Page 24 of Highlander’s Dangerous Gambler

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When Scott had said that McLeod had wanted to speak with her, she had rather hoped that he meant later.

Yet even before Scott's footsteps had disappeared back down the hall, there was a knock at the door. Expecting a maid, Aileen called gaily for them to come in.

Then she sat, blithely by the window, still only clad in a linen shift. Hoping it to be Nessa with some clothes, she beckoned her in.

Except it was not.

"Miss Duncan?"

The laird's voice made her turn around. There, before her eyes, was Laird McLeod. Poor Aileen moved so fast she nearly got whiplash.

"Sir," she murmured, standing up, then sitting down again before standing up once more in a blind panic. Inside, Aileen's heart throbbed painfully.

Crivvens! What is wrong wi' the men in this place! Cannae any o' them give a lassie a chance to get some claes on?

Seeing her panic, Laird McLeod smiled apologetically.

"Dinnae fash, lassie. An' I am sorry to disturb ye," he said, a fixed grin attached to his slippery face.

Aileen held back an instinct to sigh and resigned herself, once again, to having to entertain déshabillé. Instead, she shook her head and smiled graciously.

It nearly killed her.

"No bother," she said through barely parted lips.

At just that moment, Nessa came into the room, setting down the breakfast things with a clatter. She began pouring a cup of something, which she handed to Aileen.

Looking surprised, Aileen took it, giving the wooden cup a slight sniff.

"Heather ale," said the laird, looking on. He seemed to be eyeing her with amusement. Aileen found herself being observed by the thickset laird, his murky eyes following her everywhere.

The last thing she felt like was eating her breakfast while being watched like a grouse, but the laird's insistent gaze gave her nowhere to go.

"It's a speciality of the clan," remarked McLeod, his lazy eye wandering to the side of the room. Aileen smiled and tried not to find him, or his eye, disconcerting, but it was hard.

"I see," said Aileen, tasting it. Of course, she had had Heather Ale before, but not recently. And certainly not for breakfast.

Aileen put the amber liquid to her lips and tasted. The flowery malty flavor was cloying and really rather too sweet for first thing, but she drank it anyway.

"Braw," she said, setting down the cup. Then she turned to the laird. She noticed he had not drunk anything. For a moment, crazy thoughts grabbed her. The idea that she was being held here, and maybe even poisoned, floated in and out of her head.

Then, the warming smell of porridge wafted under her nose. Aileen was surprised to find she was hungry. Without standing on ceremony, she dug into the McLeod porridge—hot and steaming and flavored with ample streaks of honey.

Forgetting all about poisoned porridge, she tucked in, watched approvingly by McLeod.

"A lassie wi' an appetite, that's what I like to see," remarked the laird. Aileen shot him a look. Usually a comment like this would see the swift end of her tongue, but coming from the laird, she had to modify herself.

"Thank ye for yer hospitality," she murmured, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief. In actual fact, she hated being watched, but an all-consuming hunger had washed over her. To her surprise, she realized she had not eaten since noontide the previous day.

"Dinnae fash," said the laird pleasantly. He shot her a look as she settled herself stiffly in the chair.

The sudden stabbing pains were still there whenever she tried to move suddenly. Aileen's entire body felt like a pincushion.

There was a silence, broken only by the sound of Nessa trudging across the floor to collect the breakfast things. Aileen began to feel uncomfortable.

There was something about McLeod she was not entirely sure about. Perhaps it was his eye, looking across the room at something else, as he spoke to her. Or the fact he had barged his way in here—twice—while she was undressed.