She moved to take a seat on one of the sofas in her workroom and took a long sip of her tea. Chamomile was a good choice to rid her of the anxiety that had begun to build since Mr. McCain’s visit.
“Miss Collins?” the stranger called, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She looked up at him, surprised at the irritation in his voice, and realized he had indeed been speaking to her all this while. She quirked an eyebrow at him in question.
“I asked ye a question,” he huffed.
“Indeed?” she drawled.
She saw a muscle tick in his jaw and found his irritation amusing. What right did he have to be irritated at her? Who was he, even?
“Have ye heard anything I said?” he asked sharply.
Talia took another long sip of her tea, swallowed, and then cocked her head. “Nay,” she answered.
He took a deep breath and shook his head.
The sight of his frustration brought a smile to her face. Now that she was looking at him, she noted all the things she had not before.
He was a large man, more than a head taller than her and broad in a way that scared her. Had she noticed that earlier, she may not have let him into her home so easily. He had the bearing of a soldier or someone of import. Even his clothes, made of such fine fabric, betrayed his status.
Perhaps her uncle had known him. But she had met most of her uncle’s friends, and they were much older than the man standing in front of her.
He looked only a few years older than her if his dark hair and chiseled face were anything to go by. He was handsome in a way that had her feeling self-conscious in her simple gray dress, which she usually wore to work. It was odd, considering she had never met a man handsome enough to make her worry about her appearance.
Now, she worried that her wild red hair had escaped its bun, making her look unkempt, and that he thought her untidy because of the mess on her work table. She hated how he made her feel the need to try to impress him.
What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be annoyed by his presence. Why did she suddenly care if he thought her untidy?
His eyes sought hers again, and their vivid green made her freeze. Her eyes were green as well, but softer. They were not as arresting as his.
His gaze made her feel as though he was reading into the depths of her soul and discovering all the secrets she had kept locked away inside her, and she found she liked looking into his eyes.
Devils!
She shook her head.
Handsome as he was, he had used such an exasperated tone with her, and that annoyed her.
“How may I help ye?” she asked. “I daenae ken who ye are, and ye havenae introduced yerself since ye came here.”
“Me name is Darragh Boyd,” he started. “I am Laird McGhee.”
He was the Laird of their clan?
He is rather young.
Perhaps he had only come into the lairdship. It was no wonder he had such atrocious manners.
Nonetheless, he must be grieving. Perhaps like her, his manners were atrocious because of pain.
She eyed him again. It was no wonder he held himself so rigidly. Even his tone was pompous.
He was the type she disliked. Still, what did he want from her?
“It’s a pleasure to meet ye,” she told him, pouring herself another cup of tea before looking at him. “How may I help ye?”
That was the second time she had asked, and he had yet to answer her question.
