As much as I disliked Scotland, at least there might be something to look at while I was trapped here.
“Send them in,” I said.
Yes, this was ideal. They could stay in one of the crofts—close enough to call on when needed, but far enough from the manor to preserve my own space.
My ears pricked at the sound of dull, heavy footsteps beyond the dining room.
Wonderful. Judging by the weight of them, my unparalleled luck meant I wouldn’t be greeting a dainty woman, but a heifer the size of the shaggy beasts cluttering the pasture.
The thumps grew louder.
I stiffened.
My head snapped toward the door in a dark glower.
Something wasn’t right.
There was no knock.
The door flew open.
I jolted upright, knocking the wooden chair clean over.
A behemoth of a man filled the doorway. His hair was long and shaggy, merging almost seamlessly into a reddish-brown beard that covered half his chest.
“So, yer the new Laird,” he rumbled as he marched straight toward me.
His grin stretched ear to ear, far too cheerful for the sheer danger radiating off him. My instinct prickled—warning me, absurdly, that this oversized brute was not the real threat.
He seized my hand and shook it with enough force to dislodge bone.
I tried to focus, but my gaze flicked past his massive shoulder…
back to the doorway.
Her.
Covered from head to toe—scarf wrapped around her head and neck, long skirt brushing the floor in modest folds.
But the hair.
A strand of red broke free from the scarf.
Not dull red—flame red.
Wild.
Untamed.
The man kept talking, but I couldn’t hear him.
All my attention tunnelled into her.
She didn’t move her head, but her eyes lifted.
Brown and gold—warm as sunlight, sharp as judgment.
Her small nose was red from the cold.
