Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3)

by Angeline Fortin

  “The bluidy butcher, Cumberland, is behind this tae be sure. Ol’ George would ne’er think of it on his own,” he said. “He’s outlawed nae only the carrying of arms but speaking Gaelic as well as wearing the tartan and playing bagpipes. I shouldnae be surprised that it has come tae this, I suppose. The years of my life cannae exceed the number of those marked by this never-ending feud between Stuart and Hanover. Religious nonsense. As if it has any place in the operation of government.”

  There it was again. The link between Culloden and religion. While she’d known the clash between religious faiths played a strong role in British history, she’d never heard so much emphasis placed on it. Could the history books have had it wrong all along?

  Keir was still fuming. “Oh, for the days when the Tudors thrived and the Stuarts had only Scotland on their hands. When we were left in peace from it all. I’ll ne’er ken a day of it in my life, I’m sure. And now this? Read on, lass, he’s meaning tae strip the Highland lairds who stood in support of Prince Charlie of their lands and titles. As if a laird is but a title bestowed on a man. ‘Tis a responsibility that cannae be swept away wi’ the stroke of a bluidy pen.”

  She could see the fury, the violence surging in him once more. “It’ll be okay, Keir.”

  “’Tis nae okay, lass,” he shot back. “He wants tae do away wi’ the clan system as if our way of life means nothing.”

  “But he can’t.” She hurried to his side, stroking his arm comfortingly. “It won’t work, I promise you. Before too long these laws will be lifted. The customs of the Highlanders will live on long after it.”

  Subdued by her words, he stared down at her in disbelief. “Aye?”

  “Yes,” she assured him. “By my time, the world will be in love with all things Highlander. Your kilts, your brogues. Your games. All the ladies will sigh over the sheer number of Highland warriors portrayed in books. I know, because I was one of them. It’s been the thrill of my life seeing it all in person.”

  “Has it now?” His fingertips traced a line across her jaw, the heat of anger in his eyes receding in favor of a new warmth.

  It had, she realized. No achievement in her life had ever brought her such joy. Just as nothing had ever made her realize how empty her personal life was despite her full academic career.

  She was going to miss all of this when it was gone.

  He would never know how much.

  “Yes, it has.”

  A slow smile lifted the corner of his lips. He caught a lock of her hair and twirled it absently around his finger. “Do ye care tae elaborate on what exactly ye’ve found so thrilling?” He bent, kissing her mouth lightly.

  “I don’t know.” Warmth flooded her cheeks. “You elaborate far better than I can.”

  “Ah, should I tell ye then of the thrills I’ve discovered?” he whispered close to her ear. His fingers brushed through her hair. “Just those of the past day… and night might bring more than a sweet blush tae yer cheeks, mo ghrá.”

  He murmured a few details. Heat flooded her whole face and down her neck as well. Even the tops of her breasts flushed with color before he was finished.

  “You have quite a way with words,” she admitted breathlessly, too aware of how close he was. How heat radiated off of him. How the room suddenly seemed like a sauna.

  “Mmm, I’ve a few thoughts on the night ahead, too, if ye’d care tae hear them.”

  Could she stand it, Al wondered? Already she was achy, weak in the knees, and feeling a strong urge to go back to bed.

  With him.

  Despite her worries upon waking, Keir seemed to have a fair amount of lust for her still unspent in him, too.

  “Does it involve a bed?”

  His roguish grin set her heart racing. “Nary a one.”

  Slipping an arm around her waist, he drew her closer. Burying his face in the curve of her shoulder, he nipped lightly. Chafing the tender skin with the rough growth of his beard.

  His hands skimmed up her ribs until he was almost cradling her breasts.

  Almost.

  Bending his knees, he rocked his hips into her, creating a delicious friction on her thighs until he was almost pressed against her aching core.

  Almost.

  “Och, lass, I could take ye right here.”

  “What’s stopping you? No one’s watching,” she whispered in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

  “Is this the same lass who claimed tae be so shy?” he asked in a husky chuckle. “The same lass who denied being bold or audacious? Propositioning me now?”

  She certainly didn’t feel like the same woman. That Al would never have dared to act this way. He had done this to her.

  “Do you like me like this?”

  “Aye, I do,” he admitted. “But I liked ye as ye always been. Yer more colorful side as well. Ye dinnae need tae play the minx wi’ me, lass. There is naught tae make me want ye more.”

  “Nothing?” She slipped her hand beneath his kilt, running her palm up his thigh and around to cup his hard bare buttock.

  “Perhaps a wee something.”

  “Perhaps not so wee.”

  She shifted her hand around to his front, cupping him until he was overflowing her palm. Keir hissed, sucking in a harsh breath.

  “Och, lass, ye’ll unman me if ye dinnae cease.”

  “That might be interesting, too.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his hard length, running them up his throbbing staff, marveling at the length and breadth of him. Glorying in the way he threw back his head, tendons taut in his neck, muscular body strung like a bow.

  With a shudder, he lifted her and dropped her onto the desk, tugging up her skirts with a frantic jerk. His fingers found her only long enough to make sure she was ready for him—which she was—before he drove deep inside her with a hoarse roar.

  Wrapping her legs around him tightly, Al clung to him as he slammed into her over and over. Cried out as he found a hard, animalistic rhythm that pushed her too quickly over the top when she longed to savor the feel of him while she could.

  Winding her hair around his hands, he forced her head back and ravished her mouth with hot kisses.

  Pleasure spiraled, radiating down her limbs as spasms of euphoria racked her body. With one final thrust, he came too. Collapsing weakly over her as the passion and ire that had gripped him ebbed. He kissed her neck, rubbing his sweaty forehead on her cheek.

  “Och, lass, I dinnae ken what came o’er me. ‘Twas the grip of uncontrollable lust. I’m sorry for attacking ye like a beast.”

  She raked her fingers through his thick hair with an inward smile. She didn’t mind at all. All the flattery in the world was nothing compared to a man who simply had to have you. She felt utterly desirable, cherished.

  Wanted.

  There were too few moments in her life when she’d felt that way. Another fantasy ticked off her list by Keir MacCoinnach.

  “I didn’t mind,” was all she admitted aloud. “But it wasn’t anything like what you had elaborated on. So shame on you. To get a girl’s hopes up like that…”

  He lifted his head and grinned down at her. “Then my apologies are for disappointing ye so. I’ll endeavor tae do better in the future.”

  The future.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what sort of timeline he attached to such an indeterminate word.

  Chapter 25

  She wandered the halls of Rosebraugh the next afternoon. If she’d paused to look into one of the many gilt-framed mirrors she passed, she’d probably see a secret smile gracing her lips. But her focus was turned inward. Not out. Not on the veritable museum she was walking through, the gorgeous paintings by Huet, Rembrandt, Chardin. Nor the sculptures by Bernini and Puget.

  Rosebraugh was a wonderland of art and history, yet her mind was entirely Keir’s. They’d whiled away an entire day in each other’s arms, scaling the peaks of carnal passion again and again. Reaching so high, they’d caught more than one glimpse of pure paradise. She�
��d slept in his arms, their bodies entwined. Woken this morning to his gentle kisses and his languid exploration of her body.

  Reality was trumping fantasy again and again. A few days more and she’d have enough memories to last a lifetime. Memories to warm her through cold nights and long years alone.

  Being alone wouldn’t bother her much. She’d been alone most of her life. Life here would be no different in many ways. She didn’t weep for the one she’d left behind. And at least here, her mother couldn’t call her just to find some new way to humiliate her.

  Solitude was far removed from loneliness though.

  She would miss Keir. Knowing he was nearby, yet out of her reach would be painful. She loved being by his side, being close…

  “Ah, good afternoon, Miss Maines.”

  Al shut her eyes with a low groan. Perhaps, she loved being close to Keir because it seemed whenever she was away from him, things like this happened!

  Turning, she smiled tightly at the man walking down the hall toward her. “Artair. I thought you were at Dingwall preparing for Frang’s funeral. What brings you to Rosebraugh?”

  “I thought I might come and get a head start on the preparations for Hugh’s service while we awaited news on Father,” he said, clasping his hands behind him as was his norm.

  Rocking on his heels in that dreaded fashion that heralded the beginning of another long-winded lecture.

  Why had she urged Keir to ride out to visit his tenants today? Oh, she knew there was much he needed to do for Rosebraugh but if she’d only lured him back to his bedroom, she wouldn’t be an easy target in an open hallway now.

  “Ye’re looking rather fetching today,” he added. “Ye look lovely in the MacCoinnach tartan.”

  Running her hands down the gown crafted of tartan and ivory linen she loved so much, she nodded. And since Keir had pointed out how rude it was to dispute the opinion of others on that topic, she offered her thanks for the compliment, if a little awkwardly.

  He smiled, the severity of his features relaxing enough to bring to mind his handsome brother. There was a definite family resemblance.

  “What has ye wandering the halls today?”

  “Oh, I was just admiring the artwork,” she said. “I never realized that Hugh and Keir had acquired so many pieces of—”

  “In truth, Miss Maines, I didn’t come tae Rosebraugh only to see tae the arrangements,” he burst out. “I’ve had it in my mind these last days tae seek a time in private wi’ ye tae make my addresses tae ye. I can tell my inclination tae come ahead wisnae misplaced.”

  “I’m sorry?” she bit out, irritated by his propensity to constantly interrupt. “Your inclination?”

  “Aye, tae make my addresses tae ye.”

  She was missing something here. “I’m sorry, Artair. I guess I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “I’m asking ye tae marry me, lass.”

  She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d finished the job Maeve started days before and whacked her over the head with a thirty-pound tome. Speechless, she stared at him.

  Was the whole family nuts?

  “I’ve surprised ye.”

  No kidding! What an understatement. There hadn’t been a single word in the handful of conversations they’d shared to indicate he was… what would they call it here? Courting her? His inclination hadn’t even been slightly tilted from her perspective.

  Marriage! She’d never even considered it. Not ever. Especially not with him. Oh, she’d had dreams once upon a time. But her personal favorites had never included marriage. Marriage, in her experience, merely tainted the story. As it had tarnished real life. Her father, her stepfather. They’d made her mother miserable and her as well by extension. No, tying dreams to marriage led to inevitable disappointment.

  Her fantasies as a teen and young woman centered on the romance. The love. When those dreams hadn’t come to fruition, she’d switched her goals to more practical and achievable academic ones, and satisfied herself with finding love and romance in the thousands of novels she devoured.

  Lately, her fantasies had begun to revolve around a man of flesh and blood once more. A certain Scot who was not available to rescue her from this awkward moment. But even those dreams never, ever led to marriage.

  Now a man who was perhaps one of the most grating she’d ever known was asking her?

  “Allorah? Miss Maines?”

  “Uh, Artair. I’m… I’m overcome, yes overcome by the suddenness of your offer. It is umm, most unexpected,” she belatedly managed, worrying her earlobe between her fingers.

  “Mayhap, but I hope ye will consider it.” He rocked back on his heels. “I’ve a simple living but one I feel ye would complement and enjoy. Ye’re quite good wi’ people, I’ve noticed…”

  Ugh, she was horrible with people. How could he think any different? She could hardly make polite conversation without discomfort. Though perhaps he hadn’t realized that yet.

  “…with a true interest in the welfare of others…”

  Of course, she’d just had terrible thoughts about him.

  “…and a charitable spirit that will make ye an excellent wife tae me and an example tae those of my parish.”

  She hadn’t been to church in more than a decade.

  Oh, but she was a rotten person. And completely uncharitable. He wasn’t a bad person, or a mean one. He just wasn’t his brother. Even so, he didn’t deserve a broken heart more than anyone else did. If only Keir were around to save her from having to turn him down.

  “I ken I’m naught but a simple cleric,” he continued. “Nae an heir tae an earl, for example. I’m certain ye considered looking higher.”

  There was just enough of a reprimand in his tone for Al to forget her discomfort. She narrowed her eyes, unaware that her fisted hands had taken up an offensive position on her hips.

  If she wasn’t going to be saved, she would save herself.

  “How much higher do you presume I’m looking, Artair?”

  He swallowed deeply, shifting from foot to foot. “He won’t marry ye, ye ken?”

  “You’re not the first to tell me that.”

  “He’s the heir tae Dingwall and now the Duke of Ross tae boot. Father would nae allow him tae wed wi’ someone like…”

  Of all the assumptive, judgmental… She took a step forward. “Like what?”

  He took a step away. “Ye mistake my meaning, lass. I find ye tae be a most agreeable… er, a woman of agreeable temperament. Normally. I dinnae mean tae imply anything other than yer compatible fit intae a lifestyle of more modest social… er, ranking.”

  Her brows shot up to her hairline before dropping into a scowl. “First of all, I don’t give a damn about any social ranking. People are people. Period. Second: even if I cared about that, I wouldn’t let anyone, including your father, keep me from reaching as high as I liked. Love has no rank. And third: I have absolutely no interest in marrying. Anyone. Not you and not even the freakin’ heir. I am my own woman. I do not need a man to complete me.”

  He blinked, stunned by her tirade, but Al felt exhilaration all the way to her toes. She’d never really let go like that. Her only regret was that it’d been Artair and not her mother she’d finally stood up to. It might have ended up being just a tad on the rude side, but she wouldn’t apologize for it.

  Be it her education, gender, size, hair color or even her newly acquired questionable social status, she was exasperated by the notion she couldn’t achieve any goal she set out to because of some social barrier.

  When she gained her footing in this world—and she damn well would—she was going to break them all down and knock this century on its ass.

  “Complete ye?”

  She ignored the question. “Thank you for your offer, Artair. It was most kind and while I appreciate the sentiment and motivation behind it, I’m afraid I cannot accept.”

  It was as kindly said as she could manage. She could try to explain things to him, but the honest confusion
written all over his face told her he’d never really understand.

  “If ye should reconsider—”

  “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  With a bow, he turned and strode down the hall. She barely realized he’d gone, marveling inwardly at herself.

  * * *

  “‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’”

  She spun around to find Keir at a pair of double doors down the hall, his shoulder propped against the casing. A smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

  “How much of that did you hear?”

  “That’s Shakespeare.”

  “I know who it is. How much?”

  “Most of it,” he told her, pushing off from the door frame and striding toward her in long, confident steps, kilt swirling around his calves. “Ye put him in his place quite nicely. He’s long been a pompous ass.”

  “He thought he was being kind.” Shrugging, she stared blindly at what she was sure was a fabulous portrait of the Madonna if she were capable of taking closer note. Humiliation of being caught in such a rant burned through her. “I shouldn’t have been so mean.”

  “I think we need to refine yer definition of mean.”

  “I was too harsh.” She paced down the hall, running her fingers over the head of a marble bust.

  “He was too forward.”

  She shrugged again. She couldn’t argue with that. The proposal had been premature.

  “So, ye dinnae need a man, eh?” he asked, stepping into her line of vision, if she were to look up. “Ye said as much before. I confess I thought ye only teasing tae some degree. Deep down, I thought ye were like any other lass wi’ dreams tae wed and hae a home of her own. Bairns on her hip.”

  “And barefoot in the kitchen?” she finished without anger. No, her anger was spent. She felt invigorated. As liberated from her past as her swim in the firth had made her feel.

  It would be difficult to explain it to him though. Her sentiment, while she’d never shouted it on the rooftops quite so vehemently before, was centuries beyond his time and understanding. Maybe she’d never really understood what it meant before either.