Her Highland Fling (7 page)

William shrugged off their mirth. He was used to this sort of ribbing, though he was more often on the giving end of it than the receiving end. He refilled his glass, wondering if it might give him the same kind of courage he’d found two nights ago in the whisky. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He’d been a silent, fumbling fool during dinner, and now the moment he opened his mouth, something ridiculous came out. He’d not meant to call her “Pen” in public, and
certainly
not in front of Cameron.

Perhaps he needed to be drunk around her for proper conversation. He drained his glass in a convulsive swallow. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make again.

“Well, chin up,” James said, finishing the rest of his glass as well and then turning toward the door. “You’ll have another chance to humiliate yourself soon enough. Time to join the fairer sex in the drawing room.”

“Aye,” Cameron snickered as they made their way into the room filled with feminine laughter. “Perhaps you should offer to show her your fairy kittens, next.”

“Fairy k-kittens?” Pen said, looking up with sharp interest from the settee.

William’s attention arrowed in on her as though loosened from a bow. The sight of her felt as though someone had kicked him, and not in entirely pleasant places. Tonight she looked a proper lady, blond hair piled high, a gown of lovely blue silk highlighting her delicate curves.
Curves he’d recently held against him.

And dear God, she had little Lizzie on her lap.

Though the dinner had been formal, the tone in the drawing room was decidedly less so. William’s mother, the countess, had insisted on seeing her granddaughter, and so James’s daughter had been fetched down from the nursery and was being passed around the drawing room and properly fussed over. At five months old, Lizzie was a sweet thing, with blue eyes and pink cheeks she’d inherited from Georgette, and a pair of healthy lungs that she’d no doubt acquired from James.

There were times when William could not help but battle a bit of envy at his brother’s good fortune. Seeing this child he loved sitting on Pen’s lap made that envy shift into something more defined.

Want.
He wanted what his brother had. A wife, a child. Happiness.

Looking around, he realized he was the only male in the room who didn’t have those essential things. James had found Georgette. Even David Cameron—who probably didn’t deserve anything beyond a swift kick in the bollocks—had found love, the gentle swell of his wife’s belly demonstrating his own state of contentedness.

And with a startled bit of insight, William realized as he looked at Penelope Tolbertson holding this small, blond-haired baby on her lap, he might find those things with this woman. It wasn’t even an outrageous thought. He was thirty-five years old. The expectations of his future title demanded he marry, after all, and Moraig wasn’t exactly brimming with potential mates.

Why
not
Penelope Tolbertson? She was beautiful. She was intelligent.

She was
here
.

And there was no denying she made his heart race, quite happily so.

She was also still waiting for his answer. He cleared his throat, hoping the port had worked its magic. “Er . . . ’tis just a story about kittens. For wee Lizzie.” He gestured to his niece, who began to bounce happily on Pen’s lap at the sound of her name. “She’s too small for cattle, aye?”

Pen smiled up at him, her blue eyes crinkling about the edges, and he wanted to dive into that smile and never let go. No one he’d met in Moraig or beyond had ever stirred his fancy in quite this way. But as he mulled over this startling, tempting new idea, he was also struck by an almost painful awareness of how impossible it was.

She lived in London and was clearly committed to her position as a reporter. He was devoted to Moraig and had organized the games because he wanted to ensure the prosperity of the town where he intended to spend his life.

He
needed
her to return to London with a story to convince others to come.

Otherwise, it was all for naught.

A
s the men took their seats, Pen stole a surreptitious look at the one man among them whose appearance made her heart thump faster.

She’d been seated opposite MacKenzie at dinner, so she’d been able to look all she wanted—and she was coming to understand she wanted a good deal. But once again, though he’d certainly been a pleasure to look upon, he’d proven a poor conversationalist, reverting to grunts and fumbles. He didn’t resemble anything close to the silver-tongued man who’d kissed her senseless and made her believe in fairies two nights ago.

But Pen was an expert in the matter of tangled responses, and she was beginning to understand that more than dim wits lay beneath MacKenzie’s mumbles.

He hesitated only with her. She’d observed him carry on a pleasant enough conversation with her sister, Caroline, and he’d spoken easily and warmly with Georgette. When his opinions were directed to the table at large, they were well formed and educated.

In fact, Pen was ashamed of herself for reaching such a quick judgment of his intelligence before. She, of all people, understood what it was like to be measured by the ease of one’s words and found wanting.

“How do you find the town, Miss Tolbertson?” Georgette smiled, holding out her hands for her daughter.

Pen dutifully passed the babe on to its mother, leaving the child with a quick kiss on the top of her fair head and a discreet inhalation to preserve the precious scent. “ ’Tis lovely, though in truth I’ve only seen a b-bit of it.” She hesitated. “B-both times I’ve come to Moraig, I’ve stayed with Caroline, you see, so my forays into town have been limited.”

“Perhaps you ought to stay a night or two in town,” James suggested, smiling down at his wife and daughter. He reached out a finger, which Lizzie grabbed, gurgling happily. “After all, there’s a room still held at the Blue Gander, waiting to impress our reporter up from London.”

Pen blinked in confusion. “Why would they still b-be holding the room?” she asked. She’d been very clear on the matter of her lodging.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Everyone in the room looked at each other, as though gauging the moment and the appropriate response. And then Georgette sighed, almost apologetically. “William personally had a room in the inn refurbished for the reporter we expected and then paid in advance for a week’s use of it. The innkeeper is still holding it.”

Pen sidled a surprised glance toward MacKenzie, who looked irritated by the disclosure. She recalled his stumbled confusion the day she had met him, how she’d presumed his insistence on walking her to the Blue Gander to have been the result of misplaced masculine superiority.

She regretted being so quick to dismiss his idea now.

Her impressions of the town were clearly very important to him, but he had bowed to her wishes and not breathed a word of his efforts. Her respect swelled another notch.

“I might enjoy staying at the B-blue Gander during the games,” she admitted. “In order to get a more authentic feel for the town, as a tourist would.” She looked up at her sister. “Would you mind, Caro? Only for a night or two?”

Caroline smiled. “No, I know how important this story is to you.” She curled a hand around her growing belly and shared a warm look with her husband. “You should do whatever you need to get it right.” And by the look they exchanged, it seemed Caroline and her husband might make the most of the bit of privacy.

Pen turned to MacKenzie, suddenly aware that out of everyone in the room, they were the only ones without a match. Her stomach did a queer flip at the thought. Did he feel it too, this sense of destiny? “Will you show me the room there tomorrow?”

He swallowed and cast about his eyes, as though in search of a savior.

“You d-did offer to show me anything I wished,” she reminded him, a bit peeved he had to think so hard about it.

Brown eyes met hers slowly. “Aye. I did.” He nodded gruffly. “Tomorrow, then. Six o’clock. I’ll arrange it with the innkeeper.”

Pen smiled her thanks and then stood up, her skirts falling decisively about her feet. The picture of perfect gentlemen, the men stood dutifully as well. She knew what she was about to do might be viewed as forward, but she hoped the others in the room would presume her request was for the article she planned to write.

She’d wrangled this invitation to Kilmartie Castle in the hopes of procuring a few moments alone with MacKenzie, but so far it had been an ordinary—and crowded—sort of dinner party. In fact, he seemed determined to put an even greater distance between them, and she was determined to see it reversed. She only had a few more days in town, and she didn’t want to waste them dancing around what could be. “And would you also show me the view from the front lawn tonight, Mr. MacKenzie?” she asked, pulling her notebook from her reticule as a sort of cover. “It seems as though it should be a spectacular s-sunset.”

“Sunset?” MacKenzie said hoarsely, not moving toward her in the slightest.

She inclined her head and waved her notebook. “Research, you know.”

There was a beat of silence, where he seemed to be considering how to tell her no.

But then James grabbed William by the arm and propelled him toward the door. “He’d be happy to, Miss Tolbertson.” James grinned. “Capital idea, a bit of research.”

MacKenzie scowled as he shook his brother free and then grimly offered her his arm. She accepted it and then tried to temper the tilt of her heart as he escorted her from the room. They walked down an endless hallway where their footsteps echoed and scores of Earls of Kilmartie stared down from the wall. She’d thought he would say something.
Anything.
After all, he’d kissed her, only two nights ago. They were something past mere acquaintances.

But he seemed determined to show her the sunset and not a single thing more.

Finally they stepped out of the front doors on to the lawn, and Pen drew in a startled breath, her fingers curling into the solid strength of his arm. This afternoon, when McRory had pointed out the castle to her, she’d imagined the view from its lawn would be magnificent.

She considered now whether
staggering
might be a more appropriate word choice.

The lawn swept down to the edge of a cliff, shimmering against a kaleidoscope sky. The clouds seemed set on fire and all too happy to burn. She could see white-capped surf in the distance and, as the coast curved out of sight, magnificent stone cliffs plunging to the sea.

“It’s . . . incredible,” she whispered, shading her eyes with her notebook and trying to take it all in. She was a confident writer, but how on earth could she be expected to describe something like this in the space of a newspaper article?

“Aye,” he agreed stiffly. “I never grow tired of it.”

“I c-can’t imagine you would.” She tried to write a few notes down but found the wind was too strong, fluttering the pages under her hand. Moreover, she found she didn’t want to take her eyes from the view a second longer than was necessary.

Sighing, she shoved the notebook back in her reticule.

Perhaps she was spending too much time with it anyway. Wasn’t the point of the experience to see things as a tourist would?

“I’ve been thinking more about the things McRory told you today,” MacKenzie said, his voice a rumble over the wind. “ ’Tis fine if you mention the castle as a historical site, but I’d appreciate if you dinna mention me your article.”

Pen shifted her eyes to him and found the view every bit as moving as the one on the horizon. He was staring out at the cliff as though seeing it for the first time. The amber light softened his features, and the breeze tumbled strands of dark hair about his forehead. She could see hints of silver at his temples, and she imagined having the freedom and the permission to run her fingers through it.

What would he do if she kissed him again, this time with the sun on their faces?

“But . . . why?” she asked, truly curious about his answer. She was beginning to think MacKenzie was quite possibly the most important piece of it all.

“I dinna take it for granted, you ken.” He raised his hand, sweeping it wide. “The title, the castle, any of it. We were not raised to this. My father only came to be earl by a series of unforeseen events.” His gaze pulled to hers, and she was startled to see an almost pleading look in his eyes. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that I intend this opportunity to help the town, not myself. I’ve already been given more than I need.”

Pen felt a spreading warmth in her chest. “I think I understand,” she said softly. “And I won’t mention you, if you d-do not wish me to.” At his nod of thanks, she smiled. “I only hope they appreciate what you are doing for them. You have g-gone to a great deal of trouble to impress me, arranging this room at the Blue Gander. I am looking forward to seeing it tomorrow.”

In fact, the thought of having MacKenzie alone, in a room with a bed and four walls and a lock on the door, made the breath grow short in her lungs.

She imagined he blanched somewhat. “About the Gander,” he said, shaking his head, “I think it might be better to have James show the room to you.”

Pen’s lips firmed. Why was he trying so hard to avoid her? She was admittedly inexperienced in the ways of men, but every nuanced gesture, every mangled word, told her MacKenzie was attracted to her.

“I think you are the b-better choice,” she told him. “In fact, I quite insist on it.”

Finally, he nodded, but he did not look happy about it.

She refused to feel a twinge of guilt at his clear reluctance. What would it hurt to see where this went? She would be no future burden to him, had no designs to trap him in marriage. She would go back to London with a lovely memory, and he would remain in Moraig with . . . well, with whatever men had after spending a night in the arms of a woman.

It was all a bit jumbled in her head.

And she had every intention of unjumbling it before this trip was over.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

P
enelope arrived early to stage the scene of her own seduction.