Page 72 of The Devil Wears Kilts
Ranulf started to step around the man, only to find his route cut off yet again. Now it was clearly intentional, which as far as he was concerned, removed the need for him to be polite.
“Get oot of my way,amadan.”
The shorter man favored him with a polite smile. “I doon’t think I will.”
“So ye want me to knock ye on yer arse in front of all these bonny lasses,” he returned, speaking loudly enough that those directly around him could hear.
“I jest want a word with ye, friend.”
A nice, quick punch to the gut as he moved in, and no one would likely notice anything but him helping the fellow to the floor as he spewed sick over his own boots. Ranulf stepped in, coiling his fist.
“Lord Glengask,” Charlotte’s breathless voice came. “There you are! Your uncle’s been taken quite ill, I’m afraid. Please come with us at once.”
Ranulf straightened his fingers. No punching. That was Charlotte’s one rule. “Excuse me,” he repeated forcefully, fixing the lean fellow with the direct gaze that caused most men a sudden need to examine their own shoes.
Inclining his head, the scarred fellow stepped aside, then abruptly caught Ranulf’s elbow as he pushed by. “That sister of yers is a bonny lass,” he murmured, “with an especially fine mouth. I know just where I’d have her put it.”
Ranulf stopped in his tracks. In the next heartbeat, before he’d even registered the action, he had both fists wrapped into the man’s lapel and lifted him off his feet. Black fury blasted through him like thunder. No one—no one—threatened Rowena.
A soft hand in a red glove touched his sleeve. “You’re being baited,” Charlotte breathed.
If she’d spoken in any other voice, yelled or pushed or pulled at him, he likely wouldn’t have noticed. Of course he was being baited. That didn’t matter. The words had still been said. Words that couldn’t be unsaid, or forgiven, but only paid for in blood.
“Your uncle needs you,” she persisted in a louder voice, her hand squeezing his arm.
Her hand with the blisters she’d gotten trying to save his stable. Every muscle tight and fighting, gut versus mind, he took a step sideways and set the man down. “Excuse me,” he said for the third and final time, even though he felt like he’d been ruptured and was bleeding inside. “Ye seemed to be stepping on my foot.”
Taking Charlotte’s hand, he placed it around his arm and walked away. Behind him the scarred man laughed. Ranulf rolled his shoulders and kept going. This was what it took to keep Charlotte in his life. He would eat a hundred insults and smile at their foul words in exchange for a kiss and a smile from her. As she kept telling him, they were just words.
“I need to talk to you,” she said tightly, sending him a sideways glance. “And for heaven’s sake, you need to use your mind and not your muscles.”
“I prefer to use them in tandem,” he returned.
“Is that what you were just doing?”
“If my mind hadnae been involved, ye would know it. Now hold a bit. We have to find Myles first. I assume he’s well?”
“I have no idea. It was the first excuse I could think of.” Another glance. “I’m sorry I snapped at you just then. Areyouwell?”
“I’m a gentleman,” he returned, trying to sound mild when fury still bit at him with tiger’s teeth. “I’m always well.”
“Ranulf.”
“In a minute. There’s Myles.”
His uncle stood talking with the Duke of Esmond and his oh, so charming son, Lord Stephen Hammond.Bloody wonderful.Well, Charlotte had chosen the game, so he would play along with it.
“Myles, let’s find ye a chair,” he said, reluctantly releasing Charlotte to grasp his uncle’s elbow. “Ye shouldnae be walking aboot if ye’re still feeling light-headed.”
Lord Swansley frowned, then put an abrupt hand to his temple. “Perhaps I will sit for a minute,” he said. “If you’ll pardon me, Your Grace, Stephen.”
“Certainly, Swansley. The duchess is expecting a dance, anyway.”
Four strong now, they went upstairs and found a sitting room. As he pushed open the door a young lady lurched to her feet, an older man yanking his hand from beneath her skirt and then trying to cover his bulging nether regions with a pillow. Ranulf barely had time to raise an eyebrow before they fled. As much as he wanted Charlotte, he had little sympathy for the couple—a man should have more consideration for his lady than to lead her to a place where they could be discovered.
“What’s going on?” Myles said, once they were alone. “Why am I light-headed?”
“That’s my fault,” Charlotte admitted. “I needed to speak to Ranulf in private, and you were my excuse.”
