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“Any news from her?” Fingal inquired, seemingly eager to divert the conversation from his person.
“She’s due to visit with Taran and Rory in a few weeks,” Drostan informed.
“Do they live far from here?” Catriona asked, but she knew the McDougal’s land did not lie so far.
“A day’s ride,” Freya said.
“Your father’s got land too, I hear.” Wallace, this time.
“He does,” she replied.
“Near London?”
> Catriona’s heart ran wild as she got on guard. “More to the north,” she said vaguely, her spine tautened by tension. It was normal that others wanted to know about the people they allowed into their homes, only she could not disclose everything about her life. She sought for something to divert from this line of conversation. “I have not tried the famous McKendrick whisky yet,” she commented.
“Not only famous, but also the best,” boasted Drostan. And luckily for Catriona, the subject veered to the intricacies of the beverage’s production.
Fingal sat across from Emily in the carriage after they left the main manor. The infuriating woman charmed his whole family, showing an interest in their work and being affable to the children. She remained stubbornly reserved, though, which made him more intrigued by the day.
“Still unwilling to answer personal questions, are you?” he drawled, making her jerk her head to him.
“I am here to complete a task, not to display my life to anyone.” Firmness showed in her voice and in her eyes.
“People are bound to seek better acquaintance with each other.”
“I have the right to my privacy, regardless.” She crossed her arms, straight spine, as her posture defied him to go any further.
He would be damned if he would retreat from any lass, much less a Sassenach one. And especially because provoking her excited him to no end. “I am beginning to believe you got in trouble in London, and you are here hiding until things clear out there.”
A quizzical look came to her perfect countenance. Then she laughed, laughed in the very face of him. “How typical, Mr McKendrick!” Her mirth disappeared. “A woman has no right to be on her own and have independence, does she?”
Fingal refused to be ashamed by his own attitude. He had this need to know who she was, and he did not question it. He should, for the answer might veritably keel him. “Are you betrothed? Married? Widowed?”
A certain air of discomfort passed over her features, gone before he could read it better. “It’s none of your business!” she replied hotly. “I do not need a man by my side in order to receive my due respect.”
Stubborn lass, she gave no quarter, damn her! “You might not need a man, but what if you want one?” He would be that man. He wanted it—her. And it was becoming more and more difficult to wall up his desire. All he craved was to pounce on her and drown in the delights they could create together.
Her satiny cheeks tinted deep rose at his taunting. Ungentlemanly as it was, he got smug at her reaction.
“That man will certainly not be you!” she vented with a fiery gaze.
In the dim carriage, his heated eyes jaunted down her impeccable dress, the swell of her appetising breasts, the curve of her hips; and all the way up to her mouth-watering lips as her colour deepened. “Pity…” he mumbled.
“Deal with it,” she quipped, meaning she would never yearn for him.
“Pity it’s a lie,” he completed, only to gain an infuriated glare from her.
“What an arrogant piece of work!” Her voice alone could kill a lesser man but merely managed to burn fierce in Fingal’s blood.
Though his insides clamoured for her, irksome as it was, he made himself chuckle. “No complaints so far.” The boast aimed at disguising his threadbare control about to snap at any moment now.
Thinking on it, it had been several weeks he was last with a woman. The local pub serving lass came more than willingly to his bed. Or else, they used her own cot above the pub, for convenience’s sake. The tryst ended a few weeks ago on its own. Perhaps his…friend down there needed company. Said friend acquired a notorious enthusiasm for a certain very inappropriate lass, anyway, which made Fingal realise he—and the demanding friend—hungered for none other.
Bluidy hell!
The carriage lurched to a stop, interrupting their exchange, together with his unbidden thoughts.
No complaints so far.
