The Sweet Rowan by Keira Dominguez

Author:Keira Dominguez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical fiction, regency romance, scottish highlands, a family in need of love, a high born young woman creates a ruse to dupe her family and her new employer, a young woman flees to scotland to regain her magic, an unconventional woman, either the man or his castle holds magic, she lost her magic in a fire, she poses as a governess
Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group

Chapter Eighteen

Malcolm galloped down the narrow servant’s stairs towards the kitchens. On a bend, somewhere in the middle, Penny appeared suddenly, colliding into his waistcoat and jerking back in astonishment. Her hands thrashed as she struggled to maintain her balance until he snaked an arm about her waist and hauled her against his chest, nerves tightening in alarm and sudden wanting.

Her back rose and fell with large, shaking breaths, her hands flattened against him, but when she looked up, her grey eyes were as distant as if they were chance-met acquaintances nodding across parkland. She rolled her shoulders and he released her.

“You prevented me from sailing top over tail down the length of the stairs, sir. Thank you.”

The passage was narrow, but he wished her far closer. It was madness to long for a girl who spoke of returning to England. To want one who could not settle in their ways.

“It will not happen again,” she added, as she would if she had been a servant he had scolded. In these last few days there had been a shift in her attitude towards him. She did not offer her opinions so readily. She did not challenge his. There was caution in her eyes and the set of her chin.

She bobbed a brief curtsey and gathered her skirts to proceed on her way. He stopped her with the softest touch of his fingers grazing her arm. The brief contact sent sparks arcing up his hand, leaping to his chest.

She glanced at him, her eyes on the same level as his. Her mouth—

“Yes?”

“You won’t stop racing around on my account.” His voice was rough, but he could not seem to do anything about it. “I was looking for you,” he said.

“I was with Fritz. We ran along the boundary of the nearest oat fields.”

“Those seedlings are doing better than they have any right to be. Berwick reports incalculable losses. Leadburn too.”

A spark of interest animated her expression, but she snuffed it out. “You were looking for me, you said. Did you need anything?”

His eyes narrowed and suddenly he saw the humor in the situation. Crusty Scots Widower Requires English Governess with a View to Matrimony. He chuckled. “Aye. I hope you’re thirsty. I invited a couple villagers, Mrs Johnston and Mrs Hunter, to take tea with you. I thought you would want to talk about changes—minor changes—they might suggest for the settlement. They elected to drop by this afternoon.”

“They’re here now?” Penny was already turning down the stairs.

He caught at her hand and she paused, glancing back. The movement had taken them both by surprise and he had the fleeting impression of soft skin against the irregular calluses on his palm, of how his hand enveloped hers even though she was not a small woman.

“I’ll stay as long as you need.” He released her hand and let a smile steal over his mouth. “I’d not throw you to a pair of Scottish she-wolves. Though they are far kinder than the cursed Rosses, and you manage us well enough.

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