My Highland Lord (Highland Lords) by Tarah Scott Read Free Book Online

luxury, as well. ” He gave a final nod and took two steps to Heddy. Her gaze remained fixed on Alan. “What is it, Heddy?”
    “You see that?” She nodded at the thick, wavy stick Alan carried.
    “The walking stick?”
    “A swordstick. Silver mounted buckhorn handle, if I’m not mistaken. Certainly disguises the sword hidden within quite well, doesn’t it? And those.” Kiernan followed her line of sight to the combination weapon stuffed into Alan Hay’s belt. “The short hanger, a hunting sword. Ideal for mounting a flintlock. Queen Anne cannon barrel type. And that one.” She nodded at the weapon in George’s belt. “At least forty years old, but still deadly. Four barrels, two on each side.”
    The group turned, led by one of the villagers, and started for the stables.
    With a final glance at Alan Hay, Kiernan returned his attention to Heddy. “They have traveled far. Weapons would be a necessity.”
    “True,” she agreed. “But those look well used.”
    “It's likely they survived the journey by hunting.”
    “But what do they hunt?” Heddy murmured.
    His gaze caught on the shawl that had fallen afoul of her bodice. “You'll catch your death.” He grasped the shawl’s edges.
    Her attention broke from the strangers and she looked at him. Kiernan tugged the shawl across her breasts. He would have to find a way to thank Mrs. Grayson for giving Heddy this particular dress. Heddy glanced down at the shawl, then raised her face to his, her mouth turned down in a dry expression. Kiernan laughed and dropped his hands to his sides. He glanced again at the retreating Hays—his attention flicking over the walking stick—before grasping Heddy’s arm and leading her toward the inn.
    “How is it you're acquainted with weapons?” he asked.
    “My uncle is an amateur collector. I have been subjected to long lectures on weapons and their uses.”
    “You spoke of your uncle before.” Something Regan hadn't mentioned about her. One of the hounds bounded up to his side and woofed. Kiernan gave the dog a playful cuff on the nose.
    “My father died when I was seven," Heddy answered. "My mother when I was fourteen."
    "I'm sorry," he said.
    "It was long ago."
    "What of your remaining family?" he asked.
    “They are…a mixed cup.”
    The dog bounded off in pursuit of the other hound that had shot across the lane toward the stables. “How so?” Kiernan looked down at her.
    One corner of her mouth twitched in the first indication of amusement he’d observed, but she answered with gravity, “My father’s brother is a good man. His wife, however, isn't so amiable.”
    “Why?”
    Heddy laughed, the sound devoid of warmth. “The most common reason: money.”
    “MacGregor!”
    Kiernan turned at the call. Davis Hamilton rode toward them. He brought his horse to a halt beside them. “‘Tis good to see you, MacGregor.”
    “It's good to see you. What brings you south?”
    Davis reached down the neck of his shirt and pulled out a letter. “Clachair sends his thanks.” He handed Kiernan the letter.
    Kiernan took the document and slipped it into the front pocket of his jacket. “We have visitors from Hay territory. They tell me things are still bad up north. I hope you are faring better.”
    Davis nodded. “Times aren't easy, but we're managing.”
    “How long can you stay?”
    “I'm returning home immediately. I've been gone too long.”
    “A shame. How are the children?”
    Davis shrugged. “They are adjusting to losing their mother.”
    “And you?” Kiernan asked.
    Davis’ expression clouded. “I canna’ get used to her being gone.” He cast an embarrassed glance at Heddy, then said, “I'll be going.” Without further conversation, he pulled on his horse’s reins and returned in the direction he had come.
    Kiernan turned back to Heddy. “Shall we.” He gestured toward the kitchen door.
    She turned with him and they began walking. “Your friend doesn’t look nearly as bad off as the others. The