Lyon's Gift by Tanya Anne Crosby

Author:Tanya Anne Crosby
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: on bended knee, the highland brides, scotland, lyons gift, scottish medieval, medieval romance, the mackinnons bride, lion heart
Publisher: Oliver-Heber Books
Published: 2012-10-29T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

Meghan decided she would appeal to the man’s sense of loyalty. If he were countryman, she had some chance, at least, of gaining his support. If he were an English toad, then she was simply out of luck. It was impossible to tell by his manner of speech as he spoke like an Englishman, with only the merest trace of a brogue.

“Are you a Scotsman, sir?” she asked, meeting his gaze as she approached the table. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin.

He cocked his head at her in puzzlement. “Aye,” he answered, casting Lyon a wary glance. “Why do you ask, lass?”

“Verra good!” Meghan exclaimed. “Because I wish to go home!”

The man turned to Lyon, looking all the more confused by her vehement demand. “What is this?” he asked. “What does she mean, Lyon?”

“Uh,” was all Lyon Montgomerie could think to say.

Meghan turned to glare at him, and was pleased to see that he had the decency to flush at the prospect of an explanation.

She wasn’t about to let him explain, however, because he would no doubt find some way to justify his actions. “He abducted me!” she charged, pointing an accusing finger at Lyon.

The man’s brows lifted higher. “Lyon?” he said. “Is this true?”

Lyon had the good grace not to deny it. He nodded with lifted brows and an abashed grimace. “Afraid so,” he admitted.

“Christ!” the man exploded.

“I was going to tell you as soon as you were finished,” Lyon assured him.

“What a bloody pair we are!” the man declared. “Whyever would you do such a thing? Who the devil is she anyway?”

“I am Meghan Brodie!” she announced, wholly annoyed with their apparent comradeship. “And I dinna know who you are, sir. You dinna sound like any bluidy Scot to me, but my brothers will not be pleased to hear this, I assure you!”

The man turned to Lyon once more. “Gaddamn, Lyon, but I anticipate you had a better reason than to simply warm your bed. Her very demeanor shrivels my willy!”

Meghan gasped in outrage at his crude remark, and her face heated.

Lyon chuckled softly. “I cannot claim I did to begin with,” he said, “but in my own defense, I must say she was somewhat more appealing last night.”

The man chortled, and Meghan bristled. She gritted her teeth and clenched her hands at her sides. “I dinna see what precisely is so amusing!” she assured them both and narrowed her eyes at the arrogant stranger. “Who are you, sir?” she demanded of him.

He regarded her a moment, and then proclaimed matter-of-factly with an arrogant lift of his chin, “I am David of Scotia.”

Meghan blinked in surprise. “King David?”

“Aye, lass.”

“Son of Malcom Ceann Mor?”

“None other.”

Meghan tilted her head at him in disdain. “You dinna look like a king to me, sir,” she accused him. “You look and sound like a bluidy rotten Sassenach!”

He merely smiled at that.

“Och!” Meghan exclaimed, and was disheartened.

Or was she truly?

“I dinna suppose I can persuade you to send me home?” she asked the man without hesitation, but also without expectation.

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