Fenella sniffled and nodded and curled up on the bed, but when Saidh straightened to move away, she caught her hand, her eyes almost feverish with panic. “Ye’ll be here when I wake up, will ye no’? Ye’ll no’ leave me?”
Saidh hesitated. Now that she was sure that Fenella had not killed her husbands, and she was sure, she would have rather gone on home than stay. But she couldn’t say that to Fenella. The woman was obviously desperate for a friendly face. Besides, if she didn’t stay to see her through this, the woman was likely to blurt her confessions about Hammish to someone else. Fenella needed her here.
“Aye. I’ll be below stairs when ye wake. I’ll no’ leave MacDonnell,” she assured her solemnly.
“Thank ye, Saidh. Ye ha’e always been there when I needed ye,” Fenella said huskily.
Saidh merely nodded and then slipped free of her grip and headed for the door, murmuring, “Sleep well.”
“Of course, we shall leave in the morn. Howbeit, ’tis up to ye as to whether Saidh leaves with us. It would be little trouble to escort her home to Buchanan if ye wish her gone, Lady MacDonnell. It is not far out of our way and ’tis the least we can do when you were kind enough to put us up on our way to collect Murine and now on our way back.”
Greer just managed not to roll his eyes at Danvries’s words. As far as he could tell, the man had left Tilda little choice but to put him and his men up either time. On his way north, the man had stopped, claiming he’d heard the news of Allen’s death on his journey and had felt compelled to stop and offer his condolences since he had suffered a loss as well.
Of course, Tilda had been touched and sympathetic to the loss of Laird Carmichael. Misery loves company, after all. But once the lady had retired and Montrose Danvries had been in his cups, he’d shown that he had little love for his stepfather and held nothing but bitterness and resentment for the man. Mostly, it seemed because the Laird had not left Carmichael along with all its riches to him. Instead, the title of laird and the castle and land had gone to an actual Carmichael and a Scot.
Imagine that, Greer thought dryly and knew the greedy, grasping Englishman didn’t care about the title or the people and had only been interested in the wealth he would have gained. No doubt Laird Carmichael had known that too.
“Oh, ’tis no’ me place to decide if she stays or no’. Greer is laird here now,” Tilda said quietly.
Greer stiffened at the words. It was the first time his aunt had actually deferred to him. Since he’d arrived she had been acting as lady of the manor and deciding everything as if she still ran MacDonnell. And, much to Alpin’s disgust, Greer had let her. He wasn’t sure why that upset Alpin, and couldn’t even actually say why he had, or why the fact that she was now passing the baton of leadership on to him alarmed him, but he could see that he was not the only one surprised. If he were to judge by Danvries’s face, the man had had no idea that the title and land had passed to him now. For some reason, his dismay made Greer want to smile.
Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Greer glanced toward the stairs to see a woman descending. Short in stature, and curvy all over under the dark green gown she wore, she seemed almost to float down the stairs rather than actually tread on them. His gaze slid over the cascade of wild, dark curls around her heart-shaped face, and then found bow lips and bright green eyes and he felt his breath leave him.
The woman very much resembled the phantom lover he’d imagined in his youth as he’d lain abed at night, fiddling with himself under the furs. It brought memories to his mind of imagining her riding astride him, her head thrown back in ecstasy, long hair tumbling over her shoulders and half covering her bobbing breasts as he’d thrust up into her once, twice and then a final third time before his excitement had outstripped him. At that age, even his imagined lovemaking had been swiftly over. Fortunately, he’d improved much since then. At least Greer liked to think so. However, watching his dream woman reach the bottom of the stairs and start across the hall toward them, he wondered if he would do much better with her in the flesh than he had with her in his boyhood dreams.
“Here is Lady Saidh now.”
Greer’s eyes narrowed at his aunt’s announcement. So this was the woman who was kin to Fenella and who Montrose Danvries had used as an excuse to stop on his journey home. And he was to decide whether she should be allowed to stay, or go.
“She stays,” he growled and stood abruptly to leave the table.
“Greer? Where are ye going?” his lady aunt asked with surprise. She also sounded a little wounded that he would abandon her, but Greer didn’t slow. He couldn’t slow. He was now sporting a log under his plaid bigger than the one Milly had raised in the woods. If just looking at the woman caused that, he shuddered to think what her actually speaking might do to him. He needed to get away . . . and take care of the beast poking at his plaid. Maybe Milly could help with that. He could take her from behind, close his eyes and pretend it was Lady Saidh Buchanan he was thrusting into.
Just the thought made his cock harden further, pulling the skin painfully tight and squeezing his balls uncomfortably. Hell, he thought as he rushed out of the keep. Mayhap he should have said nay to the woman staying. She was a lady after all, not someone he could use for his pleasure and send on her way like the camp followers and Millys of the world.
Speaking of Milly, he thought wryly as she suddenly appeared before him, hands on hips, breasts thrust forward and a leering smile on her face.