The Laird who Loved Me by Karen Hawkins

Author:Karen Hawkins [Hawkins, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2009-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

There’s an old sayin’: “If’n ye must fight, then do it wit’ yer honor on yer shield and no’ under it.”

OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

“Let me help ye, miss.” Muiren grasped the edges of the long glove and held it out.

Caitlyn slipped her hand into one, then the other. “Thank you, Muiren.”

“Ye’re welcome, miss.” Muiren glanced at the clock. “Ye’ve eight minutes to reach the blue sitting room.”

“I know, I know. Where did I put my— Oh, there’s my shawl. I can’t seem to think clearly today. I wonder if Lord MacLean has already gone down to dinner and—”

Muiren looked at her oddly.

Caitlyn frowned. “Yes?”

Muiren cocked a brow. “’Tis interestin’ ye said those two sentences together—that ye were disoriented and askin’ about Laird MacLean. Ye aren’t weakenin’ to the enemy, are ye?”

Caitlyn’s cheeks heated. “Of course not! I’m just distracted. It’s probably because of the weather or something.” She refrained from looking out the window, where the night sky was just as clear as the day’s had been.

Her problems had begun last night. When she’d retired to bed, she’d been euphoric at having completed her task. But the more she rested in her soft bed, the more she thought about MacLean’s face when she’d left the library after placing the snuffbox in his hand. Once he was over his surprise, she’d known he’d appreciated her efforts. He enjoyed a good challenge, just as she did. She wished she could catch a glimpse of the real Alexander MacLean, the man behind the cynical shell.

When she’d met him in London, they’d been so caught up in the madness that had engulfed them, there hadn’t been room or time to connect in any other way. They’d been so engrossed in teasing the flame between them to new heights, in pushing the boundaries of acceptable behavior just a little further, that they hadn’t ever stopped and just … talked. So at the end of that mad time, neither knew the other at all. She didn’t know what made him sad or if he liked orange marmalade or what sort of things made him laugh, how he felt about his brothers and sister, if he preferred the quadrille over a Scottish reel. She didn’t know if he liked to dance at all because they’d been so busy doing other, less . . . socially acceptable things.

She sighed, doubting they’d ever have a normal, casual conversation. Right now, she had her hands full trying to win their wager. And when she won, he would be too angry, his pride too wounded, for them to ever share a simple conversation. For some reason, that saddened her.

“Och, look at the time!” Muiren adjusted Caitlyn’s shawl, then went to open the door. “Ye’d best hurry, or ye’ll be late fer yer dinner. Ye know how her grace can be when it comes to time.”

Caitlyn left her bedchamber. Where was MacLean, anyway? Why hadn’t she seen him even once today?

This morning she’d looked forward to seeing him at breakfast.

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