The Warrior Laird by Margo Maguire Read Free Book Online Page B

Dugan MacMillan.”
    â€œAnd I must thank you, too, for . . . earlier.”
    â€œ ’Twas my very great pleasure to aid you.” He would have taken her hand in his, just for the wonder of feeling her skin against his own. But he would not compromise her any further in this public place.
    â€œAre you very far from home, Laird MacMillan?” Her voice was the soft trickle of a burn over mossy pebbles.
    â€œAye. A fairly good piece.”
    â€œIs it business that brings you to Fort William?” she asked.
    He nodded, taking note of the rapid pulse at her throat. What he would not give to touch his mouth to that spot, to taste the spicy tang of her skin. Her face was devoid of freckles, but for a tiny mole at the outside corner of her eye, which he found unusual for a red-haired lass. A silky lock of her hair curled at her nape, and he resisted the urge to wrap it ’round his finger.
    â€œAnd you?” he asked, reining in his lust. ’Twas clear she was not some tavern trollop who would welcome his advances. And yet she’d been all alone earlier at the burn.
    The English officer he’d seen earlier came to the lady’s table and stood rigidly facing him. When the man spoke, his harsh tone indicated his willingness to engage in an unpleasant confrontation, here and now. Dugan put his hand on his claymore, ready for anything the damned bleater might try.
    â€œIs there something I can do for you, highlander?”
    â€œI happened to drop something, Lieutenant, and the gentleman merely handed it to me,” Maura said hurriedly. She did not want to cause any problems for Laird MacMillan. The man had thoroughly charmed her. Her heart and lungs still quivered impossibly, just from his proximity, and her skin radiated a heated awareness.
    He was ruggedly handsome and entirely self-assured, and Maura did not think Baird stood a chance against him. But she did not care to see any blood shed because of her tiny flirtation.
    She knew ’twas wholly improper to engage in conversation with a stranger, but she had not been able to resist speaking to the man who had saved her life. She needed to thank him for killing the ram with his clean shot. And to be truthful, she’d wanted—no, needed —to see if he shared the same astonishing attraction she felt.
    â€œThen you can just go on your way, Sandy ,” Lieutenant Baird said, using the shortened form of the ubiquitous Scottish name Alexander. Its use dismissed the laird as rudely as possible without insulting him overtly.
    â€œAye, I could if I were ready, Lieutenant Napper.”
    Maura nearly laughed aloud at the highlander’s retort, an insulting reference to Lieutenant Baird’s bare scalp.
    Laird MacMillan turned to her. “All is well, then, miss?” he asked. “You do not need me to remove this rough character from your presence?”
    â€œNow see here, man!” A torturous vein pulsed at Baird’s temple. “Lady Maura—”
    â€œThat is enough, Lieutenant Baird.” Maura did not trust herself to look up at the highlander for fear of betraying her mirth . . . or her interest. Lieutenant Baird need not be alerted to the notice she’d taken of the man who’d rescued her, or her amusement at his expense. There was no good reason to foment the natural animosity between the highlander and her English escort.
    â€œYes,” she replied to the highlander with a slight nod. “The lieutenant and I have a mission.”
    Laird MacMillan bowed elegantly. “Then I will leave you in his dubious care.” He looked at Baird as he would at the lowest creature on earth.
    Baird started to say something more, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he glared back at MacMillan as the highlander returned to the bar. Then he sat down across from Maura, glowering.
    â€œIs there a problem, Lieutenant?” Maura asked, still distracted. She could hardly believe