Page 50 of A Virgin for the Icy Laird
Morrison placed a glass in his hand, to which he nodded again appreciatively. “Aye. I was visitin’ me daughter. She married one of them London nobles a long time ago. She just had a baby, ye see. Me wife’s still with her. I love me daughter, but I miss the house, and nothin’ can compare to the quiet life of yer homeland.”
“I doubt yer time in Scotland has been anythin’ but quiet,” Adair remarked.
Morrison laughed heartily. “So ye remember how I used to run around for yer faither. He was such an enthusiastic man when it came to business, especially the merger with the late Laird Scott.”
Adair knew the story as it had been told by Malcolm Scott. His father and Ewan Scott had ended the merger over a dispute and had fallen out. Callum’s marriage was a way to bring together both clans after the former Lairds’ failure.
“He must have been disappointed when the merger fell through.”
Morrison frowned. “The merger never happened. In fact, the morning I left for London, he was ridin’ out to meet with the late Laird Scott. It’s a shame he never returned.”
Adair felt his head spinning at the revelation.
His father had gone out to meet the former Laird Scott, not to settle a dispute. Not to draw steel. But to talk. To plan. A merger, of all things. Lands, trade, alliances. The very thing that would have made both clans stronger.
Why, then, had Malcolm insisted on the fight? Why had he pushed until their friendship cracked down the middle and left nothing but bitterness in its place?
It didn’t fit. None of it did. The Malcolm he knew was stubborn and proud, but not reckless. Not without reason.
Unless the reason was one Adair had never been told.
His thoughts ran in circles, tripping over each other. Not even the cool evening air could clear them. It brushed against his faceas he stepped outside, sharp with the smell of damp stone and heather, but the noise in his head was louder.
He was absolutely stunned, his mind a maelstrom of confusion, and beneath it was something colder: the feeling that he’d just been handed a piece of a story that had been deliberately kept from him.
He dragged a hand through his hair and mounted his horse, hoping the distance might do what the air couldn’t—make sense of it.
But the farther he went, a question niggled harder at the back of his mind.
What else had Malcolm lied about?
Adair lingered outside of Emily’s room, his hand raised to knock.
She would want to know that he had returned safely as she hoped, but he had also disobeyed her instruction. He did not want her mind whirling with the possibility of an accident presumed to have kept him out, but he also did not want her angry for journeying so late into the night.
As his hand came down on her door, he decided that he would rather receive her ire than let her lie with a worry-filled heart.
Emily opened the door faster than he had expected.
“Adair,” she breathed.
Adair felt his heart swell in his chest. “Forgive me for returning so late.”
Emily shook her head. “It only matters that ye returned.” Fire crackled in the grate behind her, casting a crown of golden light atop her head. “Did ye have the time to eat?”
“Aye,” he lied.
He could not stomach anything at the moment. In fact, all he had been able to think of as he rode his horse against the setting sun was coming home to her.
“Would ye like to go out for a walk in the gardens? I have somethin’ to ask of ye.”
She considered, her gaze lowering. His eyes followed. “Allow me to get dressed.”
So he had a half-naked woman in front of him, and he had only stared at her face? He was ruined.
They walked quietly along the cobblestone path. He kept a decent distance between them because he did not trust himself.
After a while, he stopped, but she did not seem to notice, walking on ahead.
