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Those eyes came at her anew. “Did you tell them you never made it to your aunt?” He asked with such familiarity, as if they lived under the same roof for decades.
Four pairs of varying shades of brown alit on her. “No.” Her chin lifted on him. “I was not about to start a war.”
Drostan advanced on Taran. “What did you just say, dirty McDougal?”
The giant did not back away. “I abducted her.” Their heights matched. “She stayed in my manor all this time.”
Drostan’s fists tightened by his side. He would use them in a question of seconds, certainly.
As the tableau got serious, Aileen stepped between her brother and that man.
“Stop it, you brutes!” Emphatic, she separated them, one hand on each solid chest. The one on his reacted despairingly.
Taran lowered his gaze to her fingers and returned to her so suggestive, she flushed in crimson shade; a hot, molten flash arrowing to her middle. Her hands flew back to her sides immediately.
“Everyone to the study.” She directed firmly. “Robert, bring whisky, please.” She oriented the tardy footman watching the scene agape.
The man must be out of his mind if he came alone to confront four robust McKendricks.
Taran followed the wee hurricane, wishing he could touch her swaying hips. Since he left too late the day before, he needed to overnight in an inn and depart this morning after a bath and breakfast. None of those eased his temper. To spend the night in an arctic bed did not help it a bit. Especially because the arctic piece of furniture meant her absence.
Whisky served, the footman rushed out and closed the door.
He observed her brothers as they stood each in one corner eyeing him suspiciously. Not about to be intimidated, he eyed them back.
Her father did not appear less combative, despite his grey hair, wrinkled face and less muscular frame. An opponent to count with, evidently.
In a swig, Taran finished his dose. Brows arched, he looked at the glass feigning surprise. “This is a good one.” He commented.
“The best.” Wallace corrected.
“South of the Highlands, perhaps. To the north is mine.” The mutual boast seemed to lighten the mood.
“You were saying…“ Drostan brought back the focus.
“I intercepted her carriage as it crossed my lands.” He informed matter-of-factly.
“How did you learn she would be there?” Lachlan asked surgically.
“A stable-hand from one of the inns came to tell me in exchange for cheap coins.” The knowledge set the engines in his brain in motion. “I planned an alliance for both our clans.”
“He intended me to marry his son.” Aileen’s voice did more to his rushing blood than its ring of absurdity.
“The lad cannot be more than— “ Fingal calculated quizzical.
“Eighteen.” She completed.
“We always knew the McDougals are… screwballs.” Wallace provoked.
Taran decided to let this go over his head. “She would have none of it.”
“Thwarted you, did she?” Lachlan jabbed.
“You could say that.” He answered.
“Why are we not surprised?” Fingal had a knowing look about him.
Her brothers possessed no illusions about their sister. “But things became a tad— “ McDougal sought Aileen’s mahogany eyes. “Foggy.”
