“I have a reason,” he returned, sharp and nearly silent.
“Nae. Ye dunnae.”
He shifted a little. “I looked at the ledger books, Mr. Maxwell. This thievery has been going on for some time. I would hazard a guess that the resulting reduced income concerns you and your fellows more than it does me. For one last time, then, what have you found, and who is helping you?”
Ian eyed him for another moment. Only when he nodded did Fiona let out the breath she’d been holding. “I have three lads who help me regular,” the gamekeeper said. “Fiona gave me four more. We have been looking, but I’ve nae run across anything yet that makes me willing to accuse anyone.”
“Hire ten more,” Gabriel said. “Or borrow them from elsewhere in the household. And don’t accuse anyone. Find me the evidence. I’ll see to the rest.”
“I’ll do as ye say, then. All the locals will know ye’re searching fer the thieves, though. The thieves will hear it, as well, and lie low.”
“Then one way or another, the thefts will stop.”
They left Ian standing there outside his cottage. Fiona could almost feel the heat from the curses he was likely sending after her. If having Lattimer stir up the cotters was indeed enough to stop the thefts, however, her shoulders were strong enough to hold against Ian Maxwell’s ire. Her companion’s ire, though, concerned her more.
“Why did you protect him?” Gabriel said after a moment, keeping his bay to a walk beside her and Brèaghad.
“Fer exactly why I said. Dunnae ye reckon ye have enough enemies withoot making more fer nae good reason?” She cleared her throat as his gray eyes shifted to study her. “Highlanders like to know why we’re doing a thing, rather than going in blind. That’s why he balked.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Then enlighten me, Gabriel.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?” he retorted.
“Christ in a kilt,” she grumbled. “Nae, I willnae. Ye had a life before ye rode into the Highlands, and so did I. There’s nae amount of whitewash or scrubbing that can make it otherwise. And I told ye I liked yer kisses. That doesnae make us friends or allies.”
Light gray eyes swept across her. “You, Fiona, are a difficult woman to decipher.”
“I reckon I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
Something had happened between them, something more than their fifth kiss. Now she couldn’t seem to stop flirting with him, talking with him, teasing with him. It was an odd, electric sort of connection, a heightened awareness, almost like the moment at the starting line of a horse race when every nerve and muscle was gathered in and alert, waiting for the pistol to go off. If he hadn’t realized how drawn to him she felt, he would see it soon enough—but she wasn’t going to say it aloud. Not for all the tea in China.
“Ian Maxwell,” he resumed, turning his gaze toward the snow-topped peaks on the horizon. “I don’t like him. He thinks he has a claim on younow. Not in your undiscussable past. Tell me he’s wrong.”
For heaven’s sake, what was she being coy for? Her pride, she supposed it was, could cause someone harm. “I’m nae involved with Ian Maxwell. Nae fer some time. And he knows that, as well.”
“Good. And thank you for telling me. I’m a man made for war, Fiona. I don’t jest about the things—or the people—I require.”
The hairs on her arms lifted, and she was glad she’d donned an old spencer jacket with long sleeves. “Then ye can stop interrogating me aboot it.”
“Agreed.” He paused. “I do have another question, though. If most of the tenants aren’t aware of the thefts, how have you been investigating?”
Finally, something she could answer without blushing. “Very carefully,” she returned. “I’m related in some way to most of the people in the valley, and I share a clan with all of ’em, regardless. I have to tread carefully.”
“I didn’t set out to make the situation more difficult for you.” His wry smile warmed her insides even though she knew better.
“Honestly, I’ve been subtle through nearly two years of thievery. Ye’ve nae made any friends fer either of us, but if yer way works, I’ll owe ye my thanks.”
“Friends,” he repeated, his tone unexpectedly thoughtful for a man who compared sex to battle. “Friends are a tricky concept. If you have them, I envy you.”
She frowned. “Ye have friends, surely. Kelgrove’s yer friend.”
“I’m fond of him; I’ll concede that. For most of my life I’ve been surrounded by people, and I’ve been alone in the middle of them all. It’s difficult to befriend men when I have to order them into battle, and I have to watch them die. You make me think of other things, and as long as you do, I’m going to be after you. It’s a powerful attraction, seeing something other than death. You’re a powerful attraction, Fiona Blackstock. And kissing isn’t enough.”
Heat swirled down her spine. No one had the right to be as… compelling as he was. No flowery words, no poetry, and over a matter of a few days. The way he described his life—not the sending men to die, but the being responsible for their well-being, for their safety—felt very close to her own experience. Surrounded, but alone. Even Kieran, her own brother, had become so distant and so neglectful before he finally vanished that she would never have considered confiding in him.
