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After dinner she had worked in the study before coming here and bathing. Now she sat at her escritoire, in her night rail, finishing with a ledger she had brought with her. A candle on the surface and the fire in the fireplace illuminated the chamber.
Her head lifted from her task. “I could not tell,” she started. “But at least he’s here.”
Tartan around his waist, he started undoing his shirt. Apparently, he had bathed before dinner as he showed in the dining room with damp hair. He had sat across from her at the table, endorsing her as she told Harris about her accomplishments in the last year.
“A little late, don’t you think? You carried the whole burden so far.” He fisted his tapered waist.
The agape shirt displayed a wide V of his hair peppered strong chest. Her mouth watered at her desire to trail her lips down its length and lower still. She could not avoid the blush that accompanied the thought. In response, his eyes heated.
“I know,” she agreed. “But if he takes his place here, it would help things.” For one, it would rip her uncle out of the way.
Her husband chose that moment to rid himself of his shirt. Did he not realise the view of his…assets blurred her mind?
“As I understood, he has a life in Glasgow,” he said.
“A wealthy and…colourful one,” she complemented.
“What, he’s a libertine?” A large hand headed to one end of the plaid.
“Something like that.” Her attention clasped avidly to those long fingers. “A harmless one, by the looks of it.”
The tartan end fell from his waist. “Do you think he’d adapt to country life?”
A shrug jerked her shoulder as she followed the wool trail its way to the carpet. “Born and bred here, he left when he turned twenty.”
“He’s familiar with clan leading, I reckon.” Stark naked, he prowled to her as she widened her hungry stare.
“I’d say so,” her head lifted to his approach, then lowered to his very rampant manhood.
And returned to him when he took her hand and pulled her up from the chair, and she followed, not even noticing it. “In any case, we’ll have to wait until the clan gathers tomorrow.” He sat on the edge of the mattress.
“Yes,” it came breathy as his palms smoothed her night rail up her legs.
“Hm,” he grunted, and pulled her to straddle him.
“W-what are you doing?” Heat and utter arousal made her compliant.
Deft fingers unbuttoned the top of her gown. “Enjoying my wife,” he growled before latching that mouth to one breast. Her head fell back with a moan, her fingers diving in his hair.
As an answer, she lifted her hips to enjoy her husband.
One of the vacated barns, now clean, served as the place to gather the clan next day. Benches scattered around the space as people joined in small groups.
Lachlan, sitting beside Moira on the first row, observed the questioning glances everyone cast at them, and scowled inwardly. This new development seemed more like a disturbance of the busy working day. He did not believe for a single minute that this reprobate would do any good for the Darrochs, or even his wife. No idea why, but he had become extremely protective of her. If what the man had to say indicated any negative consequences to her, he would have no qualms in putting him out of here with punches if need be. She had enough on her plate as it was.
Harris entered the barn dressed in Darroch colours. Tall and dark, Lachlan suspected the women he…interacted with in the city favoured him.
Instead of standing in the front as expected, Laird Darroch sat on the bench as if willing to talk on an equal basis with everyone. After the required introduction, he explained his arrival.
“As soon as I heard of the excellent match Lady Moira made, I travelled here convinced the solution I bring is more than adequate for the Darrochs,” he said simply.
Little by little the men, women and
children taking part in the gathering sat in a circle for better hearing. Lachlan and Moira followed suit despite the strangeness of it.
“An idea occurred to me and I’d like to ask your opinion on it.” He made eye contact with everyone. “As you know, I have my own business in Glasgow, which leaves me neither time nor wish to lead a clan miles away from it,” he paused as if gauging the mood.
Lachlan had no clue if the man had any knowledge of the plight his clan had been facing since Malcom’s passing. He should have asked Moira. If Harris did not, what he was about to say might have no use for anyone.
