Her excitement was not contagious. Finn stood firm, stiff with displeasure clear on his face when she glanced back at him. “I dinnae care about the buggering necklace at the moment. I want an explanation. Nay, I demand one.”
His imperious inflection roused an inkling of irritation. Aila squared her shoulders and pinned him with a stern glare. “Dinnae use that tone with me,” she cautioned. “I’m no’ a child or servant for ye to command.”
“Och, and yer no’ a lady to be treated with kid gloves at this particular moment either, are ye?” he shot back, reaching for her arm. “I demand an answer, and ye’ll do as I say, woman. Now.”
“Woman? Ye demand?” She swung her shoulder out of reach and struggled to keep her tone even. “That’s fifty percent of the problem right there. I told Brontë, I told her….Ugh! Ye need to understand this right now. I’ll no’ have a man telling me what to do. No’ ye, no’ ever again. I dinnae care what century it is, ye can ask nicely, but ye cannae command.”
“Look at ye! Ye think this is the moment for etiquette?” He covered the length of her in one scathing look. “Ye’re a bloody man, lass. A corpulent auld man. I deserve an explanation beyond cosmetics. That is no’ the work of a bit of rouge and rice powder.”
Aila’s jaw ached with the grinding of her teeth. “What? No’ pretty enough for ye anymore?”
“I can barely stand looking at ye. I have every right to ken the meaning of this.”
“Dinnae fash, mon.” She patted him on the shoulder with mocking kindness unable to contain the contrary rebellion in her heart or the biting sarcasm in her voice. “It’s no’ permanent. Ye’ll have yer bonny wee fuck buddy back soon enough.”
The Furrow of Fury morphed into horizontal rows of bewilderment. “My what?”
The muffled bleat of trumpets reverberated through the hall, long and triumphant as if the queen herself were being welcomed to the crowds with great fanfare. Before it faded away, another low roar rose to replace it. Aila stepped closer to Finn, her eyes darting around the narrow space then to the far end of the hall where the kitchen servants approached like an indomitable stampede of…sheep.
Aye, sheep, she defended the thought. The terrifying blighters.
“What is it?”
“A herald.” Finn pushed her between the statues and barricaded her against the onslaught of bodies with his own until they trickled to a harmless few.
Maybe she’d been right, and the queen — or it was a king now, right? — was coming. “Heralding who?”
Drowned out by another blast of trumpets, this one much closer, he refrained from answering and instead caught her hand to pull her along with him. Rab followed on their heels. Past the opening to the west tower stairs and into the main section of the castle. They arrived in the great hall where not long before Aila had tested locks under the disapproving glower of dozens of Campbell ancestors.
The servants streamed through the front gate and over the drawbridge to form rows on either side of the muddy drive. At least the rain had stopped for the time being. For the third time, the herald announced the arrival of the procession coming toward them from the village. Following Finn across the drawbridge, she could hear cheers from the townspeople and wondered who’d merited such a greeting.
“MisterKeeley!” Aila jumped at Derne’s cutting pitch as they rounded the neat row of servants and liveried footmen with the steward opposite them. “Control your brats.”
A quick look around was all it took to see Niall and Effie swinging on the drawbridge chains that had gone from being functional to decorative long ago. Next to Derne, Elliot offered a helpless shrug. Right, Aila remembered that they’d made arrangements with him to take both children for the day following their long confinement in the nursery so that she and Finn might have a break and some time alone. She was about to chase down the children herself, when he pulled her back with a pointed look at her chest.
Nay, her male attire. Gah, she’d almost forgotten she was in disguise!
Uncertain where to go, for a brief moment she floundered under Derne’s scrutiny for the second time that morning. Abruptly, she turned away and melted into the crowds behind the line of servants. This was a mistake. Her makeup might be flawless in poor lighting and from a distance, but it wouldn’t hold up for long under a thorough inspection in broad daylight. That’s why she hadn’t plied Tris and Brontë with prosthetics. Instead she used color and contour to age them.
Thankfully, after close to two weeks, Rab’s excitement incited him to follow Finn rather than stay with her in that telling moment. Finn returned a few moments later with each child by an ear, walking past her before he recalled her appearance. He sent the children and dog off to play in the open area behind them.
“I hope ye’re able to transform yerself back into a lass,” he murmured to her under his breath. “God help me, I adore ye, but I’m no’ sure I can become a back door usher for ye.”
Given her appearance, it wasn’t difficult to decipher his meaning. Amusement dashed away any residual irritation she might have harbored at that point, which wasn’t much. Even at his most chauvinistic, she couldn’t maintain an ounce of anger for long. “So, I’m no’ pretty enough for ye any longer?” she teased, trying not to smile and test her adhesive. “Do ye no’ want to hold my hand anymore?”
He jerked his hand away from hers as if she were a plague unto herself, nevertheless a faint smile played on his lips. “No’ even in the darkest of rooms could I bring myself to fondle yer sweet arse looking like that.” He looked down at her, then tore his eyes away with a grimace to fix them upon the oncoming parade while Aila choked on a chuckle. “Please tell me yer bonny breasts are still in there somewhere.”
The chuckle became a snort of laughter. “Ye willnae be the only one disappointed if they’re no’.”
“Ye will tell me how this came to be, aye?” Then, “Please?”
“I promise.”
Aila’s fingers itched to reach out to him. Oh, it had been an eternity without him. What had ever made her think she could give him up? Even beyond his sphere of influence he’d held her captive. Up close, he was an invasion of body, mind, and soul. She’d surrender everything for a smile. Brave any rejection for a chance to lose herself in his strong embrace again. The past, her independence…none of it really mattered in the end.
“Just so ye ken, my anger back there wisnae for ye. I’ll try to explain it — all of it — best I can, later. If ye feel inclined —” she took a deep bracing breath “— to grant me the time, I’m willing to work on shedding my baggage for ye.”
“I have nae idea of yer meaning. Baggage? Yer trunk?” He frowned. “That reminds me, what is that around Rab’s neck? What is ugly crying?”
