Oliver would have made some noise of dismissal or disbelief or distress that someone would think him muddled enough in the head to look for a bride when he was scarce out of short trousers, never mind searching for one in a time so far out of his that he might wind up with no trousers at all, but he found that all he could do was look at his sparring partner and hope his heart hadn’t been laid too bare.
Because he liked Mairead MacLeod. Very much.
“It looks like Mair is off to round up her sheep,” Giles said. “I’ll go help.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Coming, or would you rather that I go venture where you obviously dare not?”
“I’m coming,” Oliver said promptly, resheathing his sword and viciously suppressing the urge to take his elbow and nestle it oh-so-lovingly between a pair of Giles Cameron’s ribs.
He was also tempted to strongly suggest to Giles that he continue to fix his affections on Mairead’s younger sister whilst leaving Mairead comfortably in the friend zone, but perhaps that sage advice could be offered later.
He hung back as Giles saved himself a skewering by treating Mairead in a completely brotherly sort of way, then decided it might be useful to keep his eyes open for stray relatives who were truly itching for a proper belting. He found none of the latter, which boded well for a decent day, but did manage to find some species of purple flower that wasn’t heather. He considered, then plucked and held it behind his back for use at the appropriate moment.
That moment arrived more quickly than he’d been planning on which left him a bit flat-footed, but he was accustomed to exuding an air of unsurprise. He inclined his head toward Mairead who had been standing in front of him for heaven only knew how long, then held out his bounty.
She looked at him blankly. “What’s this?”
“A flower.”
She frowned. “Do you want me to sniff it?”
“If you like.”
She took it, sniffed it, then held it back out. “It smells good.”
He took a deep breath.
“Are you preparing to sniff it as well?”
He was, he had to admit, enormously glad there wasn’t a gaggle of his own family and family by association and other lads who would meet their ends immediately after he’d captured them for no doubt indulging in guffaws at his expense. He would settle for wiping that look of amusement off Giles Cameron’s face later. He looked at Mairead and shook his head.
“I wasn’t.”
She looked slightly alarmed. “Am I to draw it then?”
“If you like.”
She looked as if what she might like was to draw her knife and use it on him. Patrick MacLeod would have approved, no doubt.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Damn it, he was just so terrible at dating. He couldn’t make decent conversation when it revolved around something as quotidian as the local chippy possibly using too much vinegar. He had absolutely no idea what to do with a Renaissance clanswoman who continued to look at him as if he’d lost his mind.
It also didn’t help that Giles Cameron was standing a few feet away, still watching the spectacle with an expression that was threatening to blossom into a full-blown grin. Oliver glared at him, had something just short of a laugh in return, then turned back to his present problem. He was, after all, a bloke with innumerable hours spent dealing with other humans to his credit. He could somehow manage to not make a complete arse of himself at the moment as well.
“It’s for you,” he said, making her the slightest of bows. “Because I thought it might please you.”
She dropped it. He had very quick hands and managed to rescue it before it hit the ground, then he straightened and almost hesitated to look and see if she were nigh onto losing her breakfast over the thought.
She’d put her hands to her cheeks. He suspected that might have been to cover her blush. He was appalled to find he was in the same straits. He held out the flower again, feeling altogether ridiculous. Then again, if anyone deserved even the slightest gesture of kindness and something lovely to look at, it was Mairead MacLeod.
Giles plucked the flower out of his hand, put it in Mairead’s, then slung his arm around her shoulders and tugged.
“Let’s leave your poor swain to looking for more weeds to give you whilst we seek out something to drink.”
“’Tisn’t a weed,” Mairead protested. “It is, you fool, a lovely flower.”
Oliver nodded in agreement, though he imagined no one had seen him doing so. He trailed after the Cameron heir and a woman that he—and not Giles if the man knew what was good for him—found far too charming for his own peace of mind.
So in an effort to distract himself, he took a moment to study his surroundings and take a proper measure of the state of the current clan MacLeod.
