To Tame a Highland Warrior
Page 46“Oh,” Jillian said in a small voice, her glance darting between her maid and man-at-arms. “Why are you two looking at me like that?” she demanded.
“Like what?” Kaley fluttered her lashes innocently.
Jillian rolled her eyes, disgusted by their obvious matchmaking efforts. “Shall we return to the inn? I promised I’d return in time to have dinner.”
“With Quinn?” Kaley said hopefully.
Hatchard nudged the maid. “With Grimm.”
“With Occam,” Jillian flung over her shoulder dryly.
Hatchard and Kaley exchanged amused glances as Jillian dashed down the street, her arms overflowing with packages.
“I thought she brought us to carry,” Hatchard observed with a lift of one fox-red eyebrow and a gesture of his empty hands.
Kaley smiled. “Remmy, I suspect she could cart the world off on her shoulders and not feel an ounce. The lass is in love, for certain. My only question is—with which man?”
“Which one, what?” Jillian asked nonchalantly. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling a sleek fall of gold over her shoulder. She perched on the tiny settle before a blurry mirror in her room at the inn, itching with impatience to join the men in the dining room.
Kaley’s reflection met Jillian’s with a wordless rebuke. She tugged Jillian’s hair back and swept it up into a knot with more enthusiasm than was necessary.
“Ouch.” Jillian scowled. “All right, I know what you meant. I just don’t wish to answer it yet. Let me see how things go this evening.”
Kaley relaxed her grip and smiled. “So you admit to this much—you do intend to select a husband from one of them? You’ll heed your father’s wishes?”
“Yes, Kaley, oh absolutely yes!” Jillian’s eyes sparkled as she leapt to her feet.
“I suppose you could wear your hair down this evening,” Kaley begrudged. “Although you should at least allow me to dress and curl it.”
“I like it straight,” Jillian replied. “It’s wavy enough of its own accord, and I don’t have time to fuss.”
“Oh, now the lass who took over an hour to choose a dress doesn’t have time to fuss?” Kaley teased.
“She’s late,” Grimm said, pacing irritably. They’d been waiting for some time in the small anteroom that lay between the section of the inn that held private rooms and the public eatery. “By Odin’s spear, why doona we just send a tray up to her room?”
“And forgo the pleasure of her company? Not a chance,” Ramsay said.
“Stop pacing, Grimm,” Quinn said with a grin. “You really need to relax a bit.”
“I am perfectly relaxed,” Grimm said, stalking back and forth.
“No, you’re not,” Quinn argued. “You look almost brittle. If I tapped you with my sword, you’d shatter.”
“If you tapped me with your sword, I’d bloody well tap you back with mine, and not with the hilt.”
“There’s no need to get defensive—”
“I am not being defensive!”
“That’s not fair.” Grimm scowled. “That’s a trap. If someone says ‘doona get defensive,’ what possible response can a person make except a defensive one? You’re stuck with two choices: Say nothing, or sound defensive.”
“Grimm, sometimes you think too much,” Ramsay observed.
“I’m going to have a drink.” Grimm seethed. “Come get me when she’s ready, if that remarkable event manages to occur before the sun rises.”
Ramsay shot Quinn an inquiring look. “He wasn’t quite so foul-tempered at court, de Moncreiffe. What’s his problem? It’s not me, is it? I know we had a few misunderstandings in the past, but I thought they were over and forgotten.”
“If memory serves me, the scar on your face is a memento from one of those ‘misunderstandings,’ isn’t it?” When Ramsay grimaced, Quinn continued. “It’s not you, Logan. It’s how he’s always acted around Jillian. But it seems to have gotten worse since she’s grown up.”
“If he thinks he’s going to win her, he’s wrong,” Ramsay said quietly.