She swallowed down her apprehension about being ordered about like a mutt and let a maid lead her to the washroom.
Talia padded down the passageway, taking inventory of every promising crevice and every dark corner, making a mental note to explore later.
If she were to escape later—which she would attempt—it would be wise to accustom herself to her surroundings. The maid in front of her was stingy with information, only relenting when it seemed unimportant. Talia guessed Darragh must have told them why he had brought her here.
The maid quickened her pace, and Talia wondered if she had grown tired of her questioning, or if there were some tasks her detours delayed. Either way, she pushed forward in her muslin dress—courtesy of Darragh’s overbearingness—and they stepped into a large pavilion.
She had not expected the breakfast room to be empty, but she had not anticipated so many faces. An older woman at the far end of the table rose as she approached. A smile so genuine that it compelled her to smile spread across her face.
Talia found herself standing in front of the woman before she could form another thought.
“Ye must be me nephew’s ward, Miss Collins.”
She barely registered the words when she was pulled into a hug.
The old woman smelled warm, like a cozy day in a warm cabin. When she pulled away, Talia studied her features. Her suspicions were correct; the woman in front of her was Lady McGhee, the Laird’s mother.
“Me son didnae do ye justice.” Lady McGhee took her hand and stared fondly into her eyes.
Talia promptly understood that she was the sentimental type.
“What has he said about me?” She let out a casual laugh, masking her curiosity.
“Oh, never mind that.” Lady McGhee’s smile was naughty. She pulled her to her side, and Talia found herself staring into three pairs of curious eyes. “I am Orlagh Boyd, and that”—she pointed left, to a man who shared the same pair of green eyes— “is me second son, Jenson.”
It was uncanny how much of a resemblance he shared with the Laird, and how much mannerisms could change a person’s looks.
Jenson was beautiful, while Darragh was handsome. Jenson’s geniality softened his features, while Darragh’s stoicism accentuated his sharp cheekbones and chiseled jawline.
Darragh could not be much older than his brother, but the ever-present frown aged his face. The way Jenson’s lips curled into a smile was boyish, half up, half down, matching the mischief in his eyes. His shoulders were not as broad as Darragh’s, which seemed to fill up a room.
“How do ye do?” Jenson didn’t even nod like his brother. While Darragh bowed his head, he lifted his.
Talia smiled in response.
“That’s Cohen Thomson, me son’s right-hand man, and his wife, Amber Thomson.”
Cohen was not one for pleasantries. He was pleasant, but not as theatrical as his wife. While his brown eyes dimmed as he nodded a greeting, his wife’s lit up as she rose to her feet.
“Pleased to meet ye.” Like two reuniting best friends, she wrapped her arms around Talia.
Talia would have thought she had imagined the woman holding her longer than was necessary if Jenson hadn’t said, “Good for ye, Amber. Nay more nights spent gossiping with the laundry maids.”
So Amber was grateful for her presence.
She looked no older than twenty-five, with perfectly smooth skin and bright eyes. You can always tell a woman’s age from her eyes.
The only other woman who seemed to be around was Lady MacGhee, who was well past the age of gossiping with childish women like themselves.
Talia was grateful for Amber’s generosity. She sat next to her, and a plate of food was placed in front of her.
“I see ye’re very excited about yer freedom to harass the maids, Jenson,” Amber rebutted.
“Harassment is for ugly men and vagrants. What I engage in is called seduction. Ye’re only worried I’ll find a proper wife to replace ye as me favorite woman.” Jenson punctuated his statement with a wink.
Cohen threw an orange at his head.
“Stay away from Jenson, Talia,” Amber whispered loudly, casting a deliberate glance in Jenson’s direction. “He is the sort of man who claims to be an artist and offers to paint ye in the nude.”
