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When he was annoyed, his brogue tended to surface. And right now he was very annoyed.
Donella flicked a dismissive hand, not breaking stride as they headed down the dusty road toward the inn. The wind kicked up dirt devils and tossed his hat from his head.
Repressing a curse, Logan swiped it up. The lassie, naturally, didn’t wait for him, and he got an excellent if brief view of her pretty ankles when the wind off the nearby firth whipped her dress up around her shins.
Where the hell was the carriage? Foster should have picked them up by now, but he was nowhere in sight. That fit in with every other blasted thing gone wrong today.
He quickly caught up to Donella. “Don’t you even have a maid to accompany you?”
She stopped dead in her tracks, forcing him to skid to a halt.
“What?” he asked in response to her glower.
“Irepeat. Until last week I was a nun. Nuns do not have maids.”
“No servants at all?” While he knew little about convents, shewasthe bloody niece of a rich, influential earl.
“I realize there are many silly myths about Catholics, but nuns do not have servants. And there are no mad monks, wailing ghosts, lurid orgies, or any other of the nonsense you might have heard.”
He swallowed the temptation to joke about orgies. “Och, lass, I have nothing against Papists. In fact, my—”
“I don’t care.”
When she stomped off, Logan couldn’t blame her. He’d sounded like a complete moron. But he was still debating what to do with her. They would spend two nights on the road without a chaperone. He couldn’t believe Lord Riddick hadn’t anticipated this rather pressing need. Did the old fellow really think the girl’s former status would protect her from the way gossip flew about the Highlands? Not likely. Not when she was travelling with a Kendrick male—especially this Kendrick male.
Donella glanced over her shoulder. “Are you coming? Because as you so aptly pointed out, the less time we are together, the better.”
Once again, he easily caught up with her, despite her long stride that ate up the ground. No mincing about for her. She was all business and as tart as a lemon ice.
Logan was quite fond of lemon ice.
“You are a snippy lass, aren’t you? Is that why the nuns kicked you out?”
Her glare aimed to turn him to stone, but she kept her mouth—it was a very pretty mouth, rosebud pink—firmly shut.
“I’m Logan Kendrick, by the way. In case Sister Margaret didn’t tell you.”
“I know exactly who you are,” she said with a disapproving sniff.
“Ah, so you’ve heard of the Kendricks.”
“Of course. With the exception of Lord Arnprior, you are generally considered a bad lot.”
“You’re behind the times, lass. We’re all reformed now.”
“Huzzah for you.” She tilted her chin to peer up the road from under the brim of her oversized bonnet. “And whereisthe carriage, for heaven’s sake? At this rate, we’ll hardly get out of here by nightfall.”
Since they were almost at the inn and no carriage was in sight, Logan could only assume some mishap had occurred.
He couldn’t resist the impulse to tease her. “Aye, it’s late. Maybe we can have a nice, friendly chat to pass the time. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“The only thing I intend to do on this benighted trip is pray, Mr. Kendrick.”
“Then I do hope you’ll say a few prayers for me, Miss Haddon.”
“I will pray that you keep your blasted mouth shut.” She quickened her pace, all but scurrying away from him.
The entire day had descended into a staggering farce. It was bound to be an interesting trip back to Blairgal, if Donella Haddon didn’t murder him before the day was out.
