Page 102 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

So as William battled to get Laird Douglas upright, he also had to battle against something else—the man himself.

"Och, dinnae fash, lad," growled Laird Douglas, yet again, refusing to be compliant.

Poor old Sorcha came close, attempting to help him as she, too, was given short shrift.

"Awa' wi' ye, woman," spat the drunk laird, as the dainty lady backed off. William felt bad for her as the laird muttered beneath his breath, "Och, where is my wee puterelle of a lassie?"

William blinked as Sorcha looked away. From beneath the table, the laird's red face became excited.

"She cannae be fashed for her own wedding," he cursed grumpily. He looked at William, his eyes rolling pathetically. "I can only apologize for the silly wee moo!"

William tried to smile and help the laird back up. But he was stuck hard.

Embarrassed, William tried again. Nothing.

"Allow me..."

Out of nowhere, a hand had appeared. Clasping the laird's arm, it pulled hard. And with William's help, they got the drunken laird vertical, although he was still grumbling.

"Och, I was braw!" he complained, as he was settled clumsily onto the stool. "I told ye to leave me, but that's women for ye. They dinnae listen!"

The laird began berating Sorcha; at least, William assumed it was her. Right then, he was too busy mopping the sweat from his brow. His father-in-law was heavy and had been like moving a mound of lead.

Red-faced, William felt their eyes on him, staring. His sisters giggled, and their bairns laughed. And it was not even he who was drunk—at least not so bad.

With some help, William positioned the laird on the stool with care. Finally, his eyes connected with the person who had helped. They repositioned the pickled laird, making him groan and swear. Looking down, William noted how fair and slim they were.

A woman's hands.

Following them further, he traced her graceful arms and shapely neck. Looking up, he was astonished to see her décolletage. It was sweet and pliant. Already, he could feel her soft flesh beneath his fingertips, juicy as a clootie dumpling.

"William?"

William turned to stone. Her gaze welcomed him in. There, of course, in front of him was Nora.

She welcomed him with a smile, then winked.

"Well, I've never seen anyone drink my father under the table afore, I'll give ye that."

6

"Nora, ye're late. Where on earth have ye been?"

Nora stood before him, a soft rose color on each cheek. She looked at William through emerald-green eyes, glancing only briefly at her father. William's eyes clung to her every movement. But Nora did not mind. It made for a change from her father's hateful stare.

Och, she thought, as she pulled away from her father, now finally upright. Is this the only thanks I get?

She tried to smile, but William's eyes flitted skittishly from her to her father, as if caught by surprise. Nora pursed her lips. If he were not careful, her father would give something away. William had noted his disdain; a little more, and he might become suspicious.

Ensuring he did not notice anything other than her, Nora smiled.

"So ye can drink my father into the ground, eh? What about me?" she hinted provocatively, her hand caressing her thigh.

William's eyes opened fully, taking in her shape. Again, she smiled. This was good. He was putty in her hands.

"Well, ma'am, I can offer ye a claret, or something a wee bit stronger, if ye'd like? But I promise ye nae to drink ye under the table. Or anything else for that matter!"

William's eyes sparkled and teased, and Nora felt her heart kicking. Despite her demeanor, she was a bag of nerves. But with her father and the others watching, it would never do to show it.