with a ball in London. He’d been unable to follow her conversation as his attention was diverted by the task at hand and that pair of shapely legs peeking out at him from beneath her skirts.
He might have gone on all day stealing glimpses of that tantalizing view, but she suddenly dipped her head, catching his attention. “I said, I’d never been to a proper ball before I attended the one at Gloucester.”
Duncan had no idea what he should say to that and grunted. He’d positioned himself around the wheel, tucking it in between his body and his bad arm so that he could keep it from moving. With his good arm, he worked to set the spare spoke into the notches of the wheel.
Fiona stood and began to pace just beyond the wheel, kicking what was, fortunately, a light accumulation of snow. “I rather thought London would be different somehow,” she said. “I rather thought the whole of society would be different, but it’s really rather remarkably similar to society in the Highlands—what wee bit exists here, that is.”
He could not imagine that the Highlands were anything like London. Her small boots passed by his face, turned sharply, and passed again. “I truly believed there would be some sort of enlightenment in London,” shecontinued, one hand waving airily. “But I discovered that while there are good souls to be found in London society, there are others who can be as mean-spirited and churlish as the Laird of Blackwood.”
There it was again, her complete disdain for the man that he’d been.
Her feet paused in their pacing; she suddenly squatted down beside him. “I donna mean to disparage your laird, if indeed he remains your laird and has no’ been shot in a duel or otherwise brought down.”
“But you have disparaged him, aye?” Duncan asked curtly.
One lovely dark brow rose high above the other. “I did no’ mean to. I merely assumed he might have met with trouble, naturally, given his general disposition.”
Duncan gave her a look that he hoped would end the conversation, but the lass was bold. Or oblivious. Instead of politely demurring as she ought to have done, she smiled as if she pitied him his laird. “I beg your pardon if I’ve offended,” she said sweetly. “But perhaps you do no’ know your laird as I have known him.”
“Have you known him?” he demanded, and hit the spoke with the flat of his palm. He hit it too hard—it shoved the spoke past the notch. Duncan muttered under his breath and started the laborious process over again.
“I have,” she said.
“If I a may ask,
He sent Fiona into the trees to gather wood before it became too wet from the snow in the event they needed to build a fire. He had her stack it in the back of the wagon, under the tarpaulin awning. He was both amazed and relieved that she did not argue, but only voiced her opinion that she was being sent on a fool’s errand so that she’d not be underfoot while he tried to repair the wheel, and went off cheerfully to do as he’d asked.
She wasn’t wrong. It was difficult enough to repair a spoke in the wheel cog, particularly when one arm refused to cooperate. It took him much longer than it would an able-bodied man, and as a result, the lady had stuffed the wagon with as much wood as she could find without wandering too deep into the woods, and was now sitting on a rock beneath the bows of a towering Scots pine.From his position on his back beneath the wagon, where he was working to force a spare spoke into the fittings on the wheel, Duncan could see a pair of ankle-high boots that were attached to a pair of very shapely legs covered in thick woolen stockings. Legs that disappeared beneath the dirtied hem of her gown and cloak.
Her arms were wrapped around her knees, drawn up to the chest, and her chin perched atop her knees. She watched him work, chattering on about something to do with a ball in London. He’d been unable to follow her conversation as his attention was diverted by the task at hand and that pair of shapely legs peeking out at him from beneath her skirts.
He might have gone on all day stealing glimpses of that tantalizing view, but she suddenly dipped her head, catching his attention. “I said, I’d never been to a proper ball before I attended the one at Gloucester.”
Duncan had no idea what he should say to that and grunted. He’d positioned himself around the wheel, tucking it in between his body and his bad arm so that he could keep it from moving. With his good arm, he worked to set the spare spoke into the notches of the wheel.
Fiona stood and began to pace just beyond the wheel, kicking what was, fortunately, a light accumulation of snow. “I rather thought London would be different somehow,” she said. “I rather thought the whole of society would be different, but it’s really rather remarkably similar to society in the Highlands—what wee bit exists here, that is.”
He could not imagine that the Highlands were anything like London. Her small boots passed by his face, turned sharply, and passed again. “I truly believed there would be some sort of enlightenment in London,” shecontinued, one hand waving airily. “But I discovered that while there are good souls to be found in London society, there are others who can be as mean-spirited and churlish as the Laird of Blackwood.”
There it was again, her complete disdain for the man that he’d been.
Her feet paused in their pacing; she suddenly squatted down beside him. “I donna mean to disparage your laird, if indeed he remains your laird and has no’ been shot in a duel or otherwise brought down.”
“But you have disparaged him, aye?” Duncan asked curtly.
One lovely dark brow rose high above the other. “I did no’ mean to. I merely assumed he might have met with trouble, naturally, given his general disposition.”
Duncan gave her a look that he hoped would end the conversation, but the lass was bold. Or oblivious. Instead of politely demurring as she ought to have done, she smiled as if she pitied him his laird. “I beg your pardon if I’ve offended,” she said sweetly. “But perhaps you do no’ know your laird as I have known him.”
“Have you known him?” he demanded, and hit the spoke with the flat of his palm. He hit it too hard—it shoved the spoke past the notch. Duncan muttered under his breath and started the laborious process over again.
“I have,” she said.
“If I a may ask,
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