A Hellion for the Highlander

Alexander felt a surge of guilt at those words, though he knew it was unwarranted. More than anyone, he knew the pain of losing one’s parents. More than anyone, he understood how she must feel to be under such a burden.

But this is nae a lairdship. It’s a farm, and she’s just a lass.

“Give me the book, Cicilia,” he said slowly, patiently, using her name without an honorific for the first time. He wanted her to know he was being friendly, wanted her to trust him. “I’m nae gonnae take yer siblings away from ye, but the farm—”

“Me farm,” Cicilia insisted. “An’ I’m doin’ a better job than any man ye could hand it off to, I’m tellin’ ye. Are ye nae gettin’ all the taxes and land payments on time? Am I nae supplyin’ half the clan wi’ meat an’ food?”

“Aye, an’ nae only our clan. I’ve kent for years that yer faither has been makin’ illegal trades wi’ our enemy clans. An’ now it’s still goin’ on, an’ here you are, a lass, buried up to yer neck in illicit exchanges!” Alexander protested.

She actually stomped her foot in frustration, and it made her entire body shake, drawing Alexander’s eyes once more to her impressive curves. He had to quickly bite back a smile. It wouldn’t do for Cicilia to see him amused at how adorable her anger seemed to him. “Me bein’ a lass has naught to do wi’ anythin’, an’ ye should be ashamed o’ thinkin’ so. The trades I’m makin’ may be illicit, but me an’ me faither both kent what was best for the farm an’ for the clan. Ye bein’ stubborn fixes naught!”

Alexander sighed deeply. Her spirit was admirable, but he was beginning to feel like they were going in circles. “Cicilia, give me the ledger,” he insisted. “I’ll have a look at what’s goin’ on, an’ then—”

But before he could finish, a spark shone in Cicilia’s eye, and suddenly, the book was sailing over his shoulder. He whirled, following its path, and saw the twins standing just outside the door.

Jamie jumped and caught the book while Annys cheered.

“Go!” Cicilia called to them. “Quick as ye can. Hide it wherever ye like, an’ dinnae tell anybody!”

The twins nodded seriously and ran off while Alexander gaped after them. When they were gone, he turned and stared at Cicilia, who was staring back at him with her bottom lip out and defiance on her face.

“Are you quite serious?” he asked, his voice dripping with anger and sarcasm. Cicilia didn’t need to see the slight smirk threatening to break out on his lips at the audacity of the siblings’ teamwork. Nor did she need to know how the twin?

??s earnestness was softening him in ways he didn’t understand.

“Very serious,” she replied, standing in that distracting way again with her arms folded under her breasts. Because she was wearing a man’s shirt, pushing up her chest resulted in a strain at the buttons, and Alexander tried to hold onto his anger and keep his eyes somewhere, anywhere else.

Unfortunately, her height meant that he was always looking down at her. He couldn’t stare into her strange, obstinate face without also taking in her body.

It was very distracting for a young man who had long since put aside such things, especially when she nervously chewed on her bottom lip, showing some vulnerability hiding just beneath her bravado.

What would happen if he touched her? What would happen if he channeled his frustration on her lips, her neck, her freckled skin? What if, instead of trying to understand this impossible woman, he gave up and let their bodies communicate instead?

Aye, an’ now she is nae the only one strainin’ at her buttons, ye pillock.

He turned away from her abruptly, not wanting her to glimpse the sudden hardness against his trews. Alexander couldn’t think of a single thing more embarrassing right now than letting this aggravating woman know how his body desired her, especially when he was trying to be furious.

Nay. I’m nae ‘tryin’ to be’. I am furious. I am the Laird an’ this is me land!

“I’m goin’ to bed,” he growled. “Come the morrow, I want that book, do ye understand me?”

From behind him, too politely so that it sounded more like mockery, Cicilia said, “I understand perfectly. But ye’ll need to talk to the twins if it’s the book ye’re after. Goodnight, Laird.”

Alexander almost turned to her again. Almost. Instead, he stomped off, out of her room, down the corridor to the place where he slept.

He wasn’t going to bother trying to find the children, not now. He’d only known them for a short time, but it was already long enough to know that the children would not be found if they didn’t want to be.

The little ones liked him, for whatever reason. They wanted to play games with him. Perhaps he’d challenge them to another game tomorrow, in exchange for information on the book. Either way, they’d come to him, eventually.

He felt sorry for them, really. Two bairns who’d never known their own mother, and lost their father so recently. Caught up in a secret so important that they couldn’t even publicly mourn. Yes, they were wild, but given everything, it would have been more surprising if they were angelic.

They are nae the problem. Nay, that’s the older sister. That woman may be the death o’ me.

When sleep finally beckoned, it was troubled, broken. Alexander’s dreams were confused and kept waking him in a hot, flustered mess. Some were good, some were bad, but all of them focused on a shapely body, an errant strand of black amongst vibrant red, and a too-clever pair of green-gold eyes.

Chapter 10

Sunt Lacrimae Rerum