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Jeanie grinned. “She says, an’ I’m quotin’ here, ‘Well, aye, I can do better than ye, Earl Knox, if this is how ye talk to a woman’!”
Nathair barked out a laugh, and Jeanie joined him, and Alexander gave Cicilia an impressed look. For her part, she looked torn between pride and embarrassment.
“Well, I was nae wrong,” she said. “Only a fool would wed a lad who dinnae talk to them like a person.”
“Ye’re a remarkable lass, Cicilia O’Donnel,” Nathair said with a grin.
Alexander watched her, the freckles on her face and dimples on her cheeks, the spark in her eye, and that strange hair.
Remarkable? Aye, Nathair. She truly is.
Later that night, they went their separate ways, Jeanie quite blatantly following Nathair back to his bedroom. For some reason, Alexander felt awkward as he and Cicilia walked along the corridor together, first to check on the twins.
He waited in the hallway while Cicilia went into the children's’ room, and when she emerged a few minutes later, she was smiling softly.
“They climbed into the same bed again,” she told him in a whisper. “I should probably be tellin’ them off, but they look so sweet cuddlin’ into each other at night. An’ given everythin’ that has happened, I ken they probably need it.”
Alexander nodded. “It’s good that they have each other. An’ ye. They’re lucky bairns, despite everythin’.”
Cicilia smiled at him. Then, to his shock, she slipped her hand into his. His whole body stiffened at the sensation, and his lungs forgot how to breathe at this tiny gesture that meant everything and nothing.
She felt his tension. “What?” she asked. “Is this nae all right?”
“Nay, that is nae it,” he said quickly—a little too quickly. He took a breath and started again. “What I mean to say is, o’ course it’s all right. I’m just surprised.”
She shrugged. “Nae more surprised than I am,” she said, a slight tease to her tone. “Who’d have ever thought that I, of all people, would grow to like the Laird o’ Gallagher so much? Me poor Daddy is probably turnin’ in his grave.”
“Nonsense,” Alexander replied as they started walking again. He tried to hide the boyish thrill that went through him at her words. “Yer Faither would be the proudest man in the world to see ye now. Ye’re a marvel.”
“An’ ye’re a flatterer,” Cicilia laughed, but she squeezed his hand affectionately. “Yer faither would be proud, too, ye ken. Ye’re a good lad an’ a better Laird.”
And then, quite abruptly, she stopped. She dropped his hand and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down for a deep, sensuous kiss. When it was over, Alexander’s mind was
reeling, and his body was responding quite appropriately. He wanted nothing more than to drag her back to bed, but first…
“That was quite improper, Miss O’Donnel,” he joked. “What if somebody had seen? Is that really a risk ye’re comfortable takin’?”
She had that grin on her face that he loved so much, full of laughter and life, as she took his hand again and began to hurry down the corridor and back to her chambers. “Well, Me Laird,” she told him. “Fortune favors the bold.”
Chapter 19
Radix Malorum Est Cupiditas
The Root of Evil is Greed
The hooded man had reached his limit with the Laird, and now it was time to set his plan in motion. He would no longer tolerate Alexander’s rule, not when he himself would be a much better leader for the clan.
He dared not stage a coup outright, but he knew something more powerful than a sword—a whisper. The right volume, the right words, in the right person’s ear, would change everything.
And so the hooded figure walked the castle village, buying drinks for all in the tavern, bartering at the market, and letting slip here and there the secrets that he knew would begin to unweave the thin strands that kept Alexander’s rule over the clan in place.
An’ then, when they’re on me own side, I can get in place to fight for the rule. I’ll have the populace behind me an’ Alexander an’ his Man-at-arms will have nae idea what hit them.
The hooded man passed a drink to the blacksmith and said, “Have ye noticed how his Lairdship never deigns to visit us down in the village? We’re too common for him, I suppose.”
He walked away to leave the smith to mull this over, and ‘accidentally’ bumped into another patron, causing coins to scatter everywhere. He helped the patron pick them up, apologizing over and over.
“It’s nae trouble,” grunted the patron when he straightened up, all his coins back in hand. “Just be more careful. I’m Ronald, the baker.”
