the day he’d laid eyes on her, only to proceed exactly nowhere in the intervening two years.
“Good day, Elspeth Fraser.”
She smacked his arm and muttered something that might have been, “Ye thrawn, glaikit mon.”
Ann had called him the same thing more than once.
“I’ve a question for you, woman, if you’re done handing out lessons in flirtation and violence.”
As they approached the wooded hill upon which the castle sat, she walked faster. “Simple civilities are not flirtation. What did you want?”
He wanted to flirt with her but didn’t know how. More than that, he wanted her to flirt with him.
“How is Brenna getting on with her long-lost husband?”
Elspeth stopped as they gained the shelter of the trees and turned blue, blue eyes on him. He loved her eyes, loved the way they conveyed her intelligence and humor, her heart—and her temper.
“Why is it any of your concern?”
“Brenna is my cousin, and I don’t know this baron. He’s been gone so long nobody really knows him, and we haven’t an explanation for much of his absence.”
“Why don’t you ask Brenna?”
Off she marched through the trees, as if that question settled the business. He caught up with her in four strides, because her legs were that short.
Though they’d likely fit around his waist well enough.
“If I were to ask Brenna, I’d have to present myself at the castle, which would cause talk. Brenna would tell me all goes well with her husband, when the man hasn’t the sense to call on his own tenants without Angus Brodie glowerin’ at his side.”
Elspeth’s steps slowed. “I’ve seen them ride out together, Michael and Angus. Brenna has too.”
He walked along beside her in silence while the birds sang and the breeze soughed through the pines. The morning was pretty, the girl was pretty, and the fellow…had never been pretty. Not in his looks, not in his manners, not in his speeches.
“I’m worried about Brenna,” Hugh said, the same sort of thing he might have blurted out to his Ann, or whispered to her in the dark at the end of the day. “What sort of man leaves his wife to contend with things at home, when the war’s long over and the Corsican growing fat and bald on some faraway island?”
Elspeth was worried too. Hugh caught that in the single fleeting glance she flicked in his direction.
“Michael’s reasons are for Brenna to determine. They’re married, and they’ve been sharing a bed since the day the laird returned.”
Interesting, and exactly the sort of thing Hugh would not have known how to inquire about.
“And?”
Any man who’d been married to the mother of his two children knew sharing a bed might be a result of exhaustion and convenience, and did not necessarily guarantee the couple in the bed enjoyed wedded bliss.
Elspeth caught her toe on something, a root, a rock, and stumbled a bit, but Hugh was too preoccupied with the glints of red in her hair to grab for her elbow.
“And Brenna seems fine,” Elspeth said, catching herself and marching on. “Her baron watches her when he thinks she’s not looking, as if he could see the girl he married in the woman she’s become.”
Hugh scanned the path for more promising obstructions and saw none. “From what I could gather, the girl he married was no prize, through no fault of her own.”
“I should hit you again,” Elspeth said on a weary sigh, “but I don’t want to bruise my knuckles.”
They’d come to a clearing partway up the hill, one that sported a bench. The lady wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Sit with me a moment.”
She looked around the clearing, as if hoping for a wild boar or some other distraction to come along, not that boars had frequented the woods in centuries.
“You neglect your manners on purpose, don’t you, Hugh MacLogan?”
If only that were the case. With others, he was polite enough, but with her…
She sat, and through some female trick, managed to do it truculently. “None of
“Good day, Elspeth Fraser.”
She smacked his arm and muttered something that might have been, “Ye thrawn, glaikit mon.”
Ann had called him the same thing more than once.
“I’ve a question for you, woman, if you’re done handing out lessons in flirtation and violence.”
As they approached the wooded hill upon which the castle sat, she walked faster. “Simple civilities are not flirtation. What did you want?”
He wanted to flirt with her but didn’t know how. More than that, he wanted her to flirt with him.
“How is Brenna getting on with her long-lost husband?”
Elspeth stopped as they gained the shelter of the trees and turned blue, blue eyes on him. He loved her eyes, loved the way they conveyed her intelligence and humor, her heart—and her temper.
“Why is it any of your concern?”
“Brenna is my cousin, and I don’t know this baron. He’s been gone so long nobody really knows him, and we haven’t an explanation for much of his absence.”
“Why don’t you ask Brenna?”
Off she marched through the trees, as if that question settled the business. He caught up with her in four strides, because her legs were that short.
Though they’d likely fit around his waist well enough.
“If I were to ask Brenna, I’d have to present myself at the castle, which would cause talk. Brenna would tell me all goes well with her husband, when the man hasn’t the sense to call on his own tenants without Angus Brodie glowerin’ at his side.”
Elspeth’s steps slowed. “I’ve seen them ride out together, Michael and Angus. Brenna has too.”
He walked along beside her in silence while the birds sang and the breeze soughed through the pines. The morning was pretty, the girl was pretty, and the fellow…had never been pretty. Not in his looks, not in his manners, not in his speeches.
“I’m worried about Brenna,” Hugh said, the same sort of thing he might have blurted out to his Ann, or whispered to her in the dark at the end of the day. “What sort of man leaves his wife to contend with things at home, when the war’s long over and the Corsican growing fat and bald on some faraway island?”
Elspeth was worried too. Hugh caught that in the single fleeting glance she flicked in his direction.
“Michael’s reasons are for Brenna to determine. They’re married, and they’ve been sharing a bed since the day the laird returned.”
Interesting, and exactly the sort of thing Hugh would not have known how to inquire about.
“And?”
Any man who’d been married to the mother of his two children knew sharing a bed might be a result of exhaustion and convenience, and did not necessarily guarantee the couple in the bed enjoyed wedded bliss.
Elspeth caught her toe on something, a root, a rock, and stumbled a bit, but Hugh was too preoccupied with the glints of red in her hair to grab for her elbow.
“And Brenna seems fine,” Elspeth said, catching herself and marching on. “Her baron watches her when he thinks she’s not looking, as if he could see the girl he married in the woman she’s become.”
Hugh scanned the path for more promising obstructions and saw none. “From what I could gather, the girl he married was no prize, through no fault of her own.”
“I should hit you again,” Elspeth said on a weary sigh, “but I don’t want to bruise my knuckles.”
They’d come to a clearing partway up the hill, one that sported a bench. The lady wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Sit with me a moment.”
She looked around the clearing, as if hoping for a wild boar or some other distraction to come along, not that boars had frequented the woods in centuries.
“You neglect your manners on purpose, don’t you, Hugh MacLogan?”
If only that were the case. With others, he was polite enough, but with her…
She sat, and through some female trick, managed to do it truculently. “None of
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