A Hellion for the Highlander

Alexander frowned. It was true. He knew Cicilia could take care of herself, but decorum dictated that she have someone to help her. He ran through the candidates in the castle and came up woefully short. “What o’ the cook’s younger sister, the newest maid? Bertha?”

“Nay, Cook wants her in the kitchens,” Thomeas replied. “We cannae take her away. All the maids are accounted for.”

Alexander drummed his fingers on the table. He wanted to tell Thomeas that it didn’t matter—but of course, it did. Alexander was a Laird, and appearances were everything. If he was to host Cicilia, it must all appear proper and above board.

It was a shame that Cicilia’s own maid, Katie, had retreated to her sister’s home across the border. Alexander cursed himself for not thinking to extend the offer to the lass to avoid this exact issue. It was too late for that now, though, and he needed to do something.

I dinnae want whispers o’ me bein’ some rascal. Though I imagine Nathair would find that right funny.

Nathair! That was it! He had the perfect solution, and he knew it was one his friend would appreciate. “Cicilia’s house matron has a daughter, Jeanie, who lives wi’ her grandfaither in town. The matron an’ her husband are livin’ there since the fire, so I imagine Mr. McCaul wouldnae mind lettin’ us borrow his granddaughter in the interim.”

Thomaes’s expression gave nothing away. “I’m nae sure if we have the coin to pay another maid just for this?”

Alexander chuckled, assuming that his friend was making a joke. “Well, it’s yer job to make sure we do. An’ I would be worried had we nae. Unless there’s somethin’ ye’re nae tellin’ me?”

Thomeas smiled in response. “Forgive me, Laird, I was just concerned. Still, are ye sure this lass will want to leave her parents and her grandfaither in such a tryin’ time?”

“Och, aye,” Alexander said with certainty. “She an’ Cicilia are bosom friends. She wouldnae pass up the chance to help her.”

That, an’ if I tell her Nathair’s here, I imagine she’ll come runnin’. Who’d have thought it would o’ developed like this?

The accomptant nodded, though it was clear he had more to say. Alexander waited in silence for a moment, but no words were forthcoming. Eventually, he sighed and said, “Speak, man!”

Thomeas nodded again. “Aye, Laird. I was just wonderin’ what happens after.”

“After?”

“Aye, after the repairs to the farm. Are ye intendin’ that the lassie should return to how things were?” Thomeas asked. “Clearly, she is nae fit to manage the farm.”

A surge of protective anger flowed through Alexander at that. “Watch yer tongue, Thomeas. Ye’re bein’ disrespectful o’ a fine woman.”

The accomptant held up his hands. “Nay, I dinnae mean any disrespect. But Cicilia O’Donnel is a lass who in less than a year has apparently lost half o’ her faither’s livestock an’ now even her home. An’ she’s unwed, which is suspicious for a woman o’ five-and-twenty, an’ irresponsible besides. How does she expect to provide for those bairns?”

Alexander had thought much the same thing when he’d first discovered Cicilia’s secret, but Thomeas’s words still made him angry. “She’s been providin’ for them well since her faither went,” he argued. “An’ the farm, as well.”

“Aye, an’ how do ye think she’s done that?” Thomeas asked. “A man may have natural business instincts, but a woman has wiles. Ye need to find a cousin or some minor noble if she has nae male relatives an’ hand the land over. It’s best for the farm, for the clan, an’ for her.”

Alexander’s fists tightened under the table. Thomeas was being horrendously unfair. Yes, Alexander had thought similar things—but not after he got to know Cicilia, got to experience the farm for himself.

What’s his excuse? He was there, too!

“The farm is prosperin’, just as much as it was when Cameron O’Donnel was in charge. More, even,” he snapped. “Cicilia dinnae ask me for help, I offered it, an’ I intend to get her back on her feet.”

Thomeas sneered. “As ye say, Laird,” he replied in the most frustratingly condescending tone Alexander had ever heard.

The Laird growled and got to his feet. “I shall tell ye thrice an’ for all, Thomeas Cunningham. Have ye somethin’ to say, then either say it or get out o’ me presence. I am nae in the mood for games.”

Thomeas did not respond to Alexander’s anger in any way, instead leaning back on his chair, looking infuriatingly calm. “Ye ken yer safety is me priority, Laird.”

“Me…safety?” Alexander asked, confused.

Thomeas nodded gravely. “Ye say the farm is prosperin’. Ye say ye offered help and were nae asked. In response, I ask again—how do ye think she managed that? Her sex is nae kent for straightforward dealin’. It is nae an insult, just a fact. May I ask ye a question, an’ will ye answer honestly?”

Alexander gritted his teeth but nodded.

I ken that he’s got me best interests at heart. I must at least listen to what he has to say.

Thomeas’s expression stayed calm and relaxed as he asked, “Did she invite ye for a roll in the h