Oliver flicked him between the eyes without looking because he’d had so damned much practice doing the same to Ewan. Derrick cursed him, Ewan laughed, and Mairead looked at him with a slightly perplexed expression.
“What?”
“Oliver thinks you’re beautiful,” Ewan said solemnly.
“He’s daft,” Mairead said happily.
“About everything else?” Ewan asked. “Absolutely. Not, however, about you.” He pushed past Oliver, more roughly than necessary, and stopped next to her. “I could sit next to you and wax rhapsodic about your charms if you’d like to take up a spot on the sofa here.”
Oliver looked at Derrick. “Help me not kill him.”
“Do you think I’d stop that?” Derrick said with a snort. “Have at him and please end him this time. You threaten and threaten, yet nothing happens.”
“Youthreaten,” Oliver grumbled. “I endure him because he has fairly decent ideas on obtaining those elusive second dates with gorgeous Renaissance misses.”
Mairead looked up at him from where she was indeed sitting next to Ewan on the sofa. “Fourth.”
He blinked. “We’re on our fourth?”
“Right now, aye.”
“Then what are we doing here surrounded by this annoying collection of lads?” He gave the women his best smile. “The present company comprised of you stunning ladies excluded, of course.”
Madame Gies laughed happily. “Ah, Oliver, love, you have such delightful manners.”
“Summon me when you need stirring help,” he offered gallantly, then he reached over Ewan and pulled his lady to her feet and over to where he could hold her hand. “We’ll come be your tasters, of course.”
“Do you two have any plans other than taking up residence in my kitchen?” Cameron asked politely. “We’ll have supper later, but I thought it best to leave everyone at loose ends for the rest of the day.”
“We were thinking about a little treasure hunt,” Oliver admitted.
Peter’s ears perked up. Oliver saw them do it. He was also fairly sure the rest of the crew had stopped yawning.
“What sort?” Derrick asked.
Oliver looked at Mairead and smiled, figuring she would understand the unspoken invitation. She lifted her eyebrows briefly at him, then turned to face the lads.
“I have a book,” she said in perfect English.
Well, perhaps English with a tinge of a Renaissance accent to it, but it left the others there delighted.
“Any details?” Derrick asked, obviously stopping just short of flexing his fingers and rushing off toward the front door.
“’Tis a manuscript penned by a man named Sinclair McKinnon,” she offered in Gaelic. “He was a Londoner who’d come back to Scotland to write about his travels here. The McKinnons did him the courtesy of burying him in their kirk after his untimely demise.”
“The ruin just over the property border?” Derrick asked. “I don’t think they tend it any longer.”
“It’s definitely not listed,” Ewan said. “A bit of careful exploration for loose stones and who knows what we might find?”
They both looked at Peter who smiled slightly.
Oliver suspected it was at that exact moment that he began to lose control of the day.
He watched Cameron make himself comfortable on one of the sofas there whilst the lads trotted off to his office to no doubt dig out laptops and thumb through a well-used collection of topical maps of the area. He would have offered to help, but his plan dictated that he remain by the side of his intended constantly, so he ignored his colleagues and turned his attentions to the object of his affections.
He would have perhaps carefully explained to her what the lads were off doing, but found that not only was his input unnecessary, it would go unheard. Emily had already absconded with her, leading her upstairs to see if something might be found that might make for appropriate treasure hunting gear. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed the theft but found only Ewan watching him from across the great hall.
Oliver held up his hands in surrender.
