Page 39 of The Lyon’s Lass

“I am the Captain of The Rue. I can’t just stop because a lass has caught my eye.”

“And captured your heart.”

Iain swallowed, or tried to. Hodge was holding no punches today. In fact, he was leaving Iain bloody and bruised.

Still, Iain felt something spark in his belly. Hope.

“How would it work?” Iain’s voice was barely a whisper. Hope was a dangerous thing.

“You are the bloody Earl of Kesson, you can sell The Rue and live in a castle with the woman you love.”

He’d scraped and bled to make enough money to buy The Rue, and he was now supposed to just let it go? For a woman?

“Or,” Hodge continued. “You ask the lass to join you. She has steady legs on her. She’d not once lost her accounts.”

Iain smiled, the muscles sore with unuse. “She lost her accounts the first time we met.”

“I think ye are mad to be smiling over such a thing, but if the memory makes you see how your path should change, then I’m glad of it.”

“I should talk to her. See what she wants.”

“Ah! Finally!” Hodge rolled his eyes, much like Jack did. “Aye. You should talk to your wife and decide what works best for you both.”

“We should make for Aberdeen after dropping the cargo in Inverness.” Iain was calculating how many more days he’d have to wait to see Maisy.

“Bah. There’s no cargo going to Inverness. I was bringing you back to Aberdeen the whole time.”

Iain picked up Hodge and twirled him around.

“Put me down, ye lout.” Once Hodge was on his feet he called out an order to the crew. “Full sails, lads! The capt’n is set for home!”

Even with The Rue’s sails filled with cool Scottish wind, the vessel did not move fast enough for his liking. As soon as they docked in Aberdeen, Iain borrowed a horse and set off for Kesson.

Coming over a rise, he saw the top turret of the castle. Home.

He nudged the horse to go faster.

Handing it off to the butler, he rushed inside. He saw Mrs. Sutherland first.

“Where is Maisy?”

“She’s resting.”

Resting? It was late in the afternoon. Why would she need to rest? Unless she was ill? Was she hurt?

He took the stairs two and three at a time and rushed into her room to see the bed empty.

Abigail gasped from her seat in the corner where she was sewing.

“Maisy?”

“She sleeps in your room, my lord.” Abigail pointed to the door that led to his.

He slowed as he entered. In all his rush to get here, when his gaze finally fell on her sleeping form, he was struck still.

Did she sleep in his bed because she missed him?

Or perhaps she just liked having a lot of extra room. That didn’t seem reasonable since she hardly took up a quarter of it where she was curled on her side.