To Catch a Highlander (12 page)

"Until morning, then." He gave her a long look of triumph, amusement, and something else that left her strangely breathless. "Good night, Sophia."

A moment later, she was standing alone in the hallway, looking at his closed door.

The moment ye think ye've got a man tight in the palm o' yer hand, he'll slip out 'twixt yer fingers and leave ye wonderin' what happened.

Old Woman Nora from
Loch Lomond
to her three wee granddaughters one cold evening

"MacLean did
what
?" Red struggled to sit upright in bed.

It was early the next morning, and Sophia sat with her father in his bedchamber. She picked up the laudanum bottle and uncorked it. "Yes, MacLean did exactly that. And would have smacked his lips the entire time, if he'd been less well bred."

"That—that—that—" Red sputtered, his white nightcap slipping to one side. He forcefully plopped it back in place. "And he seemed like such a refined fellow!"

Sophia picked up a spoon from the side table and filled it with laudanum. "I was shocked, too."

Red eyed the spoon of laudanum. Every time he moved, he winced, but except for that, he was fine. "I don't want any laudanum. A man can't think when he's dosed up with that stuff."

"You had two spoonfuls last night, which is why you were so muddled. The doctor said you'd only need one today."

"I won't have any." Red sent her a hard glance. "Tell me more about MacLean. I still can't believe that he—lass, are you certain? He couldn't have eaten that horrid soup!"

"He did, and he even pretended to like it."

"Pretended?"

"No one could have liked that meal." She wrinkled her nose. "Mary was mortified."

"Mary can be mortified all she wishes; we can't have MacLean da—"

Sophia slipped the spoon into his mouth and dumped the contents.

Red choked, his face contorting, and he looked around wildly.

"Do
not
spit that out."

He glared at her, and after what appeared and sounded like a heroic effort, he swallowed the laudanum. "Blech! There! I hope ye're happy!" He grabbed up a hand cloth and began rubbing his tongue vigorously.

She calmly replaced the spoon and recorked the bottle. "As I was saying, MacLean swore that he liked every dish at dinner, even the turnips. They were so hard it almost broke my knife to cut one."

"Hm. That's very odd, it is." Red's sharp gaze rested on her face. "What about after dinner? Was he willing to play cards?"

Sophia began to clean the small table beside the bed. "Yes. We played for Mother's necklace."

Red rubbed his hands together. "I knew you could handle him, Sophie! You'll have him eating out of your hand in no time. You let him win, didn't you?"

"Let" wasn't quite how she'd put it. She
should
have "let" him win, but she hadn't been able to fight off a tremendously competitive impulse, one that had surprised her. "Of course he won. He was quite pleased with himself."

"Perfect." Red lay back against his pillows and smiled. "How I wish I could have seen you play."

"There wasn't much to see. I lost."

"Nonsense. You learn a lot about a person by the way he plays cards."

Then it was a good thing no one had seen her play.

"How many hands did you play?"

"One. It was an introductory game, so to speak." It had certainly introduced Sophia to the dangers of flirting with a practiced man.

Red regarded her for a long moment. "Ye look a mite pale this morning, lassie. Is something wrong?"

Other than the fact she hadn't slept a wink, her peaceful slumber disturbed by memories of MacLean's warm lips pressed to her naked skin, not a thing. "I'm fine," she said shortly.

Red caught her hand. "Lass, was he rude to you?"

She laughed. "Not at all."

He released her and winced. "I'm sorry if I sound like a worried old man. Must be the laudanum."

"It must be. Now, rest." Sophia busied herself smoothing the blankets.

All last night, she'd thought about the smoking gaze Dougal had sent her when he'd left her standing in the hall.

She'd gone to her room feeling shortchanged in some way.
She
should have been the one to whisk out of sight, leaving MacLean staring after her with a sense of loss, not the other way around.

Worse, in her dreams, she kept finding herself back in the library, MacLeans' warm lips on her neck. She'd wanted to go further, to feel his mouth everywhere. Once he began, she didn't wish him to stop—ever.

It had been like that with the card game, too. She hadn't wanted to stop but had wanted to wager more, risk more.

As she plumped Red's pillows, she saw that the medicine was beginning to take effect.

"I hate leaving you to handle this yourself, Sophie," he murmured.

"Don't worry." Sophia collected the empty breakfast dishes and piled them on the tray. "I can handle MacLean."

The question was whether she could handle her own unexpected desires.

"Aye," Red said through a mighty yawn. "You're nothing like your mother when it comes to gaming."

Sophia paused beside the bed. "I thought you said Mama had the gift."

"Och, she did." Red snuggled down in the sheets. "She was a natural, but she possessed a major flaw: she never knew when to quit. Once she was wound up, it'd take a brick wall to stop her."

"Is that bad?"

Red's sleepy voice came slower and slower. "No gambler wins who doesn't know when to quit."

His gentle snore filled the room.

Had she inherited Mama's fatal flaw? Sophia remembered the sharp disappointment she'd felt on losing to MacLean last night. Surely that was normal. After all, no one liked to lose.

Her mind whirling with this new information, Sophia quietly left her father's bedchamber. No matter what tendencies she had or didn't have, she was left with no choice: if she wished to win back her house, she had to fight her weaknesses. All of them.

Dougal stepped out through the terrace doors into the sun, the early-morning air nipping at his cheeks.

He buttoned his coat and wished the night hadn't been so damnably cold. His huge bedchamber had a small, badly smoking fire and a very thin blanket. And his mattress had been so lumpy that he couldn't get comfortable.

He strode out through the garden, his head woozy from lack of sleep. Still, he noticed that though the house was in poor shape, the gardens were perfect. The paths were well lined, the flower beds filled with roses and lilacs, the trees well trimmed.

He smiled darkly. His beautiful little angel of trouble must have run out of time.

As he crossed the barnyard, a wide door opened, and
Shelton
came out, leading Poseidon. The horse pranced as the groom took him to a nearby paddock and released him. As the horse raced off, the groom caught sight of Dougal and froze. "Gor! It can't be ye!"

"Well, it is."

"But it's afore
noon
!"

Dougal rammed his hands into his pockets. "Pray do not give me more of a headache than I already have."

"It's probably from the shock of bein' up so early."

"I've been up earlier than this before. I have seen many sunrises."

"That was a'cause ye
stayed
up, not a'cause ye
woke
up."

Dougal considered this. "You could be right." He yawned.

"Didn't ye sleep well, me lord?"

"No. The bed was lumpy, the fire smoked so badly I was forced to extinguish it or die, then I froze to death the rest of the night because the blanket was so thin."

"That's a shame. It was right comfortable in the tack room. I've a cot and a neat little pot-bellied stove."

Dougal sent a thoughtful look at the barn. "Can you put up another cot?"

"O' course. Only… won't it seem odd that ye're sleeping there?"

"I don't intend on telling anyone." Dougal eyed his retainer a moment. "Has the staff made you welcome?"

"Aye, and that Mary, can she cook! I've never had a better piece o' roast. But it was the apple pie as made the meal. It was flaky and sweet, all buttery, with—"

"Enough!" Dougal's stomach growled loudly. "The food I was given was not fit for consumption. Ride to town today, and fetch some foodstuffs. Some apples, tarts, a few meat pies—whatever will keep well."

"Aye, me lord. Do ye want an apple now? I've one here I was saving fer yer horse."

"Thank you." Dougal pocketed the apple.

"Not very hospitable, giving ye poor victuals and a lumpy bed."

"This is all part of their plan. Mr. MacFarlane regrets giving up his house on the gaming table, and his daughter is determined to regain it."

Shelton
's eyes narrowed. "Ye aren't goin' daffy over this female, are ye? Ye said we were leavin' yesterday, and now ye're talkin' of stayin'—even with the bad food and bed."

Dougal shook his head. "She is beautiful." Breathtakingly so. "But this is more about accepting a challenge, Miss MacFarlane wishes to play me for the house." The problem was, the delicious Sophia had only one thing to wager against it.

"Play fer the house? But ye've already won it."

"That fact doesn't hold back people as focused as the MacFarlanes." He quirked a brow. "Never fear,
Shelton
. I am determined to teach the chit a lesson. She's an impudent, outspoken slip of a girl who desperately needs to learn what's what."

"Be careful. Ye might be the one learnin'," the groom said shrewdly.

"Nonsense. I'll tame her, and then we'll be on our way."

Shelton
shook his head. "I don't know that anyone can actually tame a woman. They may
think
they can do it, but I've never seen it meself."

"I shall indeed tame the lovely Miss MacFarlane," Dougal said, unperturbed. "And I shall begin this morning. Have two horses saddled for a ride. I assume there is a decent horse for a lady?"