“I do think a lone dimple simply makes the man, ye ken?” She ached to brush her fingers across it. “’Tis so hard to resist a handsome devil with a dimple.”
She stanched the urge to touch him by taking another drink. The way he stared at her with so much mirth dancing in his eyes gave her pause.
A brief moment of clarity shoved through her carefree whisky fog. She pressed her fingers to her mouth in delayed panic. “Bloody hell—did I just say all that out loud?”
He grinned, making that damn dimple even more beguiling. “Aye, lass. Ye did.”
She cleared her throat. Nothing to do but press on in the hopes he would forget it. “Ye said Jasper talked to the coachman?”
“Aye.”
“I will have ye know that sorry git took my last tenner then didna even stop and let me out when we went through Thurso.”
“Yer lasttenner?” He stared at her as though confused.
“Aye, my ten-pound note. I gave it to him for a lift to Thurso.” She downed the rest of the whisky much too quickly. “Bloody hell.” She wheezed in a deep breath and thumped her chest, trying to cool the burn trailing down her gullet. “That one set me on fire.” She resettled back into the pillows and found herself snuggled very nicely against Gunn.
Without thinking, she rested her head on his shoulder. She just needed to rest her eyes for a bit. It had been such a terribly long day. Surely, he wouldn’t think badly of her. All considered, he had been very nice so far.
“Ye dinna mind if I rest here a wee bit, do ye? I promise to be quiet as a wee mousie and not bother ye.”
He wrapped an arm around her and gathered her more comfortably against his chest. “Rest ye well, wee mouse.” His voice rumbled beneath her cheek in the nicest way. “Rest ye well.”
She patted his chest and nestled closer until she was just right. “Ye are a kind man, Gunn Sinclair. I thank ye for yer understanding and hospitality.” She hitched in another deep yawn and patted his chest again. “Ye have no idea how much I appreciate ye being as good as ye are.”
“Ye are quite welcome, lass. Quite welcome, indeed.”
Chapter Five
The longer hesat in front of the fire with her sleeping against him, the more at peace he became. His weary heart hadn’t enjoyed this much ease in quite a while. He controlled his breathing so as not to disturb her. She felt very nice against him like this. Dangerously nice. Her softness made it difficult to sort through everything she had said when the whisky unleashed her tongue, as he had hoped.
Gunn sipped his drink, then cautiously tipped his head and rubbed his cheek across her hair. Not a wise choice. He clenched his teeth to bite back a lonely groan. Mistress Lorna’s clipped tresses were as silky as they looked.
Nay, notMistress Lorna. Just plain Lorna, as she had requested. That almost made him laugh. There was nothing plain about this unusual woman.
He thought back over all she had told him. Lived in Thurso at another time. What the devil did that mean?Another time?He had been to Thurso many a time over the years, visiting his ships and warehouses. If a lass such as herself had taken up residence there, he would have known it. And she behaved as if she didn’t know anyone here or anything about Clan Sinclair. But how could she not if she had lived in Thurso?
He took another wee taste of his whisky, making the drink last. Poor lass. He was ashamed to admit that he had only refilled his glass once to however many times he had filled hers, hoping to grease her words. And the ploy had worked. Somewhat.
He smiled and scratched his thumb across his dimple. So she thought him a handsome devil? A subtle aching bloomed in the center of his chest, then surged downward and became an uncomfortable throbbing in his crotch. Damned if he wouldn’t love to enjoy her right now on this very couch. But he knew better than to succumb to that temptation. Something deep inside him knew this lass would never be anything as simple as an idle tumble. And while he would welcome a friendship with her, never would he make the mistake of allowing anything more. He could not risk it.
A light scratching on the door made him tense and glance down at her. She barely stirred, rubbing her nose as if it itched, then returned to the slow, steady breathing of her dreams.
The door eased open. Mrs. Thistlewick tiptoed inside, glancing all around until she found him. Her sparse gray brows shot to her frizzy white hairline and her eyes went wide and round.
He pointed his glass at her and gave her a warning scowl to go along with it.
She puffed up with the haughtiness of a nesting peahen. “Dinna be giving me that look,” she scolded in a harsh whisper. She marched over and snatched the glass from his hand. Before returning it to the cabinet, she bent close and sniffed Lorna’s slightly open mouth. When she straightened, she fixed him with a damning glare. “Shame on ye, my chieftain. Plying the lass with whisky to get her talking.”
“I did notply.” He made a shushing motion as the lovely miss stirred again. “I merely offered, and she accepted. Poor thing has not had an easy time of it. She needed a dram or two.”
Mrs. Thistlewick rolled her eyes. “Aye, and I feel sure the Lady Murdina will give her an even easier time of it when she discovers she drank herself into yer arms.”
“She nay drank herself into my arms,” he argued. “She was weary from the start.”
As if to back his claims, Lorna shifted again and started snoring.
“There. Ye see?” He nodded down at her. “Weary to the bone.” When the housekeeper failed to budge, he glared at her. “And the reason ye came in here, Mrs. Thistlewick?” The efficient matron rarely interrupted him when he closed the library door. In fact, no one in the keep did. It was an unwritten law.
