“So ye know,” she went on, “that I can tell when something is wrong. Ye have that fire in yer eyes, the same fire when they brought yer faither back from Bannockburn. Who are ye angry at?”
“Myself, I suppose,” Kyle muttered, looking down at the stew. He traced the chunks of meat floating in the broth for a few moments, unsure of what to say next.
“And why is that?” Sophie asked calmly. “Something to do with a lass?”
“A lass?” Kyle looked up quickly, and though he didn’t want to talk about Laila, he knew he was blushing.
“Come now, Kyle,” Sophia scolded in her friendly tone. “Any lass would be lucky tae have ye.”
Though Kyle had come to his old governess for advice, he suddenly found himself reluctant to discuss Laila. It all seemed so rushed. He had known her for the space of three days, and already his head was spinning over her. It was all too much.
“So those herbs I brought ye, they helped?” Kyle asked suddenly, trying desperately to change the subject of conversation.
“Yes,” Sophia said with a soft smile, clearly recognizing his fragile state and willing to play along. “They helped greatly. These hog farmers keep getting sick, and I keep curing them.”
“Good, that’s good,” Kyle said, looking back to the stew.
“For someone so bold and strong,” Sophia said, “ye have never been very confident.”
“Oi!” Kyle scoffed back. “Where’s that come from?”
“Drink yer stew,” Sophia said with kind eyes. “Then ye can take me tae market.”
“Market?”
“I need more wool,” she said, standing suddenly from the table. “Ye can take me, like when ye were a wee lad. Ye remember?”
“Aye,” Kyle said, smiling. She knew just how to get under his skin but always playfully. “I remember.”
“Then ye should have nay trouble recreating it,” she said warmly, tossing her cloak around her shoulders. “I said drink yer stew!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and tipped back the wooden bowl, feeling the warm contents comforting his stomach.
Laila was entirely out of sorts. She lurked in the kitchens until she saw Kyle walking across the yard and then went to tend to his chambers, for she dreaded facing him so soon. She couldn’t sort out the conflicting emotions and thoughts that waged war inside her head and her heart.
He was a brute, a murdering, drunken, brawling Scottish brute. Yet he was also a mountain of a man, a handsome and fierce soul that had taken her by storm, and she had no idea what to do about it.
She had safe harbor there, in McGowan castle. That was the most important thing. At the back of her mind was always Lord Hamilton. He couldn’t touch her in Scotland. That’s why she was there. But now, suddenly, there was so much more to this Scottish hideaway, and she was lost in it.
Laila went to his empty chambers and began cleaning up his soiled clothes from the night before. She thought of him lying there, battered, bruised, and drunk, and how pathetic it all was, and then questioned why she had found it so unbearably attractive.
“Rubbish,” she muttered, collecting the clothes into a bundle. She turned to leave the room and stopped by the door, running her teeth along her lower lip for a moment, lingering on the feeling of that steaming kiss. She could practically feel his body pressed so briefly against hers and the imprint of his broken lips. Her heart fluttered once more as she reflected on his sheer strength and the way he had pursued her.
“What were you fighting over anyways?”
“I fought for ye.”
“Oh, what does that even mean?” she spat back at herself. “Rubbish.”
“What’s rubbish?” Lady McGowan’s voice broke from the entryway, and Laila gave a jump, dropping the clothing.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You startled me.”
“Apologies, lass,” Lady McGowan said, entering the chamber and glancing around. “He made less o’ a mess than I thought he would. Good work.”
“Thank you, Milady,” Laila said, quickly casting her eyes downward as she fumbled to pick the clothes back up.
“Ruined those clothes, though,” Lady McGowan said with a frown. “Blast it all; he needs a wife.” Laila felt her face growing hot once again, and she endeavored to keep her eyes down. “Oh!” Lady McGowan exclaimed, moving her hands to her belly. “The little bugger is awake.”
