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She scowled. “Of course. For one thing, my brother and my cousin would murder you, and then they’d make you marry me.”
“In the reverse order, I hope, for your sake.”
She glared up at the ceiling, hating that she’d sounded so foolish. What was wrong with her?
With a chuckle, he returned to his makeshift pallet. She listened to him settle in, then closed her eyes, determined to ignore the disconcerting circumstances as best she could.
Despite her exhaustion, however, her ruffled nerves prevented her from falling asleep. Rustling noises from near the hearth suggested Kendrick was chasing slumber, too.
Maybe if they talked a bit, she would soon drift off. “Why MacDonald?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“Why did you pick that particular name to sign the register?”
“It’s my grandfather’s name. Angus MacDonald.”
“Ah, I had an uncle named Angus—Angus Graham. He was chieftain of our particular branch of the clan. He’s dead, though. He died during my first year in the convent.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. He was a good man, if a bit stern. Is your grandfather still alive?”
“Very much so. I expect Grandda will outlive us all.”
“Does he live in Glasgow, too?”
“At the moment, he lives in Canada. Halifax, to be exact.”
She turned her head so she could see him. Lying under the blanket, his greatcoat rolled up under his head, he was a large, comforting presence between her and the dangers of the outside world.
“What’s he doing there?”
“Stirring up trouble, I expect.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“It’s a long story, too long for tonight. You need your sleep.”
“But—”
“Go to sleep, Donella,” he said firmly. “We have a long day ahead, and I don’t want to have to lug you about because you’re half-dead on your feet.”
She bristled. “I’ll be fine. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Excellent, but I’ll be half-dead if you don’t let me sleep. And thatwillbe something we have to worry about.”
She realized she was being rather selfish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Lass, justgo to sleep.”
Torn between irritation and guilt, she turned from him, resigning herself to a sleepless night.
Chapter Eight
Donella was half-sprawled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around her pillow. She seemed incredibly innocent in her abandoned slumber.
The fact that she’d kicked off most of her covers was something of a problem—abigproblem. Her shirt had twisted around her body, riding high on her thighs and exposing the creamy white skin between the paltry hem of the garment and the tops of her stockings. The blasted thing was pulled tight around her rump, outlining unexpected and delightfully generous curves. Her russet hair, gleaming in the pale light of dawn, was a glorious mess that barely reached her shoulders—one of which was fully revealed by her sagging neckline.
