“How do you feed yourself? If I’m allowed to ask, of course.”
“Business. And you, my lord?”
Patrick smiled. “Business. And I’m writing a series of books on medieval Scottish warfare.”
Nathaniel was happy he had swallowed the mouthful of whisky he’d been enjoying, or he would have spit it out all over Patrick MacLeod’s lovely tartan carpet. “That must be interesting to research,” he managed.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Patrick said. “Ever use a sword, Nathaniel?”
Good lord, would the evening never end? He was caught firmly between the proverbial rock and that unyielding hard place. He couldn’t lie because Emma would know, and he couldn’t be honest because Patrick would know.
“I’ve seen one,” Nathaniel said, settling for at least some of the truth.
“My cousin Ian runs a stunt training school,” Patrick said. “You should come visit sometime. Never know what’ll come in useful up here in the woods, aye?”
When hell froze over and not a moment sooner.
“I’ll definitely give that some thought,” Nathaniel lied. “I’m not sure I would manage to do anything but embarrass myself.”
“Never know till you try.”
Nathaniel found he had absolutely nothing useful to say to that, so he nodded and buried the curses he wanted to hurl at his host in his cup instead. He was vastly relieved when Madelyn came into the great hall. It gave him reason to stand up for her, then sit back down and try to sink far enough into the sofa that he might be missed.
Fortunately for his peace of mind, the conversation turned to far less perilous subjects. He found he was even able to offer the occasional comment that didn’t leave him feeling as if he’d revealed far more of himself than he cared to.
But the longer he sat there, the more he had to admit that rumors that went around down at the pub generally contained a bit of truth. He was a recluse. Mrs. McCreedy was immortal.
Patrick MacLeod was a medieval clansman.
Even allowing the thought to take shape in his head left him feeling like a complete nutter, but there was nothing to be done about that. The man might have been dressed comfortably in jeans and a jumper, but there was something about him that said very clearly that if anyone even considered threatening his wife or bairns, they would be dead before they lifted a hand.
The longer he thought about that, the more convinced he became that Emma Baxter deserved something, someoneactually, who could offer her that sort of sword lifted in her defense. He would have quite happily stepped forward to offer himself as that lad, but how could he when he could hardly keep up with his bloody emails to his solicitors? He had eventually taken to paying his bills a year at a time because he never knew when he was going to be home or for how long. He ate at the bloody pub because he’d learned not to keep fresh veg in his house.
His life was, he thought he might like to point out angrily to anyone interested enough to listen, absolute hell.
’Twas a pity the MacLeods didn’t keep a witch in that little house to the north of the keep as they had in times past. He might have been tempted to make a visit and see if the crone had a bit of advice for him. It was for damned sure he didn’t have any for himself.
He came back to himself to realize a transaction had happened and he hadn’t been aware of it.
“Oh, are you sure?” Madelyn was asking in surprise. “You can stay as long as you like, really. Jamie insists that the cottage is yours for as long as you want it.”
“Oh, I think I should probably just get back to the States,” Emma said.
“The States,” Nathaniel said in surprise. “That’s a bit far, don’t you think?”
The look she sent him should have had him in pieces on the floor, but it was gone so quickly, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.
“Best to throw Sheldon off the scent,” she said with a smile, then she turned to Patrick and Madelyn. “I do appreciate the offer, though.”
“Keep the car, though, until you’re sure,” Patrick said. “Ican have it picked up in Inverness if you do decide that heading back to Seattle is what you really want to do.”
“Or I can ferry you about,” Nathaniel offered. “It’s no trouble.”
She smiled again. “I know you have things to do, Nathaniel, but I appreciate it. Oh, and look at the time. It’s been a long day, and I think I’m still not quite over the jet lag.”
Nathaniel was fairly certain she was and that she was simply looking for a polite way to leave. Actually, he felt quite sure that she was less interested in getting away from their hosts than she was him, but that was nothing more than he deserved. He just wasn’t sure what other choice he’d had. She needed to be safe, he needed to stop living two lives in two separate centuries. He didn’t see how those things could reasonably exist in the same place without eventually colliding in a fairly catastrophic way.
Emma made more polite leave-taking talk, but he doubted he could have repeated any of it upon pain of death. He smiled, nodded, and hung back as the ladies walked ahead in proper Regency fashion.
