He shrugged modestly. “I dinnae need to make history tae ken my place in it, lass.”
“What a lovely sentiment.”
“Naught but the truth. What I do, I do for science but I also do for myself. I could spend my life in learning. A professional student, as ye call it.”
“And that’s why most people would call you crazy. Or mad. Or whatever the phrase is here.” She rolled her hand lazily, closing her eyes with a sigh.
“Ye should be abed and resting.”
Al opened her eyes to find him standing over her, amusement and concern wrestling with one another for command of his expression.
“Come, let me help ye up tae yer room. Yer maid can bandage yer arm and put ye tae bed.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Aye, I ken ye can, ye stubborn lass.”
“Why doesn’t anyone here think a woman can do stuff by herself?” Her words were thickened by fatigue and alcohol. Her drink disappeared from her hand, a second later he put it on a table nearby. “Peigi doesn’t even want me to bathe myself. Well, I won that one, I’ll tell you.”
He grinned down at her but didn’t address her question. He was smart. She’d give him that.
“Up, lassie.” He bent, slipping his arms beneath her and lifting her off the couch.
“Hey, I can walk, you know?”
Keir ignored her protest and carried her from the room, cradling her like a child. Except, for all her size, she wasn’t one. And she’d never had a man carry her like this. Not even her father that she could remember. The feelings it aroused were not even a shade paternal either. His strong arms held her close against him. She looped one arm around his neck and cuddled closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
Running her hand over his bulging chest muscles, she inhaled his scent. He must have bathed before dinner. Different than it had been earlier, he smelled of man but also mildly spicy. Still delicious.
He started up the stairs, his heart rate accelerating beneath her hand. His breathing increased as he took the steps two at a time. “You don’t have to carry me all the way. I can—”
“Do it yerself. I ken.”
“But it’s three stories,” she felt compelled to protest.
“Aye, three stories that would take an hour tae scale if ye were left to climb them yerself,” he pointed out.
“I’m not drunk. Just tipsy.”
“Cease yer protest.”
She did. But only because she liked being held by him. And he didn’t appear to be suffering under her weight too badly.
They reached her door but Keir didn’t drop her there. Instead, he kicked the door open and strode right in.
And stopped.
* * *
He froze at the sight of the bed. Turned down.
Waiting.
He hadn’t been thinking about what awaited him once he got Al to her room. Nay, all he could think of was unburdening himself of the warm, curvy body in his arms before he did something he’d regret.
Like take advantage of a tipsy, tired, and traumatized lass. What kind of animal would he be?
The rakish sort.
Och, he was such a fool. He should have never picked her up. The feel of her body so small and fragile in his arms should have evoked nothing more than the caring and concern that flooded him after Maeve’s maniacal attack. Instead, he’d felt every curve of her voluptuous form, from the swell of her breasts against his chest to her rounded hip rubbing dangerously close to his aching groin.
Rousing the passions he fought so hard to temper all week. But it wasn’t only his body she roused. Holding her in his arms in the library earlier, it hadn’t been mere desire but so much more. On his return from Inverness, he’d been able to think of nothing more than seeking her out.
Wearied by an emotional day, by the horrors of what he’d seen, he found relief in having her small body tucked close to him. It’d been an unusual moment for him. He’d felt a deep sense of perfection standing there. By rights, it should have alarmed him. But it had comforted him. Just as she had.
That was not to say he hadn’t been aroused as well. Her arms laced around his neck, her breasts pressed against him, her hands caressing… it had been incredibly tempting.
Her lips were mere inches away, but still she hadn’t taken the kiss.
Let her prove him a rake then. If she didn’t soon act on the lust he knew full well simmered in her just as it did in him, Keir was going to take the choice from her and ravish her like the beast he was fast becoming.
But not now.
Now, though the lust that should have been there earlier raged through his body, he couldn’t satisfy it. Not when she was injured, hurting because of the actions of one of his own. Not when she was made vulnerable by exhaustion and whiskey.
It would be another cold bath for him this day.
Just as soon as he set her on her feet. But while her legs fell when he slipped his arm from beneath her knees, Al clung to his shoulders. She just peered up at him with those dewy gray eyes. Those tempting pink lips parted. Begging.
But waiting.
Ever waiting.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me, Keir?” she dared ask. “You said you were going to woo me with words and kisses.”
“I dinnae recall,” he bit out.
Grabbing her hands, he tugged them off his shoulders and stepped away before he caved to his body’s persistent calling and showed her how thoroughly he longed to kiss her. She swayed on her feet and reached for him again.
Blast, of all the nights to fill a glass of whiskey to the brim! When he kissed her at last, he at least wanted her sensate enough to recall it as vividly as he would, not dulled by an alcoholic haze. And when he took her to that bed and made love to her at last, there’d be no bloody risk of her falling asleep halfway through it.
“I’ll call Peigi for ye, lass,” he said through clenched teeth, desperate to leave before his desperate longing overrode his sense of chivalry. “Get some sleep.”
“You’re a confusing man, Keir MacCoinnach,” she said as he turned and walked out the door.
Nay, he was a bloody saint.
Chapter 19
The carriage jerked into motion, sending Maeve and Oran on their way.
Al watched from a window in the hallway on the second floor, having no desire to be within a book’s length or knife’s throw of the sad woman. Even though Keir stood on the front steps of the castle watching the carriage rumble down the lane.
She wanted to talk to him. Try to figure out what was holding him back for something surely was. Not that she’d dare to ask directly. No matter how bold he thought she was, she wasn’t courageous enough for that. Maybe she could prepare some leading questions or related topic to segue into the subject.
Yes, she laughed inwardly. And simply hope he volunteered the information she was looking for on his own. She might be ignorant of most male ways, but she wasn’t stupid.
He wanted her. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but he had stated his intention to woo her. She hadn’t misinterpreted the unspoken addendum ‘into his bed,’ had she? No, there was ample, and she did mean ample, evidence that he wanted her on a purely physical level if nothing else.
She didn’t think she could have been any more clear that his wooing had paid off. She was available and ready to become his lover. So what was the problem?
What more indication did a rake need?
Unless she had been nothing more than a scientific case study all along.
A week ago, the thought would have cowed her into full retreat. She would have assumed the worst, slunk away, and licked her wounds. But Keir had sparked something in her as the days passed. A willingness to face confrontation without fear, to say what she wanted without worry of rejection or reprisal. To fight for something she wanted.
And she wanted him.
All of him.
And she was pretty damn certain he wanted her too, even if it was only for that one quick
fuck.
“Congratulations, Miss Maines.”
Al jumped at Ceana’s murmured words so close to her ear. She hadn’t even heard her come up behind her.
Turning on her heel, she found Ceana smiling at her ever so slyly in that way she had. Once again, she was dressed as if she expected to be called to court. Heavy satins, profuse quantities of lace. Those expansive panniers. Today her towering hair was even powdered and she wore a false, heart-shaped beauty mark at the corner of her mouth.
“Congratulations for what?” she asked, trying to calm the racing of her heart after such a start.
“Why for driving my dear, dear sister absolutely insane, of course,” she drawled, flicking out a fan with the snap of her wrist. Peeking out the window, she wafted it slowly. “She was never quite like this before, you know? Angry, of course. She’s been forever angry since she wed Robert MacLeod. I would wager he either keeps a mistress and doesn’t see to Maeve’s needs properly or he beats her.”
Were there no other options, she wondered? She was no psychologist, but it seemed to her Maeve was deeply depressed and lashing out rather than simply crazy or married to a bad person.
“She lost many a bairn, too, before Marcas was born.”
Marcas must have been the one who’d died recently. But there had been more? Her annoyance with Maeve’s behavior began the slide into sympathy.
“He was the only one to survive childhood. Sad really. I never had any children of my own but I’d think if I had, each one would have had the good sense to grow to adulthood.” The fan stilled and Ceana stared down at her thoughtfully. “Have you any children, Miss Maines?”
“No, I’ve never been married,” she pointed out. “Hence the miss.”
Ceana chuckled at that. “As if one needs a husband to bear a brat. But of course you’ve never wed. Your sense of style is deplorable. Ye’ll never get a man dressing in those rags.” She fingered the MacCoinnach tartan shawl Al had thrown over her plain dress. “Especially not one under this roof.”
Not subtle, but she wasn’t surprised. “I can assure you, I’m not looking for a husband. Under this roof or any other.”
The fan began to wave once more. “Oh, la, Miss Maines! Don’t sell yourself short. Why, I could dress you properly and take you to court. You could snap up a minor lord, perhaps even a baronet with the right tutoring.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“You’re sure?” she asked. “After all, you can’t expect to stay at Dingwall forever.”
Al couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Most every conversation she’d had with Ceana—brief as they were—ended up in this direction. It was like being a teenager again with her mother and stepfather telling her she would never be pretty enough to get a boyfriend. Or smart enough to make up for it.
“I’m well aware.”
“Even if my cousin is interested in keeping you around for now. For his particular amusement, I suppose.”
There it was.
For a second she would have given anything for Ceana and Maeve to switch places. Either way, it felt as if there was a knife aiming for her back.
Was the whole family like this? Spiteful and mean? If they were, what kind of man had she helped set loose on Tacoma?
No, Hugh couldn’t be like this. Even Keir’s tolerance for such cattiness couldn’t last long.
Turning away, she descended the stairs with Ceana’s shrill laughter trailing behind her. She hated that she looked like she was running from the woman. Even though she was. Ceana was intolerable. It was either seek out Keir or return to the haven of her bedroom to avoid her.
One was far more pleasant than the other.
He’d disappeared into the castle after the carriage left. Seeking help in locating him, she followed Archie on a fruitless search. Briefly, she wondered if the old retainer even remembered who they were supposed to be watching for.
Surprisingly, they eventually found him in the dark-paneled study. Normally he preferred the brighter, bigger library. He sat at his desk, once more writing as if the hounds of hell were driving him. He’d shed his coat, his linen shirt straining across the broad width of his shoulders as he hunched over his work. His thick, untamed hair falling over his forehead before he shoved it back impatiently.
Her fingers itched to dive into the curly locks, comb them back so she could see his gorgeous face. Not that she would but she still hated to interrupt and tried to slip away unnoticed. Archie took it upon himself to announce her.
“Ye’re up.”
There was gladness in his eyes that warmed her but some surprise in his voice. Since it was almost noon, she had to wonder at it. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I only assumed ye’d need more rest following yer injury,” he said, pushing back his chair and rising. As if she might need assistance. “Already ye’re breathless from exertion.”
Or maybe the sight of him, she wanted to counter. Would she ever be able to see him and not experience a rush of awe?
“I’m only breathless because I was in such a hurry to escape your cousin,” she said.
“Hae I a need tae send Ceana away now as well?”
Oh, would he? She longed to say yes, but didn’t want him to worry about her. “No, she’s no threat, just annoying.”
He waved her into the room and held out a chair near his at the desk, just as he’d done before. Gladly, she joined him.
“What is with her though? Maeve I get. At least a little, but even she is baffling.”
“What aboot them?”
“For all Maeve’s… um, let’s call it expressive anger last night, she didn’t seem all that sad about Hugh’s supposed death. Angry. Righteous even, but not sad. And Ceana! There’s no broken heart there. Not even crocodile tears. It’s her brother. I don’t get it.”
“Are ye attached tae yer siblings, lass?”
“I don’t have any.”
He harrumphed, reclining in his chair. “Mayhap things are different in yer time. ‘Struth, Ceana, Maeve, and e’en Mathilde hardly know Hugh. They are all older than he. Plus, he was fostered oot tae the MacDonald of Glendenning wi’ me when we were only lads of eight years. By the time he was old enough tae be of interest tae them, they were married off and gone. Truly, they dinnae ken enough aboot him tae hae a caring for him.”
“Yet, they were here,” she pointed out.
“Aye. They were at Rosebraugh when the battle began, but both their husbands hae gone tae ground in hiding for their part in the battle lest they, too, suffer Cumberland’s wrath.”
“You’re not in hiding.”
“Nor will I be. I’m only recently returned tae Dingwall after years abroad. I had nae commanding position in the battle. Few probably e’en ken I was there,” he said. “‘Tis only my connection tae my father putting me at any risk.”
“Maybe you should hide.”
“I willnae. Should they come tae Dingwall, I will face them.”
With such an answer brooking no argument, she revisited the previous subject. “So, why were Maeve and Ceana here instead of at Rosebraugh?”
“Wi’ Hugh still missing, the unrest in the area, and their husbands in hiding, they sought protection wi’ their nearest male relative. As they should.”
“You.”
He shook his head. “Nay, my father. Wi’ Hugh gone and nae other… ”
Keir trailed off with a curse and she glanced up at him questioningly. “What? What is it?”
“Ah, bluidy fookin’ hell.”
“Keir?”
“I’m aboot tae be the next bluidy Duke of Ross.”
Al’s eyes widened. She scooted up on the edge of her seat. “You?”
“I feel the same skepticism,” he said dryly, rubbing his hands over his face. “I wisnae cut oot to be a bluidy duke.”
Poor Keir, he seemed overwhelmed by the realization. “You? Why you? Doesn’t that whole primogeniture thing apply here? Sons, nephews, and all that?”
“Hugh wisna
e married.”
He pushed out of his chair and paced the shelves behind him before drawing out a thick book. A bible, she saw when he brought it back to the desk. He flipped through the first few pages to reveal a list of names. A family record, much as her grandmother used to keep.
His finger trailed over the record. “He had nae sons, nor any born on the wrong side of the blanket. Nor do any of Hugh’s sisters hae a surviving male child. Maeve’s lad is gone now. Ceana has nae children who made it past infancy.”
Interesting. Hadn’t Ceana just told her something indicating the opposite? Was it denial? Deception? Or had the loss of a child had as much an affect on Ceana as it had on Maeve, though with a difference in how it was expressed? How could it not? An unexpected wave of sympathy for them both washed over her.
“Mathilde has only lasses. My mother and Hugh’s father had nae other siblings.”
She could almost see the wheels working in his mind as he tried to find a way out of it. She couldn’t blame him really. There was a wealth of responsibility that came with being a duke, she would imagine.
“The auld duke had only one brother who died ‘ere he might wed. That leaves me as the oldest male grandchild of the auld duke.” A single concise oath, then silence fell.
“Should I congratulate you, Your Grace? Curtsey?” she asked at length.
He stared at her in horror. “Dinnae do that! Are ye certain there is nae way for Hugh tae come back?”
“I’ve already explained that there isn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Ah, bluidy, bluidy hell! I dinnae want this any more than I anticipate taking on the earldom.” He buried his head in his hands and tugged at his hair with his fists. His frustration obvious. “Och, I confess, that is the true reason I made haste tae discover my father’s fate that day. I dinnae want tae be the earl. Nae yet. I’ve so much I still want tae do. Now this. An dukedom tae bear as well.”
A rush of sympathy drove her from her perch. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she rubbed her hands up and down his thighs to comfort him.
“Oh, it won’t be that bad, will it?” A piece of one of their many conversations leapt to mind. “Didn’t you tell me Hugh had been all over Europe for the past few years?”
Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3) Page 12