He shrugged, not concerned that she’d overheard anything. There were no secrets among the servants at Aldmist Fell. For that matter, there were no secrets among the McTaggarts. A clansman would be frustrated beyond reason if he expected any privacy.
He came forward, noting how she fidgeted as he drew near. “I dinna mean to make you nervous, lass.”
She shook her head and dropped her hands at her sides. “You do not, Mr. McTaggart.”
He stopped in front of her, feeling like a giant in comparison. Her wide eyes said she was lying, but he didn’t contradict her.
“What can I do for you, mistress?”
More strands of hair had slipped from her knot, and her dress was a bit rumpled from their afternoon of digging through trunks, but she couldn’t look prettier. She licked her lips, leaving behind a slight sheen.
“I-I wanted to apologize for running off earlier. It was rude, and I was afraid it might affect our truce.”
Her soft blue gaze lifted to meet his, and his heart tripped.
“I liked not fighting with you this afternoon. I wouldn’t want to go back to old habits.”
She looked younger shifting from foot to foot. And innocent. She wasn’t, of course. Mistress Gallagher had lived in a brothel, and Fergus had searched enough of them in London looking for Helena’s sister to know one couldn’t step a foot in such a place and maintain one’s innocence.
Yet, there was no denying her vulnerability, and it called to his protective instincts. His arms ached to wrap around her and shield her from any man that would dare misuse her. Instead, he took a step back before he gave in to the urge and embarrassed them both.
“I gave my word, Mistress Gallagher, and I willna break it.”
The furrows between her brows disappeared, and she offered a tentative smile.
“I see. Well, it is good to know a man who keeps his word.”
He chuckled. “Have there been so few?”
She blinked; the small smile she’d granted him disappeared. “My father was an honest man.”
“Was?”
“Yes, honest ‘til the day he died. Then there is Lord Thorne, Lord St. Ambrose, and…”
Her gaze shifted toward the ceiling, her lips moving as she seemed to be mentally sorting through all the men she had known in her lifetime. Not many were making it onto her good list.
His hand clenched against his thigh. He didn’t like to think of any man mistreating her. In fact, it made him want to pound his fist into something.
She looked at him again, her blue eyes a little warmer.
“Then I met you.” Holding up her fingers, she counted. “One, two, three, four. I suppose that is a rather good number. Most of the girls at Madam Montgomery’s said they had never met one honest man.”
He crossed his arms. “There are good men in this world, lass. It’s the blackguards that give us a bad name.”
“Not all of you, Mr. McTaggart.” She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder. “I should be going. Gracie is organizing a game of charades, and I promised not to be gone long. You could join us if you like.”
Fergus grimaced. Even though he cared for Helena like family, and he and Gracie were as thick as thieves, he was the land steward, a servant. He did not socialize with barons and baronesses.
“Thank you for the kind invitation, but I best see to my responsibilities.”
Her eyes flared wide a second before her face flooded with color.
“Uh… Not those responsibilities,” he said, too late recalling she had overheard his mother scolding him for neglecting his procreation obligations. “To do with Aldmist Fell.”
“Oh!” If it was possible, she blushed an even a darker shade. “Yes, well I shouldn’t detain you any longer.”
She turned and dashed back down the corridor before he could bid her farewell.
