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“Smart lass.” Lachlan expelled air through his nostrils. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work, you’ll accept our surplus.”
She gave him an unwavering glare. “If and when we come to it, I’ll decide.”
His head shook resignedly. “You’re the most single-minded woman to roam the Earth, Darroch.”
Her lips opened in a dazzling smile. “I’ll take it as praise.”
But his stare focused on her lips and she felt like they burned. Her heart raced, her skin heated, her breasts puckered helplessly. Several heartbeats elapsed before she could break the spell.
She continued. “Do you think you and the men can corral back the cattle? I’ll fetch the seeds.”
“On it,” he answered, striding to the door.
They worked until the last ray of sun disappeared in the west. The muddy ground made it twice as difficult, but they had already ploughed the soil, so it was only to bury the seeds. Even so, they managed just a fraction of the fields.
But the clan had regained their hope at her solution, and everybody worked with doubled enthusiasm.
She was mud-spattered, tired, but hopeful. Moira ate something in the study while she tried to see to her ledgers.
Large, purposeful strides thumped on the hallway outside the study. Her heart thumped in time with the laird’s approach. Of course, the McKendrick monument would not leave her alone. He too, laboured like a Trojan alongside the men, first conducting the cattle, then joining the new sowing.
The door burst open by powerful hands. Damn the man for not allowing her a hiding place.
Her head lifted. “Don’t you ever knock?”
But her breath stuck in her throat at the view of him. Damp hair, a clean shirt, neat tartan, as if he had never worked an hour in his life, let alone toil the land the whole day.
Clicking the study shut, he crossed his strong arms as he directed an even more disapproving look at her. “An unnecessary waste of time since I’ll come in any way.”
Well, let’s talk about commanding lairds. “Right, and you came in like a thunder because…” she trailed off, needing the time and the concentration for her ledgers
“I’ll take care of you, since you seem unable to do it.”
She fusilladed him. “You don’t—”
“Have you looked at yourself?” he interrupted unashamedly.
Moira had a fairly precise idea that her hair pointed everywhere, that her underdress presented spots of so much mud it seemed a new fashion, and her tartan wrinkled with dust. She would request a bath after she had finished here. Not that she would tell any of it to the overbearing giant.
One delicate brow flew up to give the impression of nonchalance. “So…?”
“So, I’ll wash you,” he stated without an ounce of shame.
The shame tumbled all to her side at her reaction to is words. Vermillion swamped every inch of skin at the thought of those large hands on her every sensitive spot.
Without waiting for her reply, he opened the door. “Murray!” he bellowed and closed it again.
The butler arrived in less than ten seconds. “Yes, my laird.”
Lachlan’s eyes fixed on her. “Please bring a basin with warm water and a wash cloth.”
The elderly man bowed. “Momentarily, my laird.” And left.
Moira sprang from her seat. She would not let him…let him…Damn him!
“I’ll have a bath drawn before I retire.” Defiantly she crossed her arms as their stances battled.
Those impossibly tempting lips huffed a half-smile. “If I leave you here, you won’t do it until dawn.”
