The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely 8)

“I’m not used to spirits.”

“So I see.”

“Do ye think we’ll be here for long?” Although even as she spoke, she recognized it as a child’s question. How could he know?

“Sometimes storms go for an hour, sometimes they go for days.”

Days? Her whisky-induced wellbeing evaporated. How on earth could she keep Mr. MacNab from discovering she was no stableboy, if they were stuck here for days? Even a few hours represented danger. “We cannae stay here that long.”

“Let’s wait and see.” As his eyes rested on her, they were searching. “No point panicking yet.”

She couldn’t imagine Mr. MacNab panicking in the middle of an earthquake. She, on the other hand, was getting more frightened by the minute. “My…my uncle will be worried.”

“I’m sure he will be, but if he and my aunt and uncle have any sense, they’ll guess that we found this hut and it’s better if we all sit the blizzard out, at least for the moment.”

He sounded so sure, she derived a scrap of

comfort from his answer. Until she remembered dangers beyond the weather. “We might be here all night.”

“We might.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly she was cold again, despite the fire. “At least we’ve got plenty of peat.”

“We can share the bed, too. Body heat is the best way to keep warm.”

No, no, no, no, no. “It’s no’ fitting, Mr. MacNab.” Alarm made her voice shake. “You take the bed, and I’ll stay beside the fire.”

“Practicality trumps propriety here, Kit.”

She frowned in puzzlement. It seemed an odd thing to say to a stableboy. “I’m a mere servant.”

“Are you indeed, Kit?” His gleaming hazel eyes fixed on her. “Or should I say rather…Miss Laing?”

Chapter 3

Quentin watched those spectacular eyes widen in horror. The little color Kit had regained since reaching the hut leached out of her face, leaving her as pale as the snow outside.

Her slender throat moved as she swallowed. “I…”

He sliced the air with his hand. “Don’t bother denying it. I’ve had my suspicions for a while, but I knew for sure yesterday when I dug you out of that snowdrift.”

Clumsy with terror, she lurched to her feet and dashed for the door, upending the stool in her haste.

Quentin caught her as her frantic hands scrabbled at the latch. He hauled her back against him. “Don’t be a wee fool. You won’t last ten minutes out there.”

“Better that than…”

Nausea cramped his belly. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might fear assault, although it bloody well should have. His hold on her wriggling body gentled but not enough that she could escape and run out into the cold.

“Stop it, Kit. You’re safe. I swear it on my life.”

She kept squirming like a hooked fish. The lass was surprisingly strong, but then he supposed she must be to have played her part as a stableboy all these weeks. It was clear Joseph Laing hadn’t singled her out by sparing her any of the hard work. “Devil take you, stand still.”

“Will you let me go?”

He hated that she was so scared. Although he imagined fear had been her boon companion for a long time. Only overwhelming fear could have spurred a lass to this desperate masquerade. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

Quentin lifted his hands away and stepped back, hoping that would calm her. Then had to leap forward to grab her around the waist when she headed straight for the door again. “Damn it, Kit. I told you I mean you no harm. Settle down.”