Pleasured by Candace Camp Page B

be so dazzled by his fine name that I’ll lose all good sense and leap into his bed?”
    “No, of course not. I know you care nothing for a title or wealth or any of that. But he’s a powerful man, and his sort is used to taking what they want. Just think what he’s doing to his crofters! That tells you what manner of man he is.”
    “I know that full well. Do you think I’m daft? I have no interest in jumping into his bed.” That, she reflected, was a lie, so she added, “I won’t sleep with him.”
    “And what if he doesn’t care what you want, only what he wants? He’s an English lord, and they’re accustomed to doing whatever, however, they please to the Highlands, and never being punished for it.”
    “Och, Coll, you need not worry about that. The man is too used to crooking his finger and a woman running to him for him to chase a lass who’s unwilling.”
    “Some men prefer a chase,” Coll told her darkly.
    “I know how to discourage them.” Meg smiled and linked her arm through his. “Here, sit and talk with me. I was about to fix a cup of tea to warm me up. Will you have some?” As he nodded, she went on merrily, “And we can talk about what lass you’re chasing now.”
    “Meg . . .”
    “Hah! Now the shoe is on the other foot, eh?” She filled up the kettle with water and hung it over the fire to boil, then plopped the teapot onto the table and measured out the tea. “I hear you’ve been courting Dot Cromartie up the glen.”
    “I may have danced with her once or twice at Danny’s and Flora’s réiteach .”
    “Walked her home, was the way it was told to me.”
    “That, too. She is a bonnie lass.”
    “She is.”
    Coll heaved a great sigh. “But the fact is, you might as well talk to a stump. Better, really, for at least a stump disnae giggle and say, ‘Oh, ye’re so clever, Coll!’ ”
    “Some men like a bit of admiration, I understand,” Meg told him drily.
    “As do I, but it disnae mean much coming from one who knows so little.”
    Meg laughed. “I could not see you being content with her. You’ve always had a liking for bluestockings. As I recall, you were quite smitten with Isobel’s governess.”
    “Aw, Meg . . .” His voice turned plaintive as a dull flush rose up his neck.
    “You used to bring her nosegays, I mind. The gardener was furious with you for snipping off the roses.”
    “I was twelve at the time.”
    “And so earnest.”
    “I am glad I was able to afford you so much amusement,” he told her sourly.
    “And Isobel, too.” She reached out and patted his hand, saying more soberly, “Sometimes I think it was not fair to you for us to be taught with Isobel and Andrew and Greg. I don’t know how you’ll find any woman around here who can converse with you about your books and such.”
    He shrugged. “I’d rather have the knowledge. You’d have the same problem, I think.”
    “I am not as fond of books as you.”
    “A bonnie face can make up for not loving books.”
    “So I’ve heard.”
    “All I ask is more curiosity and intelligence than Dot Cromartie.”
    “That’s setting a low standard.” Meg grinned, and stood up as the kettle whistled.
    When she returned from the kitchen and poured the water into the pot, Coll changed the subject. “Alan McGee is back in the glen.”
    “Da’s home?” Meg smiled and returned the kettle to its place. “Have you seen him?”
    “No. He will pay me a visit as soon as he needs something.”
    “Ah, Coll.” Meg made a little clicking noise with her tongue. “Don’t we all come to you when we need something? Me? Isobel? Half the glen, in fact. You are too hard on him.”
    “ You are too easy on him, and so was Ma. I cannot fathom why women are always so foolish about the man.”
    Meg chuckled. “Look in the mirror and maybe you’ll understand. He’s a fine-looking man, our father, and charming, as well.”
    “And rootless. And feckless. It scarcely makes me proud that I resemble