Page 29 of Confessions of a Highland Assassin

Ava had only met the man once before when he’d been conscious. But it seemed to her that he clenched his jaw quite often when talking to the lairds’ daughters. Even his eyes held a dark look that gave her food for thought. He had been open and intense when he’d been staring down at her in the forest. Or perhaps that was just the excessive amounts of ale talking at the time.

Not wanting to take on the gaggle of women without Skye at her side, Ava turned and walked down the corridor to her right that led to a flight of stairs. Exploring the castle for a wee bit would be a welcome diversion for a minute or two, or at least until she caught her breath again. The stairs led to a hallway lined with solid wooden doors. Walking with her hands clasped in front of her, she guessed that this was how ladies of nobility walked stiff and tight, Ava examined the doors until she came to one that led into a room with shelves of books.

This must be the laird’s study, she thought as she pushed her way into the room. The room was large with wall-to-wall shelves that housed overly large ledgers and leather-bound books. A sturdy wooden desk sat at one end of the room while the other was occupied by a large stone hearth that boasted a stuffed owl mounted to the chimney just below the ceiling.

Ava shivered at the sharp talons of the massive bird; its mighty wings stretched wide. The owl held an eternal and malicious pose of catching its prey. Turning her attention away from the bird, she examined the books that lined the shelves, running her fingers over the spines with gold lettering, wishing she knew what they said.

Her heart leaped from her chest when the door suddenly opened, and a deep voice called to her.

“What are ye doing in here?”

Her mind raced with memories of her assault in the forest as she turned to see who it was.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Boyd stood in the middle of the ballroom talking to the many ladies that fervently wanted his attention. The way the other lairds strutted toward him and thrust their daughters in his face reminded him of the pig shows he had to judge for the local farmers. The way that the lairds sang their daughters’ praises, made him feel as if he would be announcing the fattest pig at the end of the evening.

“This is Heather. She looks lovely this evening, does she nae?” one of the lairds said proudly as he presented his daughter. “She gets her childbearing hips from her mother.”

The girl in question looked mortified at her father’s words. Her cheeks filled with crimson embarrassment as she fidgeted with her dress at her sides.

“It’s an honor tae meet ye,” Boyd bowed lightly as she curtsied back.

“The honor is mine,” she said meekly. She was a pretty girl, thin, tall, and very well-spoken. Heather wore a powder blue dress of silk with another shapeless fit that seemed tae be the fashion now. The color went well with her greenish-blue eyes, light complexion, and light brown hair.

There was only one woman at the ball who didn’t seem to be bothered by what kind of dress was currently in fashion. He’d only caught a glimpse of her when she broke the cardinal rule of etiquette and spoke to a lady next to her rather than one in her own group. The rest of the women wore dresses that matched if not in color, but in style.

He’d found the entire situation very amusing and a welcome diversion from talking about flowers and the weather. Polite conversation etiquette with ladies always baffled him. Boyd was thankful that, as a man, he could talk to his friends and acquaintances about whatever he chose.

The dark-haired beauty had vanished shortly after the incident. Which was a pity, Boyd thought, as making her acquaintance would be rather entertaining.

“Dae ye like hunting, milaird?” Heather asked quietly, drawing his attention back to the current conversation.

“Of course, the laird likes hunting,” her father answered for him. “I guess just as much ye like sticking that tiny needle intae pieces of cloth and creating pointless little flowers,” the laird laughed heartily from his belly and slapped Boyd on the arm.

Laird Giles Campbell was a short man with greying brown hair, large brown eyes, and a hooked nose. His stocky stature with his height made him look as though he might topple over at any given moment. “Do ye nae think that creating little fabric flowers all day long is a silly thing, milaird?” he asked Boyd while laughing.

Boyd noticed the girl’s embarrassment growing. “I’m sure that needlepoint is a fine quality for a young lady,” he said respectfully and politely. “My mother used tae do it all the time.”

Heather smiled thankfully at him but didn’t get a chance to say another word as her father prattled on, making inappropriate jokes wherever he could and embarrassing his daughter.

“Excuse me, milaird,” Rory came walking up from behind and bowed respectfully to Giles Campbell and his daughter. “I am sorry tae interrupt what I’m sure is a titillating conversation. But there is a matter that requires yer immediate attention at present,” he smiled and turned respectfully to Heather. “It should nae tak’ more than a moment or two. If ye would be so kind as to excuse us.”

Heather bowed politely with a small smile while her father had already moved on to harass some of the other lairds with his jokes.

“I owe ye,” Boyd whispered to Rory as they walked toward the table of drink at the other end of the brightly lit room.

“I saw that the conversation was wearing on ye a bit and thought ye’d be grateful for a wee bit o’ interference. Giles is kent for his terrible social skills, but his daughter seemed like a fine young lass, quite pretty.”

“I would nae ken if she was,” Boyd grumbled. “Her father never let her get a word in.”

Rory chuckled under his breath and handed his friend a mug of ale when they reached the table that held the drinks. “Refresh yersel’ ‘afore ye get accosted by another lady. Ye’ve nae met them all yet.”

Boyd accepted the ale and took a large sip. “Now that’s good ale,” he said but paused and turned his back when he spotted a puffy pink dress bouncing toward him through the crowd.

“What’s the matter?” Rory asked, scanning the guests.

“I cannae talk tae the lass in the pink dress again. I didnae even catch her name. She could have been Giles’ daughter, never let me get a word in. It was maddening.”