At the darker scowl that produced, Gilleonan said, “Dinna mind him, Lachlan. He’s had one ale tae many, I’m thinkin’, but wi’ reason.”
The censure in Gilleonan’s tone did not go unnoticed and Lachlan found it vastly irritating. Ranald had been hitting the ale ever since he’d learned who their hostess had turned out to be. Neither of his cousins was one bit happy that he’d found his Megan again. And Ranald was too far gone in drink to even notice that the subject had subtly changed back to where it was before they were interrupted by that uppity termagant next door.
In fact, Ranald went on to say, “When that one gets her courage back, she’ll be raisin’ hell again, I dinna doubt. Burned me ears off but good at that inn when ye and Gill were still abed, and me barely awake tae even ken what she was after complainin’ about. If she werena so blasted loud about it, I might’ve enjoyed meself just lookin’ at her, for she’s got a right fine figure on her, that she does.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes. Gilleonan, standing with a pint of his own ale by the slow-burning fireplace, was now softly chuckling.
Ranald was partial to fine figures. A woman could be ugly as sin, but if she was shaped exactly the way he liked them, then he’d be panting after her right quick. And Lachlan had to allow, even he’d taken note of those shapely curves that had been cinched in so tightly.
Actually, he’d noted a few other things as well that he’d overlooked earlier when she’d been wearing her drab, loose gown. She had quite hefty breasts that hadn’t been apparent before. And she was tall. For a man who usually topped a woman’s head by more than a foot, it was rare to find one with a bit of height on her, so he didn’t feel like a blasted giant next to her. And spectacular green eyes, she had, all sparkly with her ire, as well as a complexion as silky smooth as fresh cream. Also noted was her splendid golden hair, loose and flowing to her waist, which gave her a somewhat wanton look that was quite sensual.
Unusual woman, she was. She’d seemed so unassuming at first glance, the shy little wren easily awed, easily ignored. Yet she had some hidden plumage apparently. And she certainly had no qualms about brandishing a scolding tongue on a stranger, which took a degree of courage on her part—or a complete lack of good sense.
Aye, Ranald would definitely find her of interest. Lachlan might have himself, if he weren’t already smitten with his sweet Megan. But he was, and Megan was the one he meant to have and to hold for the rest of his days. There was just the wee problem of her already having a husband. And his cousins seemed to think he wasn’t aware of that fact.
When Lachlan had confided earlier who the Duchess of Wrothston was and that he was going to win the lady for himself, Gilleonan had asked quite plainly, “Are ye daft, mon, tae be thinkin’ o’ stealin’ a duke’s lady? Or perhaps ye’re forgettin’ she’s already spoke for?”
It wasn’t something Lachlan could forget, but he didn’t give it as much importance as his cousins seemed to think it deserved. He’d simply replied to that, “She made a mistake in her choice. I mean tae convince her of that. Divorce is no’ unheard of.”
“For the gentle folk, ’tis ruination,” Gilleonan had pointed out. “And ye’d be askin’ her tae give up a dukedom. I canna see any woman doin’ that.”
“Och, well, a true test of love—”
Gilleonan had snorted. “A true test o’ idiocy, I’m thinkin’. And besides, Lachlan, ye’re forgettin’ ye’re here tae find ye a moneyed miss with deep pockets. What if she has none tae speak of?”
“A duke marryin’ a poor lass?” Lachlan had likewise snorted at that possibility. “’Tis more like she comes from a line of dukes herself, or marquises. Dukes dinna marry verra far beneath them.”
“’Tis more like dukes would marry anyone they please, and a mon as rich as this one wouldna care if the lass were poor. He’d no’ be needin’ aught from a wife but herself and the bairns she’ll give him. And this one he’d be wantin’ regardless, just as ye do, because she’s such a bonny lass. But ye, on the other hand, are needin’ the money. Or have ye also forgotten that wee fact?”
Their disagreement had been interrupted at that point by the loud pounding on the door and the annoying complaints that had followed from the curvacious wench next door. If Lachlan hadn’t already been exasperated with his cousins for not seeing his point of view, he might have given in to the lass’s demands. On the other hand, she’d jumped right in with an insult, a look meant to fry him on the spot, and a belligerent tone guaranteed to raise a man’s dander, so he still might have taken offense, no matter the mood he’d been in to begin with.
He was still in that mood, which prompted the remark now, “If your voice didna get louder and louder wi’ each pint of ale you down, Ranald, we wouldna get angry visitors in the wee hours complaining about it.”
“Och, aye, ’tis all me…fault then…I suppose?” Ranald slurred. “Ye werena shoutin’…right back at me…I suppose?”
“Only tae be heard over your own racket.”
“If ye havena noticed,” Gilleonan interjected calmly, “ye’re both shoutin’ again.”
They both glared at Gilleonan for pointing that out, but then Lachlan ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, grumbling, “Faith, now I’llhavetae be apologizing tae the wench come the morn, and as like receive another set-down for the effort.”
“As if ye wouldna have done so anyway,” Gilleonan chided, reminding Lachlan, “When ye let yer temper guide ye, ye always regret it after and correct any bad feelin’s that get left behind.”
“No’ always,” Lachlan replied. “Just when I ken I’m in the wrong. And in this case, having that lass attack first, instead of requesting, cancelled any wrong I might have felt. That we’re still disturbing her rest puts me right back in the wrong.” Gilleonan and Ranald both got a glare at that point, to tell them where Lachlan placed the blame. “Faith, why canna you two just be happy for me, that I’ve found the lass of my heart?”
“Because the difficulties ye face tae obtain her, Lachlan, are more than any mon can surmount lightly. ’Tis more reasonable tae assume ye’re going tae fail and be crushed.”
“You’ve no faith in me then, is that it?”
Gilleonan had the grace to blush. “’Tis no’ a matter o’ faith, just the facts before us. Would she have wed the mon if she didna want him?”
“A duke?” Lachlan snorted.
“Och, well, there’s that, yet this duke has more’n his title and position tae recommend him. Ye forget that we’ve all had a good look at the mon, Lachlan, and ’tis certain sure he’s been turnin’ the lassies’ heads wi’ the same ease as ye do, and for just as many years. ’Tis verra likely she’s in love wi’ him. So ye’re expectin’ her tae forsake her love and her exulted position, tae run off wi’ an impoverished laird instead? If ye were usin’ yer head instead o’ yer—er, heart—it’d be as plain tae ye as it be tae Ranald and meself that that isna going tae happen.”
“There be other things I can offer her that her stuffy Englishmon never will.”
“Such as?”
