Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) by Suzanne Enoch Read Free Book Online

when ye could be oot huntin’. Or riding. Or playing cards or billiards.”
    The wee fingers of the wee fist stretched out, then curled again. “Go away, Bear,” Lachlan whispered. “I cannae explain what it is to have a lass and a son ye’d die fer. Nae while I’m trying to keep them both asleep.”
    So no one wanted him about today. And how odd was it, that after knowing Lachlan his entire life, at this moment he felt like he had more in common with the wildcat hiding in Haldane Abbey? “Of course ye cannae have me aboot where quiet and subtlety is required,” he retorted, mostly remembering to keep his voice down. “I’m nae but the loud brute of a man ye send in to scare people.” Munro stalked to the door as Fergus rose again.
    â€œBear, I ken ye dunnae like the idea of being domesticated, but—”
    â€œI dunnae like the idea of being taken fer granted. I dunnae like the idea that ye find me in the wrong because I dunnae want what ye have. So go rock yer bairn and sing yer lullabies. I’ll go find someaught large to shove at.”
    As much as he wanted to slam the door behind him, that would only prove that he was the ham-fisted, small-brained oaf his family seemed to think him. So instead he left it open, padded down the stairs, and settled for a nod to the butler as Dodge handed him his raincoat and hat and pulled open the front door.
    Damnation. With two brothers, Lachlan, and a younger sister, he’d grown up accustomed to having someone with whom to chat or compete or drink. And now they’d all gone and found other people—and left him feeling more … set into his role than ever. The only difference was that he now had more people to protect, had to be bigger and still louder to keep the attention of any envious eyes trained squarely on him. He didn’t mind it. He approved of it, actually. It was only that both he and his family had come to believe that the loud, brawl-happy Highlander wasn’t just who he was, but all he was.
    In fact, the only person in the Highlands who only knew of him what he chose to show her was the redheaded wildcat. He wondered if she’d found the gift he’d left on her doorstep, and whether it was too soon to go ask her in person.
    *   *   *
    â€œI don’t have scissors,” Elizabeth muttered, scowling. “Might I use your knife?”
    Catriona wiped the blade on her sleeve and then handed it over. Her sister cut the thread and then straightened to examine her handiwork. The knee of the trousers definitely looked patched; neither of them could have disguised that even if they’d cared to do so. But the rectangle of cotton was neat and tightly stitched, likely with more skill than the rest of the garment. “That’s nicely done,” she commented.
    Her sister dimpled. “Thank you. The next time we should remember to bring scissors, though. One good pair would make things so much easier.”
    Aye, the next time they felt the need to flee hearth and home for the wilds of the Highlands, she would try to be more prepared. And more … ruthless. No being amused, even briefly, by giants carting fresh bread about.
    She picked up a piece of the bread Bear had brought her—them—yesterday. He’d provided a small cup of butter, as well, and both she and Elizabeth had made good use of it. Even in this chill weather neither treat would last them long, anyway. Until recently she’d thought bread was bread, and one loaf would do as well as any other. Traveling by mail coach and hay cart and purchasing food at whatever inn happened to be the most out of the way, though, had given her a slightly broader frame of reference. And the bread she held now happened to be exceptional. No grit from the millstones for her to pick from between her teeth, no burned crust or underbaked middle.
    Rich man’s bread. Or at least well-off-man’s