It's Getting Scot in Here (The Wild Wicked Highlanders #1)(12)
She could feel those nearly colorless green eyes gazing at her. “Nae. Ye insulted his knowledge of the weather; that’s nae someought ye do to a Highlander. We ken all the words for snow, and for rain. Precipitation, rather.”
That, she hadn’t expected. At all. Her lips curved before she could catch her expression. “You heard that?”
“Aye. I’ve been led to believe that all English lasses are soft and gentle and weepy and nae in the least bit contrary. Is that nae so?”
“I…” She trailed off, swallowing. “I spoke too sharply,” she confessed, not certain why she was doing so.
“Ye’re generally softer, then?”
Amelia-Rose hesitated again. “I try to be,” she said, even though admitting such a thing couldn’t possibly benefit her. “I will apologize to him. This … he … took me somewhat by surprise.” No, she didn’t want Glendarril, but neither should she have chosen the least politic method to tell him so. She had put her own reputation in jeopardy—again.
“There’s nae need. His leaving had naught to do with ye, truthfully. None of us knew till six days ago that he’d an obligation to marry a lass of Lady Aldriss’s choosing.”
“It would have been nice if someone had mentioned that to me earlier,” she returned. “I didn’t have much notice, either, and you don’t see me stomping about or trying to encourage people to faint or cry.” Oh, she likely shouldn’t have said that, either.
“Ye’ve a slightly better hold of yer temper than Coll does.” “A dragon would seem to have an easier temper than your brother,” she blurted, then put a hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her tonight?
He snorted. “I cannae argue with that.” Niall MacTaggert leaned a breath closer. “Now. The lot of ye English dunnae speak like those Montagues and Capulets on the stage, do ye? Because it sounds like frilly nonsense. I barely ken a word of it.”
That made her grin again, and she lowered her hand. Her parents couldn’t see, so they couldn’t chastise her later for being frivolous after driving away her almost-beau. They had several other things to chastise her about, after all. “No. Saying hello would take far too long, and we’re all quite busy discussing the weather, you know.”
For a second she worried that she’d gone too far again, but his amused expression only deepened. “Aye,” he returned. “We stopped on a hill above London, and all ye Sassenach looked like a colony of ants scurrying about. It was enough to make even a great, stout heart like mine shiver.”
The idea of this big, well-muscled man being afraid of London made her chuckle. She’d expected a brute, and had found one in Coll MacTaggert. The brother, though, could at least carry on a conversation. Nor, at least for the moment, did he seem to find her “too free with her opinions” or “trying to pretend she was more than a silly girl,” as her mother frequently complained.
Niall MacTaggert’s humor made her reassess his brother’s bullying. They couldn’t be so different after all, could they? Perhaps Lord Glendarril had merely been put back on his heels by this entire morass, and after another day or two to become accustomed to all this, he could be reasoned with. The idea did give her a little hope that they might find themselves on the same side—and thank goodness for a little hope. And for Niall MacTaggert.
Chapter Three
“Your brother is aware of the consequences of his actions, is he not?” Francesca snapped, shedding her gloves as Smythe the butler pulled open the front door of Oswell House.
“Aye, he’s aware.” Niall had nothing to remove for the butler, but he paused in the grand foyer anyway. As much as he wanted to confront Coll, reasoning with his brother would have to wait until the woman who funded their livelihood stopped raging. Damn his brother anyway. The man had never wielded more than an ounce of patience.
“Then just what does he expect I will—”
“I said he’s aware,” Niall interrupted. “I’m here. Dunnae bellow at me. When I find him, then ye can yell at him.”
“I…” Francesca took in a deep breath through her nose. “Yes. Do that. And inform your brother that he is taking Amelia-Rose to breakfast in the morning. That is decided. If he doesn’t, I will have to—”
“He will,” Niall broke in again. “We didnae come all this way to lose Aldriss.”
She looked at him for a moment, her green eyes assessing. Lasses. Just when he thought he had them all figured out, one of them stood up to Coll in admirable fashion.
“Yes, you came to save Aldriss from my unforgiving claws, didn’t you?” Francesca said, handing her shawl to the butler, as well. “Then you’d best keep that in mind. Smythe, please have peppermint tea sent up to my bedchamber. Is Eloise home yet?”
“Yes, my lady. She returned an hour ago.”
“Send her up to my room also, if you please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Niall watched the countess up the stairs until she vanished down the western-facing hallway. “Has my brother returned?” he asked, facing the butler.
“Neither of your brothers is presently here, Master Niall,” Smythe informed him.
Of course they weren’t. The devil knew where Aden had gone, and while Coll would generally be found either at the Bonny Lass or in the bed of any one of half a dozen actual bonny lasses, down here in London, Niall had no idea where to even begin looking. Somewhere with food, he hoped; one of them might not starve, that way.