Distraction. Temptation.
Like that strand of hair that had fallen from the loose knot at the base of her neck. His fingers itched to catch the silky length and wind it back into place. Or around his finger. Long and straight, it followed the slender line of her neck then frayed into knots as it caught on the embroidery along the back of her dress. Frayed like his thoughts when it came to her.
She’d been right in her accusation that he’d personally consider her a distraction, perhaps more than any of his men, as he would be expected to work closely with any assistant the architects sent to aid him. Having her close at hand would make concentration impossible. Already he’d spent valuable time dwelling upon the lass. The way she looked him boldly in the eye. Where she hailed from that her speech patterns matched none that he knew in his homeland or abroad. How she might look splayed against the walls they were building with her skirts hiked up high around her hips while he stood between them….
Nay, he didn’t have time to consider everything he wondered about when it came to this unusual lass, however pleasant the diversion from the hell of his reality might be.
Och, his mind nagged. Better the fires of passion rather than those of hell, aye?
They reached the first floor and the small vestibule that branched off trice. The left led to the main part of the castle, the longest one ahead to servants’ hall with an oft unused passage to the bailey on the right. The lass slowed her steps and the space between them narrowed until the enthralling scent she wore reached his nose again. Warm and beguiling with an undeniable lure akin to the pull of Pandora’s box to discover the mysteries she held.
Finn took a step back with a shake of his head. “’Tis the passage ahead.”
He caught her profile as she cast a glance over her shoulder with a stiff nod. Still she hesitated. “This place is even worse without a hint of daylight.”
“In what way?”
“Creepier, don’t ye think?” There was an almost childlike quality to her voice.
“Are ye afraid of the dark, Mistress Marshall?”
“Of course no’.” The words bore the earmarks of a blatant lie. “It’s just that all this statuary that lines each hallway…it lends an element of the macabre to the place. Coming upon them like sarcophagi in an ancient Egyptian tomb or the like.” The timbre of her tone fell to a murmur. “I feel like Indiana Jones and no’ in a good way.”
“Who’s—”
“How do ye people get on without proper lighting?”
“We people?” A touch of humor caught him. “Do ye no’ count yerself among us, lass? Perhaps ye truly are one of the fey folk then? My Effie thinks ye have the look about ye.”
“That’s sweet of her.” Her soft tone steadied as she stepped with clear hesitation into the dim hallway. “But I dinnae believe in fairy tales.”
“I thought ye claimed to be a true Scottish lass.” She turned her head far enough that he could make out her pursed lips. The sour expression amused him further. “As a race of people, ’tis our duty to believe.”
“Well, I dinnae. I believe rather firmly in reality.” Her voice lowered to a mumble he was hard put to make out. “And the bloody blessing of modern utilities.”
He had no idea to what she referred. “For such a bonny lass ye’ve a prickly, puzzling tongue that vexes most readily.”
Stopping in her tracks, she turned with raised brows and lips still puckered. The tart look did nothing to diminish her natural beauty. “Simultaneously complimentary and insulting. Ye have a gift with words, Mr. Keeley. My friend Violet said much the same recently, though in a far nicer fashion. I told her that we work to our strengths.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m good at it.” One fine brow fell though the other remained lifted at the arch response, and Finn had the feeling the lass was toying with him. Neither flattered nor insulted but pleased by his remark. She turned and continued down the passage. “At any rate, it’s nice to ken I’m no’ the only one who vexes, as ye put it.”
Whether she intended it or not, the admission gratified him. It was rather nice to know that he unsettled her as much as she did him. Not that the admission would do him any service in the end. Thankfully, there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel where he could bid farewell to his troubles, as they were, and send them on their way.
Rather than hurry to carry him onward, his steps lagged…then stopped short of where the passage opened to the servants’ hall.
The lass paused her step and frowned over her shoulder. “What are ye doing?”
Good bloody question.
He set the trunk at his feet marveling at himself. Truth, he had no idea what he was about, only that he couldn’t let her go without touching her one time. She flounced back with a huff, reaching for the trunk. Reflexively, he caught her hand in his. The electric spark had little to do with the cold, dry weather and everything to do with the arousal that had plagued him from the moment he’d first seen her. Acknowledged or not. The spark sizzled. The fine hairs on his arms stood at attention.
It wasn’t enough. Turning her hand, he placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. Her soft, ivory skin warm against his lips. Her pulse leapt before she yanked her hand away. She rubbed the spot his mouth touched, a fierce scowl marring her smooth brow.
As if she could erase the impact of the simple gesture. As if he could forget the taste of her.
Bugger it, he was going barmy.
“Why would ye do that?” There was accusation in the rough whisper, as if he’d smacked her upside the head rather than kiss her hand. “Why? I was going to leave without a fuss. I was managing it. Now…”
Managing what? “Now…?” he prompted.
“Now ye’re making me think I’m capable of some seriously questionable moral fluctuations.”
She sounded cross with him, her blue eyes flaring with irritation disproportional to the deed in question. Finn had no idea what she meant any more than he comprehended what had set her off so. The act was a common enough practice despite her reaction.
And his. The urge to do it again — and more — seized him. To carry her into the shadows between the statuary and do much more. Finn shoved the burgeoning desire aside. There was much more to Aila Marshall than met the eye. A spot of joy. A complication he might briefly enjoy but did not need in his life. With that reminder, he bowed with a flourish of his hand for her to carry on.
She stood firm, continuing to glare at him with unguarded anger. “Why did ye have to make this so hard?”
Why did he have to make things so hard? With her sweetly bated breath, silky skin and perplexing words, Aila was the one who made things hard. Made him hard.
“I’ve been thinking. It would be wrong of me to send ye away when ye’ve come in need of employment.” The words were past his lips before they even trickled into his brain.
Her eyes grew dark and luminous in the faint light of the wall sconce. “Is that so?”
Finn groaned inwardly. What was he doing? Why keep her? Why fabricate a reason for her to stay when the last thing he needed to stifle his productivity…and his sanity…was this woman working at his side the day through?
He was a fool delving uncertainly into his own pool of fuckery.
Yet when he spoke again, it wasn’t to retract the offer. “Mr. Elliott mentioned that the brothers Adam sent you to assist me in whatever way I have need. Well, I find I have need for you.”
Chapter 8
One simple kiss on her hand and she’d lost all coherent thought. And aye, the morality that insisted she beat a hasty retreat back to her own time see-sawed between desire and sanity. Either way, Aila had a fierce need for him as well.
Given his hasty clarification, Finn must have realized how his words could be misinterpreted. “No’ on the castle. I’ve enough men to oversee, but…I could use a nursemaid to tend to my bairns while I work.”
“A nursemaid? Ye mean a nanny?”
“Aye, ’tis a per
fect solution. They are a burden to Ian’s nurse. I’m sure she’d welcome the respite.”
He looked rather pleased with himself. Aila was not. She’d rather have had him suggest she pole dance for him than watch over his children. The former was decidedly more flattering than the latter in her opinion. “Because it’s the perfect task for a woman, I suppose?”
“Precisely.”
“Thank ye for the offer, but nay.” She reached for the trunk again and Finn caught her by the wrist. As it had moments before, his touch sent her pulse racing. Oh, she wanted to hate him for it. Instead, she simply wanted. Wanted more of his touch. Wanted him.
Morals be damned.
He released her abruptly. “Nay? Why no’? ’Tis a respectable position.”
“Because I’ll no’ be pigeon-holed into some archaic convention of what a woman should and should no’ be,” she snapped, scratching her wrist where he’d touched her. “No’ in this century or any other.”
Och, but he’d struck a chord. She and Kyle had argued ad nauseum about what a woman’s role in life and relationships should entail. As if he had been born before the conception of women’s rights along with Finn. And she’d tried, each moment chafing.
She was done trying to be what a man expected.
Finn ran both hands over his head until his hair stood on end. “Ye are wi’out a doubt the most infuriating lass I’ve ever encountered. Ye’re…”
“Aggravating,” Aila suggested. “Maddening?”
“Aye. And aye.”
“Welcome to the party.”
The grind of his teeth filled the silence as he glowered at her. “Why am I even trying to make amends?”
“Amends?” she gasped in disbelief. “Is that what ye’re doing?”
“Lass, ye’re…” A growl of frustration swept away his ability to speak for a moment. He jabbed a finger in her direction. “Ye’re the most difficult, ill-tempered woman I’ve ever met.”
“Ill-tempered? I’m a fecking ray of sunshine compared to ye!” Her voice rose a notch as she stepped toe-to-toe with him. “Ye’re nothing but a chauvinistic…bawheeded…” Panting for breath, Aila cast about for the penultimate insult. “Twat waffle.”
His brows rose. Seconds later, lips twitched.
“Dinnae ye dare. This isnae amusing. Ye’re a bleedin’ bastard.”
“Och, lass. Which is it? Am I an arse, a bastard or…what was it? Twa—”
“All three!” She covered his mouth with her hand before he could repeat the insult. His eyes met hers. No anger, no derision, no….
Aila blinked as she saw the crow’s feet winging out from the corners of his eyes and recognized the light in those hazel depths. Humor. Unabashed amusement. His lips moved against her palm and she jerked her hand away lest she miss it.
A smile. Her stomach flipped as his jaw unclenched, the hard planes of his cheeks softened into long lines. Laugh lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, then a flash of even white teeth. He chuckled. The rusty bark evolving into laughter. Boyish, young and carefree. So wonderfully handsome she wished she could whip out her phone and immortalize the moment. Make it hers to keep forever.
What had he done to her?
Aila pushed by him, whirling back on one heel when she realized she’d left the trunk behind.
“Wait, lass.” The chuckle still lingering on his lips, he caught her arm again before she could lay a finger on it. “Dinnae go. Consider my offer. My children are in need of a proper nursemaid.”
“I’m hardly the person to fill the position, then.” She yanked her arm away with a scowl. Gah, she didn’t even recognize herself. “Let their mother look after them. I willnae be the one to do it.”
Her flippant remark drove the last bit of humor away, leaving his expression blank. For the first time without a hint of any sort of emotion. “They dinnae have one.”
“Everyone has…” Aila blinked, mind stalled in confusion. “What do ye…? Oh.”
A couple of centuries from now her assumption would be divorce, but given the time period, she doubted a voluntary separation had summoned the look on his face. Finn stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, the impact of his withdrawal both physical and mental. Shame over her ignorant retort suffused her, and she laid a hand on his forearm. “My apologies. I dinnae think before speaking. I’m so sorry for yer loss.”
He shrugged away from her touch. “’Tis clear ye dinnae want the position. Off wi’ ye then.”
“Finn, I…. How long has it been?”
“Long enough.” Bending, he snatched up the trunk and thrust it at her. “Be on yer way.”
She took it and spun about with a huff. “Fine then!”
“Oof!” Her impact with the solid wall that was Ian MacKintosh’s chest jammed the edge of the trunk into her ribs hard enough to steal her breath. Steadying her, he looked from her, to Finn, and down at the trunk.
“I feel yer baggage is somehow becoming a fixture in our lives, Mistress Marshall.”
Their lives? Ha! She carried far more baggage around with her wherever she went.
“Please, allow me.” Ian clucked his tongue and relieved her of her burden. “Did yer room no’ suit, Miss Marshall? Or is it perhaps the realization of who yer position as assistant has ye reporting to that has sent ye fleeing?”
“The room is fine, thank ye.”
The pointed omission in her answer summoned a ghost of a smile to Ian’s lips while Finn’s teeth ground audibly. The tension snapped when Finn’s children ran into the hallway and threw their arms around him. That now infamous Furrow of Fury fell away as he greeted their riotous chatter with that same affection she’d noted earlier. As it had then, her heart contracted at the tender sight.
A warm weight pressed against Aila’s thigh and she looked down at Rab. He plopped down on her foot and leaned against her. Tail thumping, ears upright, and brown eyes fairly dancing. If that were a thing with dogs. She scratched his ear unable to refrain. “Having a good time, are ye?” He responded with one of his unusual gurgling, almost Wookie-like growls. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Still talking to yerself, hmm?”
Aila ignored the twinkle in Ian’s eyes and directed her attention to the woman behind him and the toddler in her arms. The petite blonde wore a maid’s uniform and a harried expression. The child, though clad in a long dress-like garment and bearing a headful of long dark curls, was obviously a lad and a wee mini-me of his father. “He looks just like ye. What’s his name?”
“Fergus.” Ian ran a hand over his son’s head and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Fergus Colin MacKintosh. He offers ye his most abject apology, lass.”
“For what?”
“Seems he, Niall, and Effie have run yer dog ragged this day. There is nae a square inch of the bailey they’ve no’ circled and explored.”
“Is that so?”
“Ask him yerself.” A teasing tone lightened his brogue. “Ye do converse wi’ him, aye?”
“I never said he answered,” she retorted as she stroked Rab’s head.
Ian gave her a faint smile. She was beginning to see that those smiles were a rare gift from the solemn man. From Finn they were virtually nonexistent. Except that one shining moment….
She forced the impact of that smile away and watched him. Even with his children, though his expression was lighter, less menacing, there were no smiles from him. Life had clearly been unkind if he couldn’t summon one for those two adorable ragamuffins.
“We were on our way to fetch Finn for supper and settle the children into the nursery for their own,” Ian murmured. “Would ye care to join us?”
“God help me, nay.” Her muttered response was drowned out by Finn’s own emphatic rejection.
They both looked at him. Ian’s lips quirked again. “Miss Marshall was eager to be on her way,” Finn explained as he released his children. “It would be rude to keep her.”
“But, Da!” The two older children protested in unis
on and turned to Aila with bright, pleading hazel eyes and gap-toothed smiles. “Da says we might take Rab to the nursery wi’ us but that the decision was up to ye, Mistress Marshall.” Niall’s lips moved in a silent repetition of please, please, please while Effie piped up with a more vocal, “Please, Mistress Marshall, may we?”
They were a quite a pair. Five, maybe six years old given the missing teeth, not that she knew much about it. While they’d been a wee bit mussed earlier in the day, both were noticeably grubbier now. Mud streaked their clothes and faces. Bright blond hair tousled. Effie’s ribbon dangled listlessly from the end of her braid. Pink cheeks, yet heavy lidded. They’d clearly made the most of their play time with Rab. The dog’s purpose was supposed to be to protect her, and couldn’t they sense that sort of thing? Aila didn’t know. What she did know was that the men were no threat in the physical sense. The only person she needed protection from at this point was herself. She glanced down at the dog as he gazed at the pair with open adoration before his pleading eyes shifted back to her.
How could she say no to that?
“Well, Mistress Marshall?” Ian cocked a questioning brow in her direction. “Are ye eager to be on yer way or shall we rudely keep ye?”
For the second time that day, Aila was pulled back from the brink of doing the right thing. Just as Finn’s “send her back” earlier had prompted a contrariness to do the exact opposite, so had his insistence now that she needed to be on her way. She’d have stayed through the meal if only to irk him further.
Hearing the name Boyce echo through the servants’ hall sealed the deal.
She’d found a Boyce without even trying! Her avid gaze followed the man as he shuffled along with a sack of what appeared to be flour propped on his shoulder. Was he the right one? Maybe the Boyce? Could be. She searched for any resemblance to the portly clan members of her time but found none.
With tufts of faded orange hair peppered heavily with white poking out from under his wool flat cap and reddened ears, he could have been Auld Donell’s drinking buddy. Though Donell’s true age was surprisingly indeterminable, he had to be older than sixty. Much older. This Boyce appeared roughly the same age. Old enough, in any case, to have been at least in his late teens to early twenties when the first duke was alive. He crossed the hall with the cook Aila had met earlier, disappearing through the kitchen door.
A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2) Page 7
