Laird of Ballanclaire

by Jackie Ivie

  “You called my eyes amber. Verra romantic word for a dull color, amber. You were na’ even aware of the word as you used it. That made it something you did subconsciously, without thinking. You probably apply romantic descriptions to menial things all through every day of your existence. Tell me I’m wrong. I’d like to argue the point with you.”

  She was staring. “How do you know?” she finally asked.

  Her answer was a swift grin, and then he winked. Her body responded all the way to her toes and back. Constant only hoped it wasn’t as visible as it felt.

  “I make it my business to look beneath the surface, love. I’m good at it. There’s a wealth of information people keep hidden. Sometimes from others. Sometimes from themselves. You’re in the latter category.”

  “I don’t think I like it,” she answered.

  “What? That I can tell what a person might be thinking, or why he’s about to do something? It’s a talent I have. Tell me another of yours.”

  “Another?”

  “You are definitely the most talented cook I’ve run across in this country of yours. I’m just impressed that I had the good sense to fall into your ditch from where I was slung across my horse. You did see a horse, dinna’ you?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “That’s depressing. I guess he was na’ very loyal. It’s a good thing he was military issue. I’d hate to claim him as one from my own stables.”

  Constant’s lips twitched despite herself.

  Kameron’s expression sobered as he watched her. “You probably underprice yourself, Constant, love.”

  “What are you talking about now?”

  “Pricing. In the marriage mart. That’s what lasses do. They price themselves. They tend to attract the men worthy of the price they set. You probably haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “If you see a beautiful rug for sale and the owner is asking a pittance for it, what happens to your opinion of the rug?”

  She scrunched her face in thought. “I would wonder what’s wrong with it.”

  His smile was back in full force. “Verra good. I knew you were quick. I’m glad it’s borne out for me. I doona’ much like being wrong.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Have you been available for this Thomas before?”

  “I don’t think I like your meaning,” she replied in a very careful, emotionless tone.

  Kameron narrowed his eyes in thought and lost any hint of joviality. He was even more handsome with that sort of expression. If any of her sisters could see him, they’d most likely swoon.

  And if they saw his current lack of attire, they would for certain.

  She put the thought away the instant it occurred, but it was too late. Her eyes flicked down the length of him, to his feet and back. When she came back to his eyes, his eyebrows were lifted, and there was the slightest hint of color high in his cheeks. It made the amber of his eyes glow.

  “I think you need to keep to the subject at hand, Constant, love,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “I am verra aware of you as a woman now. You did well.”

  The flush heated her right to the roots of her hair. She had to drop her eyes, although there wasn’t much safe to look at. He still had her boot, his arm was still extremely muscled, and she already knew what his eyes looked like. She closed hers to keep any reaction exactly where it belonged . . . inside. When she opened them and looked up, he was still watching her, and those golden eyes were exactly as leonine and warm as she’d already imagined.

  “I meant, if your Thomas comes calling, do you go to meet him immediately or do you make him wait?”

  “He never comes calling,” she answered.

  “When do you meet this fellow?”

  She shrugged. “Church. Quilting bees.”

  “Your Thomas is a quilter? Good Lord.”

  Her eyes flew open at the insult. “His mother is notorious for being the best with a needle in the area.”

  “Oh. My mistake,” he replied, with what she recognized was a sarcastic tone.

  “Let go of my foot,” she said finally.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve finished here.”

  “I’m getting a little too close to the truth of this Thomas lad, am I?” he asked softly.

  “You are not!”

  “If you rarely see him, and you doona’ look at him, and he doesn’t come calling, what by the saints makes him your beau?”

  Constant swallowed around a knot that contained tears. “I really . . . should be going. There’s still time to get a few hours of sleep.”

  He released her foot. “I’m stealing your food, your goodwill, and your sleep. I am na’ a very pleasant patient, am I?”

  “No.”

  He grinned. “It’s a good thing I’m pleasant to look at then, is na’ it?”

  Constant’s eyes widened and she gaped. She couldn’t think of one thing to reply. Not one.

  “Come, Constant, confess. You wanted me to look like this, dinna’ you?”

  “It never crossed my mind,” she answered, as evenly as possible.

  “You’re na’ a verra convincing liar, Connie, love. I would na’ take it up as a profession, if I were you.”

  Constant wrinkled her brow again. “Lying isn’t a profession.”

  “Oh yes, it is. Some people doona’ even ken when they’ve chosen it as one. You would probably know a few if I described them.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, I doona’ go by names. I use types. There’s your snobbish types that wed for security or wealth, or perhaps both, but they do it without emotion. You ken any of them?”

  Charity, was her instant thought. She nodded.

  “You think they doona’ lie with each and every caress? Each and every kiss? Every intimate gesture they receive and then force themselves to return?”

  Constant’s eyes flew wide. Charity caressed John Becon . . . intimately? She hadn’t ever thought about it. Everything that Kam had pegged as a romantic in her was shuddering. She nearly gagged. John Becon was older than their father, fat, pompous, had horrible teeth, worse breath, smelled . . . and that was with his clothes on.

  “How about the type that goes about pretending to be brave, when they long to run and hide? They’re verra good at that, too. They put on a good front, especially if they are well fortified with spirits. I imagine some of my mob friends fit that category. You ken any of them, Constant?”

  She nodded.

  “They’re pretty good at lying, would na’ you say? You could actually say they’ve chosen lying as a profession. I bet half doona’ even realize it, because they’re lying to themselves, too.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “It’s my talent. I can usually spot a liar the moment I meet them, which is why I told you what a terrible one you are. Those turquoise eyes doona’ hide a thing.”

  “My eyes are not turquoise,” she replied, although her voice didn’t sound like her.

  “What color are they, then? In your opinion, of course.”

  “I don’t know . . . blue?”

  He tilted his head slightly and considered her. Without once blinking. Constant couldn’t take that much of his undivided attention without it showing somewhere on her body for him to read. She looked down at the boot he was no longer holding.

  “You forgot the darker, bluish-green streaks in them,” he said softly.

  Her eyes widened. She didn’t dare look up.

  “They’re also perfectly clear and honest, and impossible to hide a thing behind.”

  Her face was beet red. It had to be if the heat behind her eyes and nose was an indication.

  “You should look in the mirror more, love.”

  “You shouldn’t use such endearments,” she whispered.

  “Probably na’, but it’s too late to change, and I want to give you something to daydream about while you work tomo
rrow.”

  She twisted her hands together to hide the trembling. “Are you dallying with me?” she asked her entwined fingers.

  “Na’ yet. But I was definitely considering it.”

  “What?” Surprise choked the word. And something else. Something she was avoiding. She couldn’t fancy herself feeling anything for a tarred-and-feathered soldier named Kameron. It was against everything loyal in her. It was dangerous. There wasn’t a soul who knew she was alone all night with a very handsome, very virile, and very exposed man. It was also thrilling. Exciting. Tantalizing. She trembled. Stilled. “But . . . why?” she asked.

  “I’m beginning to suspect the reason behind this fellow’s obstinacy in na’ snatching you up the moment you were old enough. I’m hoping to jolt some sense into him without having to meet him and actually knock it into him.”

  Constant’s eyes were huge as she raised them to him again. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because the only other way to gain his attention is to pursue you myself. There’s naught like a bit of jealousy to make a man’s heart pump harder, get his interest piqued and his sense of possessiveness aroused.”

  “Surely . . . you jest.”

  “Nae. I doona’. I just will na’ have the opportunity. I’m a soldier, remember? Your Thomas is probably a member of the little colonial militia that’s causing all the trouble. I canna’ just waltz into one of your barn-raising affairs with you on my arm . . . although it is a thought.”

  Constant had to shut her eyes or he’d be able to read her response. She very nearly lost control. Arriving at any function with such a handsome man would be more than she could envision. It was going to cause her some trouble every time she thought of it.

  “All of which brings me back to why I’m making you daydream about me. It serves my purpose at present.”

  Constant narrowed her eyes and regarded him. He was holding himself up with his elbows, his upper body resting on the log, his well-developed lower back outlined by her apron. He had his head tipped sideways to speak to her as she sat near his right shoulder. He was easily the best-looking man she’d ever seen. Once he was well and standing beside her, he was probably so much man that she’d faint, and she had never done that in her life.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “If you constantly find your thoughts on me, I’ll ken I’ve succeeded.”

  “At what?”

  “Flirting with you, of course. A good dose should teach you what to expect. And what to do. And then you’ll be able to use it on this Thomas fellow. You can make him think about you all day, just like I’m making you think about me. You’ll tell me if it works?”

  “I haven’t even seen Thomas for over a month,” she replied.

  “That is na’ what I meant. Try harder, Constant.”

  Kameron had a devastating smile, filling the gap between his lips with perfectly spaced, white teeth. Constant suppressed her own answering smile with difficulty. She’d never had such a conversation with another person before in her life. He made every nerve ending tingle, until even her scalp itched. He made her throat alternate between tight constriction and blubbering uselessness. He sent her from pale shock to heated blushes. She already knew she’d be thinking about him every minute of the entire day.

  “I think . . . I’d better go,” she said, finally.

  “You can do the same thing to your Thomas. I promise.”

  “What thing?”

  “What you’re feeling. We can make Thomas go through the same emotions.”

  “I never said I felt anything,” she replied.

  “Those beautiful turquoise eyes do. Run along, love. You probably have to be up at dawn, or before. That gives you about three hours of sleep. And mind you keep from wasting any of it dreaming.”

  “I won’t,” she replied and got to her feet with the same sort of stiffness that was in her voice. She gathered the empty bowl that had held his sup and wrapped it back up. She avoided looking anywhere near him, although it wasn’t easy. She was winding the wick back into the oil in her lantern when he spoke again.

  “Constant?”

  “Yes?” she answered, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the change in light. Kameron hadn’t been accurate, either. She had maybe one hour before the sun was up.

  “You said you brought a blanket?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you put it over me afore you go?”

  She tightened her jaw and favored him with the look she usually gave Charity. It only worked because she couldn’t actually see him. “Now?”

  “It’s fairly cold, of a sudden. I fancy I ken why, but I’ll leave it unvoiced. I’ve given you enough to think about already.”

  He didn’t even mention how she was going to feel spreading a blanket over his semi-nakedness, by touch alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Despite what she’d thought might happen, Constant found the day passed in a blur of activity. Henry was even helpful to her, especially when doing outside chores such as chopping the wood and bringing the cows in for milking. He didn’t once chide her over her name, either. There were no comments about her being in “constant trouble,” or what a “constant problem” she was, or even what a “constant source of aggravation” she was. Constant didn’t stop to question it. She couldn’t. She didn’t even notice when he was there or when he wasn’t.

  She hadn’t got more than an hour of sleep, and yet felt perfectly refreshed. She surprised their mother more than once with her industriousness, and for once there was no undercurrent of reprimand in her mother’s remarks. Constant smiled through every chore. She baked, cooked, swept, made beds, and handled dishes. She even bade Charity and her new daughter a good morn, and a good afternoon later when she took up her sister’s tray.

  She was aware of only one thing, and it seemed to grow with a hum inside of her, until her hands couldn’t seem to keep up. Through the entire day, every thought was of golden eyes set in the most handsome face, crowned by such a glorious length of white-blond hair, it undoubtedly got him more than a few second glances. She was running through her immense series of chores for a reason. She was hastening toward the night and Kam. She could hardly wait to talk with him again, and feel the anticipatory reaction he told her was flirting. And she longed to feel his skin beneath her fingers.

  She also longed to reveal more of him. If his back was so gloriously muscled and vast, wouldn’t the front of him be even better? She guessed he’d probably have the same golden fur on his chest that he’d had covering his arms. He wasn’t going to keep it. She was in charge of the shaving, wasn’t she? Her lips twisted and she had to duck her head in embarrassment at her own thoughts. If his arms were that muscular and strong, wouldn’t his chest be even more so?

  Constant stilled her hands in the washing tub full of supper dishes, lost in thought. She rubbed her hands over the hard surface of a tankard, running her thumbs along the ridges and indentations the silversmith had hammered into it. She wondered if Kam’s chest would feel as hard to the touch. Instinctively she knew it would, although it would be warm and alive under her fingers.

  She actually felt her fingers tingling with the thought before dipping the vessel into the cold rinse water to soothe the feeling away. She snickered at her own thoughts and checked the round, slightly distorted image of her own reflection in the tankard’s side. Constant had long, thick, brown hair. It was always worn close under her cap, but wisps of it were curling about her face and eyes—eyes that didn’t look the least bit plain blue.

  He calls my eyes turquoise.

  The humming sensation intensified. Such a strange emotion didn’t seem to be a bad thing at all. It made her day fly by, her chores almost nonexistent, and any missing sleep became little more than an afterthought. Every moment felt like a waste of time, until she could be with him.

  Kameron. She said his name in her thoughts for the thousandth time. Kameron. Great, golden-eyed Kameron . . . what? Constant s
tilled as she realized she didn’t even know his last name. Then she shrugged. It hardly mattered. She probably shouldn’t know it. It was safer. There wasn’t a future involved with any of this. She knew it. He knew it.

  But nothing stopped the humming feeling. Her entire body felt as though it was vibrating as sundown grew closer. The commonsensible Constant told herself she was a fool and a simpleton. The dreamy-eyed romantic in her knew she was foolish, and didn’t care.

  Kameron had raised her awareness of him to such a degree it was almost frightening, if she thought of it. So she didn’t. She shrugged off any negative thoughts, closed her eyes, and saw him so clearly, she was surprised when she opened her eyes to find the kitchen wall staring back at her.

  She knew the man named Kam was off-limits. She knew he was going to be the enemy. She knew he was teaching her the art of flirtation so she could use it on Thomas Esterbrook, although she was having difficulty bringing Thomas’s face to mind. She knew everyone would be horrified at what she was imagining, and yet it made the entire day more sunny and bright than a late October day had any right to be.

  She wondered if such secret thoughts made her a sinner. She’d had exactly three secret nights to know him, and already she wondered such a thing? She was in trouble if the answer was affirmative, because she had no plans to stop thinking about Kam anytime soon. There would be time enough for any regrets after he got better and disappeared.

  Constant dried the dishes, in a reflective mood, then she shrugged the feeling off. She wasn’t going to regret a moment of time with him. She was going to commit every bit of it to memory, and wasting time over the dishes wasn’t going to get her any more moments.

  Constant’s senses were heightened as she sponged off in the room she shared with Stream. She knew Stream slept; she was overtired from all the fuss in the house. She’d never been strong, and the spindly body she’d been born into wasn’t up to such things as newborns. Constant smiled at her sister’s sleeping frame.

  She toyed with wearing her night rail before closing her eyes against such sinful thoughts. She was tending to an invalid, not going to an assignation. In truth, except for a comment Charity had once made in jest, Constant didn’t even know what an assignation was. All she knew was their mother had chided Charity over such lustful thoughts.