“There are nae more lairds in Scotland,” he growled, hating the way the fellow continually twitched at the sound of his own name almost as much as he hated the reminder. It cut through his heart with a searing pang of loss as it did each time it was mentioned. “Or have ye no’ heard?”
Derne’s unfortunate aide shifted from foot to foot before directing Finn’s attention back to the woman with a raised hand. “This is Mistress Marshall. Misters Adam and Morris have sent her to assist you in whatever way you have need.”
Assist him?
The lass lifted her chin a notch to stare him down, not an ounce of quavering in her eyes. Though he’d derided her on the matter earlier, she was pure Scotswoman, that much was evident. There was pride in her stance, a set to her jaw, and fire in her sapphire eyes to rival the proudest lasses he knew. Or had ever known.
It was a look he hadn’t encountered in some time, an echo of days past. All confidence and arrogance. These days most bore expressions of defeat, the pride beaten out of them. Long, thick lashes of the pitchest black surrounded her eyes, making for a stark contrast against her fair, freckled cheeks. Her fine arching brows and hair drawn back into a loose twist at the base of her neck were as brilliant as a fox’s rich fur.
Hers was a natural beauty that needed no artifice to enhance. Her delicate features lent her a spritely air. A fey vulnerability. Or they would have if it weren’t for those bold eyes filled with challenge and daring enough to arouse. Seduce. He had no doubt she was as much a vixen at heart.
Andthathe had no time for.
“I have nae need of an assistant.” He turned his back on the pair lest he continue to stare. “Send her back.”
Chapter 6
Send her back.
Up until the moment the words passed his lips, Aila had been in full agreement with the notion. Donell’s three turns of the time portal hadn’t delivered her to the right time. By the look of things, she was fifty or more years too late. These weren’t the conditions she’d anticipated in seeking out the mystery prize. These certainly weren’t the people she needed to find success. Staying on would be an exercise in futility. She’d be much better off spinning the dial on the device to take her back to the proper year. Better yet, go back home and wash her hands of the nonsense.
She should have…bloody hell, shewouldhave if she didn’t hate being told what to do. If it wouldn’t mean giving Finn Keeley the satisfaction of winning the point.
Och, Finn Keeley. LordFinlayKeeley. It finally connected why it sounded so familiar. This was the man mentioned in her history book along with the architects of the castle now in its infant stage. That it was the name that made it click rather than seeing him provided evidence on just how far artists in this time went with their liberties. He looked nothing like the pale, bewigged man in the picture. He was far more vivid in real life.
Manly and obstinate.
It didn’t matter.
“I’m no’ going anywhere.”
Aila crossed her arms over her chest, not giving an inch as his attention turned back to her. His eyes flared in surprise, then narrowed.
“I dinnae need ye here.”
“Misters Anton—”
“Adam,” Elliot softly interjected.
“—Adamsay ye do,” she corrected without a blink.
His uncompromising glare hardened a fraction more. He meant to intimidate her to his will, but Aila had seen far worse than him in her life. Any number of her mother’s boyfriends were meaner looking, and she’d wager, nastier in general. None of them, however, had sent her pulse racing like this. She hated this man’s effect on her even as she thrilled at the attraction.
Donell’s words rang like a dare in her mind.A spot of fun,they tempted. A spot of fun.
Elliot cleared his throat. “Er…I’ll…er…let the two of you work out the details.”
“There’s nothing to work out,” she responded, though he’d already scurried away.
“Nay, there isnae. Ye’re leaving,” Finn ground out, his brogue low and throaty.
“I’m staying.”
He inched forward, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, the heat radiating from his body. Her indignant inhale wilted into a shaky gasp.
“I dinnae need an assistant, lassie. Nae matter what the Misters Ashton have to say.”
“Adam.”
