Page 23 of Highlander’s Wrath

Coira gave a little crow of triumph. Now it was her turn to scoff. “Ha! You see? For all you know, it could have been a poacher who accidentally shot that arrow. Your problem is you cannot see the wood for all the trees. I will wager that whenever anything has gone awry with your endeavors, you have simply found it easier to blame your misfortunes on the Farquharsons instead of searching closer to home.”

This shrewd observation was so uncannily accurate, that for one moment, Laird Barclay was tempted to think Coira a witch.

He looked at her with a dawning admiration. Before this, Laird Barclay had given not much thought to why he found the young woman so fascinating. He acknowledged her beauty—that was undeniable—and found her companionship both stimulating and entertaining. But this elusive power of hers to read his mind and preempt his decisions for him made him feel that particular talent of hers to be the most attractive quality.

“What would ye have me do, Coira?” he wanted to know.

“I would have you set the prisoners at their ease as far as warmth and wounds are concerned. If they seek a healer, send one to them. I know Mistress Elliot has some skill with herbs and binding injuries. When the men are feeling better, set them to work. There are still crops to be harvested in the fields and seeds to be planted for next year.”

He gave her suggestion due consideration.

“And what if I do this?” he wanted to know. “If I do this favor for ye, what favor will ye do for me in return? Will ye come to me bedchamber later?”

When Coira looked up from her plate of apple slices, she could see at a glance what Laird Barclay was insinuating. It made her heart skip a beat and her stomach flip over underneath her tightly laced stays.

He was handsome enough to tempt any woman to throw her hat over the windmill, but Coira was too well-brought-up and knew the consequences of such careless behavior. No matter how hard his dark, brooding face and strapping physique made her heart pound inside her chest, Coira was never about to forget that she was a lady.

She drew her hands off the table and tucked them on her lap. “Truth be told, Laird, I feel I have repaid my favors to you many times over by coming to the castle and helping you with your son. And as soon as winter recedes, I wish to make my way back to London. I’m sure you will have been able to find a replacement for me by then. Please excuse me.”

And on these polite words, Coira left the dining hall.

Laird Barclay was outraged. No woman had ever told him no before!