“I shouldn’t worry about that. He’s got nothing but bad sides.”
Much to Thomas’s embarrassment, memories of Astrid were creeping back in. He’d flirted with her more than once before, although it had never gone anywhere. He was comfortably aware that he was a handsome man, with the sort of face women liked and the sort of manner women were drawn to.
And, of course, he was the Laird of MacPherson Keep, and he could always find the right thing to say.
Another thing that women liked about him—the right kind of women, of course—was that he made no demands on them. Thomas prided himself on making sure all his women left his bed satisfied, and he knew how to stop a child from coming. The women who pursued him were glad of all that and had no desire to marry.
Not yet, at least. When they did marry, they’d marry staid, uninteresting men who adored them and were unlikely to attract another woman anytime soon. Someone like Thomas was far too dangerous. Too risky.
It was every man’s dream to live like that. Wasn’t it?
Thomas gave himself a little shake, forcing his attention back to Astrid. She was talking again, telling him a story that he’d missed the beginning of. He drank his ale in regular, steady swigs, keeping his eyes on her face and smiling at the right intervals.
His headache had gone, at least. For all Emma had chosen to omit the honey—or perhaps it hadn’t occurred to her—her herbal tea had certainly worked.
Everyone said that she was an excellent healer. Delphine herself had praised her, andshehad gone through apprentice after apprentice before settling on Emma. She said the apprentices he had selected were all“pretty young nothings,”whatever that meant.
Not that Emma wasn’t pretty, of course. She had an interesting face, with narrow eyes and a sensuous mouth, and freckles appeared on her skin whenever the sun came out.
Focus, Thomas!
He was mildly horrified. Why was he thinking about Emma? Here he was, at the best pub in the Highlands, with a beautiful woman smiling coyly at him and finding every excuse to touch his arm.
And what was he doing? He was wasting his time thinking about a healer’s apprentice who didn’t even like him very much.
To his embarrassment, Thomas was aware that Astrid had stopped talking and was looking at him with her head cocked to one side.
“Me Laird? Ye seem preoccupied?” she said, her voice carefully low and sympathetic. Her long fingers curled around theexposed skin of his wrist, her fingertips stroking under the cuff of his shirt where it had ridden up.
Any other time, the touch would have sent a coiling heat of anticipation through his stomach.
Today, it did nothing.
He stared at her, perplexed. What was wrong with him? Astrid was a beautiful young woman. She was funny and clever—he assumed, at least, since he hadn’t spent much time listening to her—and certainly willing. Why couldn’t he concentrate on her?
What made it worse was the awkward knowledge that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to him. He could almost guarantee that at least one pretty young customer or barmaid would make a beeline for him at the Sinner. It was a perfect hunting ground.
And yet, over the past few weeks and months, he simply hadn’t been able to summon up any energy or interest. The women were all beautiful and interesting, yet somehow… somehow lacking something. He didn’t even know what they werelacking. All he knew was that he was seeking something that he couldn’t seem to find.
“I’m tired,” Thomas heard himself say. “I beg yer pardon.”
Astrid fluttered her eyelashes, which were long and soot-black, framing idyllic blue eyes. “Ye must work so hard, Me Laird, keeping yer people safe. And ye have no one else to depend on.”
“Aye, that’s very true,” Thomas said, thinking guiltily of his advisers, the efficient and capable Tabitha among them. “Still, it’s what I was born for.”
Astrid nodded eagerly. “Well, I see it as my privilege to help ye relax a wee bit, Me Laird. Ye do so much for the clan. Would ye care to go somewhere quieter, so we can talk? I’ll fix ye a drink if ye like.”
Thomas hesitated. Theyeslingered on the tip of his tongue. The trouble with being laird was that he had to distinguish which women wanted to go to bed with him because theywantedto and which women thought that luring him into bed would put them in a good position to become Lady MacPherson.
But he hadn’t decided whether he even wanted a Lady MacPherson at all, although Tabitha kept harping on about heirs. He wasn’t sure which of those two types of women Astrid was.
Perhaps sensing his reluctance, Astrid glanced quickly around the crowded pub, then darted forward and kissed him.
It was a quick, chaste kiss, one designed to evoke desire rather than anything else. She darted back again just as quickly, smiling shyly.
Thomas waited for desire to bubble up inside him. It was a little frustrating, given that Astrid was so very beautiful and so clearly attracted to him.
Nothing.
