He was utterly unsurprised when Patrick leaned closer to share a private word with him.
“Here’s my number,” Patrick said, rattling off a series of digits in that rustic brand of Gaelic he seemed to feel the need to trot out every now and again. “Text me and come for a bit of exercise.”
Nathaniel knew when to surrender. “If you like, my lord,” he said with a sigh.
“Bring your sword.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Patrick laughed and switched effortlessly back to modern vernacular. “Knee-deep in it, are you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You might ask for aid.”
“I might,” Nathaniel agreed. “Or I might not.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, then went on to help Emma with their little runabout. Nathaniel offered a final thanks for a wonderful meal, then hopped in his own car and pulled out onto the wee road that meandered away from the hall. He waited until Emma was behind him before he started for home. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d decided to driveoff in a different direction entirely, but she was as sensible as he’d given her credit for being. Then again, he did have her things in his backseat.
He waited for her to open up her house, then lingered on the front stoop instead of just walking in, because his mother had raised him with decent manners.
Emma took her gear from him. “Thank you for a lovely pair of days.”
“Emma—”
She started to shut the door, but he caught it.
“Please.”
She looked as unhappy as he felt. “Please, Nathaniel. Please just go.”
“I don’t want you mixed up in the madness that is my life,” he said honestly. “That’s all.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Then let me buy you a house,” he said, “so you can stay in Scotland. Let me make you comfortable.”
She looked less unhappy than angry. “You want to buy me a caranda house?”
Damn it, what he truly wanted to do was buy her a ring and, aye, an authentic castle to live in whilst she wore it, that’s what he wanted.
“It would save you hiring one,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth. “A car, that is.”
“I’m going home.”
“Please don’t.”
She blew her hair out of her eyes. “Make up your mind. Either you want me or you don’t.”
“My life is daft—”
She shut the door in his face.
Well, to be honest, he couldn’t blame her for that. He nodded to himself and turned away. That way, as the saying went, lay madness, and she couldn’t be a part of it. Leaving her angry with him was better than having her want to help him.
Assuming she would have wanted to help him.
He crawled into his car, realizing only then that he hadn’t switched it out for his Range Rover, then sighed and drove home.
