The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)

To think, Brody had once considered this slimy toad his friend. His hands jerked on the reins, making Perseus sidle across the firm snow in equine protest. Elspeth’s expression remained puzzled. To his relief, she didn’t look like a woman who’d just been kissed.

“Diarmid was showing me the view across to Skye. You can see the Cuillins from where we were.”

Bugger the Cuillins. “Indeed.” Brody wished he didn’t sound like a sulky schoolboy.

The three of them settled into an ambling walk, while the cousins fell into reminiscences about childhood holidays. Brody suspected that Diarmid chose the subject specifically to exclude him. After Elspeth made a few unsuccessful attempts to draw him into the conversation, she left him alone.

At the top of the brae, they caught up with the rest of the party. This was one of Brody’s favorite places on his cousin’s estate. The land swept down to the turrets and battlements of the castle, with the sea and the Isle of Skye in the distance.

“I did my first Achnasheen painting here,” Marina said with a nostalgic smile.

“Aye, ye took my advice about that, but no’ much else,” Fergus said drily, reaching across to squeeze her hand where it lay loose on the reins.

“At that stage, I was yet to discover that you’re always right about everything, caro.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “You dinnae mean that.”

She batted her eyelashes theatrically. “Don’t I?”

He laughed. “Ye wee besom.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Anyone interested in a race? It’s flat as far as the cliff, so we’ll have a braw run.” He raised his voice for the children to hear. “Ye bairns go first.”

The suggestion received an enthusiastic response. As the youngest members of the party galloped away, Diarmid edged his horse toward the front, ready for the next round.

“Do you want to race?” Elspeth asked Brody, when he didn’t move.

“Och, no.” He shook his head. “I want to be alone with ye.”

She frowned in disapproval. “It doesn’t feel like it. You seem out of sorts.”

Since Diarmid had shifted out of earshot, Brody wasn’t nearly as grumpy as he had been. Usually he was accounted an easygoing companion. These recent mood swings left him bewildered and edgy. “I dinnae like ye going off with Diarmid,” he muttered.

“He’s my cousin.”

“I ken that. But he’s got a way with the ladies. Cannae imagine why. He’s a damned dull dog. Always doing the right thing.”

“I thought you were friends.”

“If he keeps making sheep’s eyes at ye, I’ll friend him into a bloody nose.”

Her eyes rounded, and she turned in the sidesaddle to study him. “My goodness, Brody. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Brody never blushed, so that couldn’t possibly be a blush heating his cheeks. “Did he try and kiss ye?”

She still regarded him as though he’d lost his mind. Perhaps he had. If love meant a lad’s sanity disintegrated, he could now tell Fergus that he was in love.

“That’s none of your business,” she said coolly, in a tone that as recently as two days ago, he’d never have imagined hearing from retiring Miss Elspeth Douglas.

He caught her bridle. “Show me the view across to Skye.”

“You can see Skye from here,” she said with a dismissive sniff.

His jaw set in stubborn lines. “I want to see the view Diarmid showed ye.”

“Rocks tell no tales,” she snapped, although she kept her voice down to avoid attracting notice. “You’ll find no evidence of a flirtation there.”

Not that their companions paid them any attention. They were too busy urging on the shrieking children who streamed across the ridge.

“No, but I’ll find a girl who needs a good kissing.”