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

Then why the devil did you hire him? Fergus bit back the question. Something in him hankered to put this outspoken female in her place, but not when the weather was closing in and they had an injured man to get to safety.

“I’ll no’ be leaving a lady out in the rain.”

Her lips tightened. In the circumstances, it was perverse to notice that they were the color of crushed cherries and just as luscious. “I’m not made of icing sugar. A little water won’t kill me.”

Fergus had already decided she was more spice than sugar. “Very well, then, if you insist.”

“Thank you.”

Fergus turned to the coachman. “Take the horses along this road to the gatehouse. I’ll be ahead of you, and I’ll give them instructions about what to do when you arrive.”

“Aye, my lord,” the man mumbled.

Fergus waited for the woman to complain about him appropriating her authority again, but she was busy wrapping her father more securely in her cape and helping him to sit up. The man gave a groggy moan, and his eyes no longer seemed to be focusing as his head lolled against her shoulder.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Fergus said. “Dinna be frightened.”

The minute he spoke, he wanted to wince. Frightened? This lassie didn’t look like she’d tremble at the crack of doom.

“I willnae be long.” He caught Banshee’s bridle. The mare whinnied and sidled away, but settled at a quiet word. Further along the road, the coachman led the horses toward Achnasheen.

“That’s good,” the woman said. “Here, Papa. You’ll need this before I’m done.”

The injured man curled his shaking hand around hers as she held the flask to his lips. He jerked away. “Basta! This is vile stuff.”

Despite their plight, Fergus hid a smile. “It’s Bruce Mackenzie’s finest.”

“Not brandy?”

“No. Uisge-beatha. We call it the water of life.” Not quite legal in the eyes of a Sassenach exciseman, but the best drop of whisky produced across ten glens.

“Dio, I’d rather be dead.”

The man had more courage than Fergus had credited. Perhaps he and his daughter were more alike than he’d thought. “Aye, you’ll do,” he murmured.

Fergus whistled up his dogs and mounted Banshee. He wheeled the mare in the direction of the castle and set off through the rain at a gallop.