Page 85 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

Isobel grinned at Nick. “I believe you were informed that I have been shooting since I was a child.”

“And thank God she moved outside,” Uncle Lachlan murmured. “Much easier on the library.”

“Ach,” Isobel said. “I only shot the boring books.”

“Well,” Nick said. “I do believe you have won our wager.”

She grinned at him. “Excellent.”

But before they could discuss the terms—as though they might, in this company—she was surrounded by Tay and Malcolm and Hamish and the others, all of whom insisted she show them her stance. She glanced back at Nick, who was still smiling at her.

And she could have sworn he mouthed the word, Later.

* * *

“Are you hiding?”

Nick started as Declan’s voice echoed through the billiards room where he had been . . . hiding. He’d gotten wind that Mother wanted him to help with tonight’s festivities. It seemed prudent. “Of course not.”

Declan grinned and headed for the side table, where he selected a carafe of whisky. “No’ that I blame you. This kind of event is hardly your”—he lifted his glass—“cuppa tea.”

It was difficult to restrain his snort.

Declan crossed to the fireplace and dropped into the seat next to Nick. “I mean, all these marriageable lasses, hopeful mamas, and whatnot.”

“Indeed.”

“Usually the kind of event you would avoid.”

“These are Mother’s special friends. I could hardly refuse to come.”

“So . . .” Declan swirled his drink and watched it eddy for a moment. “You’ve no’ changed your mind, then.”

Nick frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re still enjoying bachelorhood?”

What an odd question. “Why the hell would you care?”

“Och. I would, it seems.” He took a sip and glanced at Nick with an expression that made something unpleasant slither up his spine.

“Why?”

Declan shrugged. “It’s simply that I have an . . . interest in one of the young ladies here.”

Hell.

Nick’s gut clenched. His pulse surged. His face scrunched up into a fearsome glower. He tried to undo it, but lacked the strength. Or the fortitude. “Who?” he croaked.

“Beg pardon?” Declan asked, though certainly he’d heard.

“Who. Who is it?”

“Och. Edward. For a man who has no interest in wooing one of these lasses, you certainly seem to be cross about mine.”

Something burned in his gullet. “Who. Is. It?”

His cousin offered a smile. A smug smirk Nick knew well. “Can you no’ guess? Who is the loveliest of them all?”