Devils Highlander (Clan MacAlpin 1)

“No. Well… yes. I suppose. But not like that. ” She stopped fiddling with his papers to look her uncle in the eye. “Not a gentleman. Just Cormac. ”

Not a gentleman. Cormac frowned. He didn't know whether to view it as a compliment or an insult.

“Cormac MacAlpin?” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Truly?” Cormac gave a brusque but respectful nod. “Lord Keith. ”

“Come here, lad. Step into the light. ” Humphrey cleared his throat roughly and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to cough into.

Stepping closer to the firelight, Cormac could see that the years hadn't been entirely kind to the old man. He was thicker at the waist than was healthy, and Cormac wondered how often he left his desk.

He supposed he should make polite chatter, asking about Humphrey's never-ending scholarly investigations, but the sight of him so aged stuck in Cormac's craw. What would Marjorie do after her uncle's death? The man hadn't even known she'd been gone. Was there anyone who looked out for her?

“But it is you. ” Humphrey adjusted his glasses. “A man grown now! And with the look of your father, I daresay.

And yet nothing like the man, I'm sure,” he added quickly.

Cormac didn't care to think what he'd meant by that last statement. “Aye, and as a man grown, I couldn't allow Marjorie to make the long ride home by herself. ”

What he wanted to add was, “Unlike you, who let her embark on a day's journey, alone. ” But then Cormac gritted his teeth, ashamed that, were it not for his family, he'd have allowed that very thing.

“Hm. ” Humphrey absentmindedly rubbed the crown of his head, his joviality momentarily faded. There was a slight tremor in the man's gestures, in the pursing of his lips and the wavering of his hand, making him seem frail, despite his weight. “Well, I insist you stay. ”

“I'm afraid I cannot—”

“Of course he'll stay. ” Marjorie was at his side, her hand on his arm. Her touch scorched him, and Cormac forced himself not to flinch away.

“Angus will show you a room,” Humphrey said, nodding at a wizened footman hovering just outside the door.

“Oh, good evening, Angus,” Marjorie said warmly.

Cormac also nodded a greeting. Angus had been in her uncle's employ for as long as he could remember.

But he was losing focus. He'd seen Marjorie safely home, and it was time for him to find a room elsewhere.

“Really, Humphrey, I canna—”

“Cormac MacAlpin. ” Marjorie's grip cut into his arm, startling him to silence. “You have ridden all day, and now you will rest. ”

He glanced down, taking in her profile. Her jaw was set, and her vivid blue eyes glittered in the ambient light.

She was thinking of his comfort. And yet there was no one in the world who seemed to be doing the same for her.

He didn't know why he was fighting the invitation. He'd be just as happy to be spared the hassle of finding a room at this late hour. There was nothing improper about taking Humphrey up on his hospitality.

Cormac decided to let himself get swept along in Marjorie's undertow. Just this once.

He kept his mouth shut, and amid bids for good nights, let her tug him from the room.

It wasn't until later, by the fire, that he regretted his decision. Regretted it deeply. His eyes burned from staring at the flames, and yet naught could dispel the memories that played over and over in his mind.

Him and Ree racing through the house at a game of lummelen. Challenging her at draughts, at chess. She'd clap and squeal when she won, and Cormac never begrudged her — he'd loved the triumphant flush of her cheeks too much.

How many hours had he, Marjorie, and Aidan spent playing rounds of hid? They'd each try to top the other, finding increasingly obscure hiding places. Places like the buttery, her mother's wardrobe, the privy.

The chimney.

He stared at the hearth, remembering a pile of cold ashes. An upturned grate. The screams of his brother.

Clenching his eyes shut, Cormac dropped his head against the chair back. He'd lost so much that day. His brother. His innocence. His joy.