Page 359 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Thirteen

“I must consider this further.” Iain cut off further discussion. He’d heard more than enough for one day. “We will speak again later.” At the fear on Jillian’s face he added, “Do not worry, lass. I know you speak the truth.”

“Laird?”

“Aye?”

“I do not want to make trouble for you. If you think it best for me to return, I will. But if that be the case, mayhap you will consider letting me escape. I would rather face the hills than those men.”

So the girl was not the callous woman of the world she claimed to be. He shook his head. “I will not return you to your kinsmen, nor will I send you out alone. Both are sure death.” Or worse.

The lass started to rise, but Jillian reached for her hand. “You risked your life for mine when I was a stranger. If ever there is anything I can do to repay you, I swear to do it.”

She squeezed Jillian’s hand. “Put it out of your mind and rest. I will return later.”

Jillian didn’t release her. “Tell me, mistress, what is your name?”

The lass’s head pivoted in Iain’s direction, and he flashed a broad smile.

She gave him a look meant to wither him on the spot and faced Jillian again. “I have no name.”

Jillian’s mouth dropped open in surprise and Iain bit back a laugh.

“You see,” she went on, “I…have amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Jillian’s eyes widened. “What a terrible fate.”

“A distressing fate, indeed,” she agreed.

Iain nodded. “I am gratified to understand the problem. I had begun to doubt my ability to woo a fair maiden.”

“Nay, Laird,” put in Jillian. The grave look on her face made it nearly impossible for Iain to maintain a serious expression. When she continued with, “You cannot believe such a thing. What woman would not be proud to have your attention?” The candid question nearly undid him. She looked back to his captive. “’Tis the truth, is it not, mistress?”

Christ, Iain thought, what sweet justice.

“I cannot answer such a question,” she replied in a voice that, in Iain’s judgment, betrayed a hint of feminine pride. She took a step in the direction of the door, and he slid in front of her.

“Aye, love, but you can.”

She came to an abrupt halt, her skirts swirling around her. “Have a care, my lord.”

“I have a care, sweeting.” He gave her a wicked smile. “But I think you should oblige our guest by answering her question.”

“Oh.” She formed the word in such a manner that he knew she was thinking more of how she would like to answer his question. Instead, she said, “I am sure many women find your attentions desirable.” “And you?” Iain asked.

“You know how I feel,” she snapped.

“There are moments when I believe I do,” he said.

“Moments such as last night?”

Her eyes widened. “How can you speak so? We are not alone, sir. Faith, but you are mad.”

“Aye, sweet, I am mad, but it is you who are making me that way. Now, be a good lass and answer the question.”

“I feel certain, my lord”—she ground out the title—“that you have never doubted the effect you

have on women.”