“What?” Dair couldn’t recall a single detail about Meggie MacLeod, except that she was blond and she’d been dancing with Logan.
John raised one eyebrow. “You haven’t noticed sweet Meggie MacLeod—a fine pair of blue eyes, the body of a goddess, a born flirt? Fia says she’s the family beauty. Now, there’s a lass who should be setting the lads afire. But she isn’t. Fia is all anyone can talk about.”
Dair felt the prickle of an unfamiliar emotion, something dark that made him want to punch the smug grin off the Englishman’s face. John had spent more time with Fia, had spoken with her. John had been awake last night, and sober, to see her work her magic.
Then it struck him. It was jealousy. He, Alasdair Og Sinclair, was jealous. It had never happened before. But then, no woman even looked at another man when Dair Sinclair strode into a room. The ugly emotion was as unwelcome as his unexpected erection.
“Doyoufind Fia MacLeod pretty?” he asked John, his fists curling.
“She’s not my type—all that virginal purity, that depth of character. In my experience, women like Fia see through me in a week—or less.”
Dair relaxed.
“That leaves all the other men at Carraig Brigh for you to worry about, though. Andrew, Girric, Ruari—all fine, braw, unmarried lads. Does that bother you? Your virgin, wooed by other men?”
Dair bristled. “She’s not my virgin. She’s a guest, and as such, she is not fair game. There’ll be no wooing, no flirting, no—”Sniffingher hair,he added silently.
He needed to think, to make sense of Fia MacLeod. Dair turned on his heel and stalked—limped—out of the room, with the damned lullaby trapped in his brain, his cock aching, and the memory of her perfume tormenting the rest of his senses.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fia lay in bed as her sister went through her extensive nighttime toilette at the dressing table. Fia knew she’d be unable to sleep. She would lie awake waiting, dreading, yet hoping for, a scratch at the door, for John Erly to arrive and tell her Alasdair Og needed her. Was that wrong? She didn’t wish him ill, just—she put a hand against her heart under the covers, felt it beating fast in anticipation.
Meggie had spent the day riding with Padraig and Logan, visiting the village, touring part of the vast territory controlled by the Sinclairs. She’d come back most impressed, gushing over the elegant manners of the Sinclair men, even though all they’d talked about all day was Dair.
“Everything was ‘Dair built this’ and ‘Dair did that,’ ‘Dair changed the way the water mill works, planted new and better crops, found methods to breed better sheep,’” Meggie said, rolling her eyes as she arranged the lace frill on her nightdress just so. “You’d think there was no other man here! And all anyone else we met wanted to talk about was you.”
“Me?” Fia asked, surprised.
“Yes, you—the cat, your gentle ways, your kindness. Did you really cure a dog of blindness?”
Fia smiled. “Of course not. All I did was pull a wee thorn out of the poor pup’s paw.”
Meggie sat down at the dressing table and began to brush her blond hair. “They also said you vanquished Dair Sinclair’s nightmares with a single drop of water and a charm. Did you?”
“Och, the tales folk tell,” Fia murmured, her face heating.
“I thought not,” Meggie sniffed. “I said you’ve been treating nearly everyone for cat scratches and wouldn’t have had time for anything else. Odd, but people here seem far less fearful of Bel than folk at home. It’s almost as if theywanthim to scratch them. Perhaps it’s some Sinclair test of bravery. Why, one wee laddie asked me what Bel liked to eat. Why should that matter, unless one is afraid of being eaten?” She looked into the glass and smeared her cheeks with cream made from rose petals. “I told him that cat would eathimif he wasn’t careful, that he wouldn’t be the first child Beelzebub had devoured, and he should stay away from him. The silly child began to cry, and I earned a sharp look from his ma for my trouble.”
“The ride obviously agreed with you, Meggie. You look very pretty this evening,” Fia said to change the subject.
Meggie pouted. “More’s the pity, then. It was such a quiet supper, what with you eating here because of your burned hand and Chief Sinclair not there for the meal either. He’s leaving for Edinburgh in the morning. A lot of his clansmen are riding out with him.”
“Is Dair—Alasdair Og—going too?” Fia asked.
“Och, no. What good is a madman in Edinburgh?” Meggie said. “The chief is meeting with other Scottish lords, to debate what to do about an English act of Parliament that has taken away all the rights of Scots with property in England and forbids Scots like the Sinclairs to trade with English colonies—or some such thing. He told me all about it, though I scarcely listened. It’s a matter dear to the chief’s heart, since he has ships and trading interests all around the world. Alasdair Og was very canny about getting round British navy patrols, bending the rules, making trades with countries the English are at war with. He earned a fortune on every cargo. The English hated him, called him a pirate, though he isn’t one at all.” She looked at her eyes in the mirror, smoothed her hand over the curve of her eyebrows. “Padraig is sure that’s why the English stopped Alasdair Og’s ship, impounded it, stole the cargo, and killed his niece and the crew. Alasdair Og hasn’t set foot on a ship since it happened. I did my best to convince the chief that I have a great interest in politics and should accompany him to Edinburgh—I would truly love to see Edinburgh, Fia! But he said he would be happier if I remained here, safe, to enjoy all the comforts and pleasures of Carraig Brigh.”
Fia’s breath caught in her throat.Dair, a pirate?She could imagine it . . .
“Fia, are you listening?” Meggie said.
“Of course I am,” Fia said. “It shouldn’t be difficult to enjoy Carraig Brigh. Have you seen the library?”
Meggie rolled her eyes and began to braid her hair in deft motions. “Books are not my idea of fun. I shall have to convince—well,somebodyto have a party while the chief is away, with more dancing.”
“Midsummer is coming. There’ll be a bonfire and dancing then, if the Sinclairs celebrate the way we do at Iolair.”
“Hardly an occasion to wear silk and jewels, now, is it? Dancing barefoot around a fire is for ordinary folk and bairns. I want a ball. The chief was telling me about the grand dances Alasdair Og attended in France, at the court of King Louis. Isn’t that wonderful?”
