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Refusing to be charmed, Donella ignored his teasing. “I don’t know if we’re going to pull off this little charade. You look nothing like a Country Harry, although I expect I could pass for your scruffy little brother.”
He waggled a hand. “I think you’re more the problem than I am.”
“Really? This outfit is shapeless, and I look perfectly grubby.”
“Not entirely shapeless. And then there’s your face.”
“Which is no doubt as grubby as the rest of me.” She wrinkled her nose. “And this outfit does smell like it belonged to a stable boy.”
“True, but youarethe Flower of Clan Graham. A little dirt can’t conceal your charms.”
Donella repressed a stab of irritation. “It’s a foolish name that I was glad to leave behind. I would be grateful if you didn’t refer to it again.”
His smile turned rueful. “I was only teasing, lass.”
“I’m not one for teasing, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“I have noticed. It’s commendably nunlike of you.”
She tried not to clench her teeth. “I’m no longer a nun, in case you failed to notice that, too.”
Something considerably warmer than amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”
After three years in the convent, Donella had forgotten how irritating men could be, and how easily they could wind her up.
She scowled at the floor, trying to keep her temper under control. “Whereisthat blasted porter?”
At the sound of footsteps from outside, Kendrick straightened up. “I believe salvation is finally at hand, Miss Haddon.”
“Thank goodness. I’m so tired I can barely think.”
“Just a few more minutes, then you can sleep,” he said in a soothing tone.
Lovely.Now he was treating her like a fractious toddler. Donella supposed she couldn’t entirely blame him.
The porter entered the hall, a blast of cold air and dead leaves whirling in behind him. He slammed the door shut, shaking his head and muttering imprecations aboutold Brumby.
“Is there a problem?” Kendrick asked.
“Nay, sir. Just a little trouble roustin’ the stable hand out of his bed.” He grimaced an apology. “We dinna usually have travellers callin’ this late.”
Donella started to apologize, but Kendrick shook his head. He’d warned her to speak as little as possible, something that was proving to be a bit of a challenge.
“We’re sorry to put you out,” he said. “Were you able to make appropriate arrangements for my horse?”
“Aye, sir. Got him rubbed down and bedded for the night. Ye’ll not be needin’ to worry about him.”
“Splendid, Mr. . . .”
“Just Hamish, sir.” The porter rummaged in the old desk. “We don’t stand on ceremony ’ere at the Crown and Thistle.”
“Excellent. Then I’d be grateful if you could show us to a room, preferably one at the back of the inn. My little brother is dead on his feet, and I’ve got to get him into bed.”
Donella felt her face heat up. When Kendrick flashed her an amused look, she cursed her fair skin and russet hair. She rarely blushed, but when she did there was no hiding it. Her blasted escort had an uncanny ability to make her color up like a schoolgirl.
Hamish glanced up from his inspection of ratty-looking quills and finally gave Donella a good look. She slouched down in her chair, trying her best to imitate a rumpled boy.
The porter studied her with a puzzled expression. “Yer brother, eh? Not much of a family resemblance.”
