“I’m sure he doesnae,” she responded dryly. “Why do ye call him Laird MacAdair, and not Uncle Logan, as the lassies do?”
He shrugged, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms.
“He’s hardly me uncle. He was their maither’s braither, and so doesnae have much connection to me. We’re nae blood, although we are kin.”
“And his approval means a lot to ye, does it?”
He rolled his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable with this line of reasoning.
“Nay,” he answered, frowning. “But he’s all I have left by way of kin, except for the girls of course. He wants to raise them, and often talks about how much better of a guardian he would be. I sometimes wonder that he might be right. But it does not matter, because the girls are mine to raise, and I’ll keep them. I hope ye daenae mean to imply that I want his blessin’ or permission to wed. I need nobody’s permission, and the only blessin’ I would care about would come from me sisters.”
Megan sniffed. “That is nae what I meant. And what’s more, it hardly matters, because we’re nae goin’ tobewed.”
Ryder stiffened.
Aye, I keep forgettin’ that. I forget that it’s all a lie.
That willnae do me any good, will it?
He cleared his throat again, suddenly wishing that he could fidget with his sword or stride around the room. But no, he had a purpose in coming here.
“Look,” he said at last, a little testily, “I ken that ye daenae like me. I ken that our betrothal isnae real. But tonight is meant to be a celebration of us, so I would appreciate it if ye would take it seriously, aye?”
She reddened. “Are ye sayin’ that I’ll nae take it seriously?”
“I daenae ken, Megan. I often daenae have the faintest idea of what ye are goin’ to do until ye have done it. I daenae much enjoy feelin’ out of control, and ye are nae doin’ much to help me with that.”
“I didnae realize that ye needed help to feel in control,” she sniffed. “It sounds to me like ye daenae have as much influence as ye think, if ye require help to…”
“Enough, woman, ye are givin’ me a headache.”
She gave a gasp of outrage. “Ibegyer pardon? How dare…”
He shouldered past her, suddenly keen to put distance between them. When Megan was angry, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glittered. The flush spread down her throat, and he wanted nothing more than to trace its progress with his fingers. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, sweep her in his arms, and chuckle at her stiff annoyance.
She’s even more bloody beautiful when she’s angry,he thought wearily.There’s nay escape for me, eh?
“I willnae accuse ye of anythin’,” he continued firmly, “but we must put on a good show. It’s important. It’spolitics.”
“Aye, I suppose it is,” she sniffed, shaking out her skirts. “And I suppose Ihavebeen avoidin’ ye, by the way. What else am I to do when ye keep pushin’ me away?”
He flinched at that, hastily glancing away.
“Aye. Well. Thank ye for yer honesty. Now, I have brought ye a present.”
That seemed to take her aback. She blinked, missing a beat.
“A present?” she echoed.
He nodded, reaching into the folds of his plaid. He took out a small, rectangular thing, wrapped in linen, and tossed it at her. She caught it neatly, frowning, and unwrapped it.
Her eyes widened.
“This… this is me Da’s book!”
“Aye. So it is. It’s yers now.”
She blinked again, seeming almost baffled. She smoothed her hand over the cover, her fingers shaking. It was an almost reverential gesture, and it brought a lump to Ryder’s throat.
