A Hellion for the Highlander

She could. It must be frustrating to the point of madness to know that these illegal trades were going on right under the Laird’s nose and that there was nothing he could do about it. How much worse would it be if he knew that Cameron O’Donnel was dead and that Cicilia herself was running the place?

I dinnae even want to imagine.

As Nathair and Jeanie continued to talk, Cicilia watched the Laird playing outside a bit longer, and sighed to herself.

Yes, perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all, but she could not risk being gentle on him. Just by being here, he was a threat to her home, her siblings, and the life she knew. And no matter how handsome he was or how golden-hearted, she could never put that at risk.

Chapter 9

Onus Probandi

Burden of Truth

Alexander placed his lantern carefully on the desk, glad that the candlelight was enough to illuminate the drawers as he searched through them as quickly as he could. He felt like an intruder.

That’s because ye are an intruder, Alexander.

No, that wasn’t fair. Alexander had been told to enjoy the library as he wished. Nobody had explicitly stated that he shouldn’t go into the little study enclosed off the side. And if he happened to find the book the children had mentioned while looking, well, that was just luck, wasn’t it?

It didn’t stop him from jumping at every noise, though. He felt strangely like he had as a very young child, hoping Catherine wouldn’t tell tales and that the cook wouldn’t catch him sneaking sweetmeats from the larder.

Nay. I’m the Laird o’ Gallagher. I have a right—a responsibility—to ken what’s goin’ on in me borders.

Of course, it would be helpful if he could actually find anything. Despite searching for nearly an hour, the book was nowhere in sight. Alexander was beginning to half-suspect that the twins had made the ledger up entirely, and was almost ready to give up in his frustration.

He straightened up from the desk, pondering what to do next, when her voice came sharp and angry, like a whip through the air.

“What are ye doin’ in me faither’s study?” Cicilia demanded furiously, and Alexander spun to see all five feet of her drawn up in the doorway. The candlelight made her shadow run up the wall at twice her height, and the way her hair glinted against the flames gave her a somewhat intimidating appearance.

“I—” he started, but he couldn’t think of a lie.

Well, why should I lie? I’m doin’ not a thing wrong!

If he kept repeating it, perhaps he might even believe it.

“Get out!” Cicilia cried, her voice a much higher pitch than usual. She wasn’t just angry. She was furious, disproportionate to what she’d found him doing. “Get away from there! Leave this study immediately!”

That’s when the suspicion began to form in his head. Alexander had only witnessed and felt that kind of anger once before.

He’d felt it the day he’d caught an unfortunate visitor helping himself to his late father’s favorite whiskey. The bottle had been untouched for two years following Alexander’s parents’ deaths, and here now was some visiting noble sipping away.

Unable to keep himself composed as a mere boy of eight-and-ten, Alexander had screamed at the man to get out of his castle. He’d felt like the visitor had ripped the very soul of his father away from him, tampering with one of the only things he had left that kept his parent near him.

He saw that same fury in Cicilia’s eyes now, and at last, he suspected he could guess at the source of what she was hiding.

“I’ll leave when I find what I’m lookin’ for,” he told her in a measured tone. “Unless, o’ course, ye care to tell me what ye’ve been hidin’ an’ save us both the trouble.”

It was actually admirable how she did not even flinch in response to what he’d said. She simpl

y put her hands on her hips and replied, “I dinnae ken what ye’re lookin’ for, but whatever it is, ye will nae find it in me faither’s study. I ask ye most kindly again to leave, Laird.”

Alexander shook his head. “Nay. Yer wee brother an’ sister, they told me about a particular book that I might find here.”

“This is a library,” Cicilia scoffed. “If it’s a book ye’re after, there’s a hundred just outside this door.”

“Nay,” he said again. “This is nae the kind o’ book ye’ll have in yer library. I’m lookin’ for a ledger. Apparently, it tells exactly what’s goin’ on in this farm that ye’ve been tryin’ so hard to turn me men away from findin’.”

He saw her swallow in a nervous response. So the book did exist, then. He took a step closer to her. “So ye ken the book I mean?”