"You want me to take her?"
"No."Ian gathered the woman off Nick's back and slung her over his shoulder."Can you deal with the rest, though?"
"Aye.That I can do, bro."Jamie ruffled Nick's forelock, took the lead rope in one hand and the pigeon in the other, and then meandered down the aisle, whistling the tune to the Lollipop Guild.
With the melody now stuck in his head—probably for the rest of the night—Ian strode from the barn toward the main house.Despite his irritation, it was hard to be mad at Jamie's antics.It had been a long time since the three of them had been on the same continent at the same time.
Careful not to bang the woman's head on the door frame, Ian angled through the opening.But the door slammed shut behind him before he could catch it and the leader of the rainbow convention woke with a start.
She groaned."Put me down."
Ian leaned forward, one hand around her waist and the other below her rear, and set her on her feet.He kept a grip around her waist and was ready when her knees buckled.Her body trembled and her head rolled back.He noted the bluish tint to her lips and the shadows under her eyes.
Frowning, he lifted her up again, only this time cradling her like a child.Her head thumped against his chest.She needed a bed, and he sure as hell wasn't taking her to the guest wing where Ms.Brooks' luxurious suite awaited along with seven others.He'd have to take her to the family wing.There were too many unanswered questions, and he couldn't have some crazy plaid-addicted golfer screwing up his plans.
Upstairs, Ian pushed open the door to a small bedroom down the hall from his room and placed the woman on the bed.Immediately, she drew her knees to her chest, snuggled deep into the clean down comforter with a content moan.
Damn it.He should have put her on the floor.The blanket was smeared with mud now.Fran was going to have a cow.And just his luck, as soon as the thought came, Fran entered and switched on the lamp.
"Oh, dear… What happened?"She stepped closer to the bed, eyes widening as they fixed on the colorful woman."Who's this?"
Ian glanced at the figure.Grudgingly, he admitted she had a nice face; pretty even, with long eyelashes that rested on smooth pale cheeks.Her lips were puckered since the side of her face was squished into the pillow.They were nice too, he supposed.And she was tall.He did like tall.He rubbed one temple as if pained by the sight of her.Her kaleidoscope of an outfit was messing with his eyesight and giving him a headache.
"Ian?"Fran prompted him.
"What?"He cleared his throat, realizing he hadn't answered her question."She was hit by the pigeon I shot.Has a nasty bump on the head.Think she's fine otherwise.I'll call Finn to come check on her."
Fran's eyes narrowed."I see.And how did all this come about?"
"Well, the plaid-loving lass was in the wrong place at the wrong time.Will you take care of her?Brooks should be here any minute, and I need to clean up."
"Aye, I'll see to it."Fran returned her attention to the oddly dressed woman."Go on.I'm sure I'll find you in the front hall, wearing down the wood if I need you."
Chapter 3
A half hour later, after Ian placed a call to the local doctor, he paced the front hall, stopping to look at the ancient grandfather clock every thirty seconds.Its aged wood, black with time, had been polished to a high sheen.In fact, everything around him gleamed.The MacLaren crest, free from years of dust and grime, hung above the great stone fireplace and looked down upon a cozy sitting area arranged for conversation or a quiet read by the fire.
It still amazed him how far his grandfather had fallen after losing his wife, Ian's grandmother.Duncan MacLaren had slipped quietly into addiction, letting the house fall into disrepair, defaulting on loans and bills, and drinking himself into oblivion.And Ian hadn't known.None of them had.They'd been off fighting a war Ian wasn't sure would ever be won.
The writer was an hour late.Couldn't anyone be on time?
"Poor lass.Exhausted is what she is."Fran marched the offensive outfit past Ian and into the kitchen.He followed to see her dump the un-salvageable garments into the trash with a disapproving oath, then wash her hands in the sink."I gave her one of your grandmother's old nightgowns to wear, but I'll take her up one of mine in a bit."
Ian stared out the kitchen window into the darkening evening.Fran's words barely registered."Bloody hell.Where is the woman?She should have been here by now."He scrubbed a hand down his face."Never thought I'd want anything so over and done with."
Fran lifted a towel to dry her hands, but stopped suddenly and stood very still.
Instantly, Ian was by her side."Fran, what's wrong?Are you all right?"
"Ian," she began, staring up at him with wide eyes, "perhaps our Mrs.Brooks is already here."
It felt like all the blood drained from his body in one blinding moment.
Fuckinghell.Why hadn't the thought occurred to him?It had to be her.When she'd spoken earlier.Her voice.The accent.Hell, the Scottish clothes.Only a tourist would go all out like that.
A sour knot formed in his gut."Goddamn it."He spun on his heel and strode from the kitchen, heart pounding, angry.
"Ian, wait!"
