“Me laird,” she breathed, moving close and searching the front of his plaid until she latched onto his erection. Her eyes widened incredulously. “Oooooh, someone is in need o’ me care.”
She rose up on tiptoe to kiss him, but Greer found himself pulling back. She must have eaten onions since he’d seen her last for her breath was most unpleasant. And her face was dirty, he noted. She had dark smudges on her chin, her cheek and her forehead. Her hair was none too clean either, not flowing soft around her cheeks like Lady Saidh’s, but hanging limp to her shoulders. The only good thing was that the combination was having a calming effect on his body. Rather than a log fit for the fire, he now had half that and still shrinking.
“What’s the matter?” Milly asked with a frown.
“Nothing,” he assured her, gently disengaging her hand from his body. “There is something I need to do is all. We’ll talk later, lass.”
Greer patted her shoulder and then headed to the stables to retrieve his horse. A nice dip in the loch sounded just the thing to finish cooling his blood. It would also have the added benefit of cleaning him up in case he was as filthy as Milly. After years of marching dusty trails, sleeping in muddy clearings, and tossing up the skirts of equally filthy lightskirts and camp followers as a warrior for hire, Greer was used to being dirty. But things had changed. He no longer needed to wield his sword to earn a meal and a place to sleep. He was a laird now with a castle, a bed and a bath. Perhaps he should start using that bath, sleeping in his bed, and acting like the laird he now was. Perhaps then he could woo and win a lady wife as sweet and delicate as Lady Saidh.
“Bloody hell!” Saidh muttered, yanking the brush viciously through her hair. She was not a morning person, and the love-hate relationship with her hair was due probably partially to her lack of patience when she woke. Actually, she supposed, her relationship with her hair was mostly hate with little room for love. In truth, she’d be happy to cut it all off if it wouldn’t shock and horrify everyone from her brothers to the priest. Although, she supposed her brothers might not care. Most of them would have shaved their heads ages ago if Aulay wouldn’t have a fit about it, and for the same reason. They had all inherited their mother’s completely unmanageable hair—a thick, nasty, curly mess that seemed to knot the moment she finished unknotting it with the brush she was using.
Sighing with vexation, she gave up and tossed her brush across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor with a clatter that she ignored as she quickly began to lace her gown. She really should have a maid to tend to all of this, and in the not too distant past she’d had one, but shortly after leaving Sinclair last year, her maid, who had also been her nursemaid before that, had taken ill and died. Aulay had not bothered to replace her, and Saidh had not asked him to. Partly because she had known and loved the woman for so long that she was irreplaceable, and partly because she was relieved not to have a maid harassing her at every turn, chasing her with a hairbrush, and grousing at her to wash her face, take a bath, and “Dear God, at least try to be a lady.”
Saidh was not a good lady. She was not the most horrible one either. She could talk like one and walk like one when the need arose, but the truth was, she’d rather not. She’d grown up with seven brothers who had treated her like just another boy, and after having enjoyed that freedom for most of her life, she tended to resent losing it to ladylike ways when in public. That was why she didn’t mind bypassing all the feasts and celebrations they were invited to. In fact, Fenella’s first wedding was the last such public occasion she’d attended, and she’d gotten herself in trouble with the drinking game she and her brothers had held. Her mother had lectured her about behavior befitting a lady all the way home to Buchanan.
Saidh sighed as she finished with her lacings. That had been the last lecture her mother had given her before she’d died. She’d insisted she shouldn’t join in drinking games, shouldn’t share ribald jokes with her brothers, and shouldn’t be wearing that “bloody” sword her brother Aulay had paid the blacksmith to make for her.
That thought drew her gaze to the chest at the foot of the bed where the specially made sword rested nestled in amongst her clothes. Saidh had not worn it since her mother’s death, but wondered if she might not now. She wanted to go for a ride down to the loch, and it did seem that if she were going alone she should take the sword with her for protection. Especially with Montrose Danvries still here. If the man caught her alone she would not put it past him to try to punish her for kneeing him so efficiently in the ballocks. By her guess, the fact that she was Murine’s friend would matter little to him. The man was a pig and Saidh felt nothing but regret that the girl was now going to have to live with the bastard in England. She also didn’t understand how the late Laird Carmichael could neglect to make provisions for her in his will. No dower, nothing. He’d left the land and title to some cousin, and left her to the mercies of her half brother.
Shocking, really, Saidh decided grimly, especially since Murine had worshipped the man. She’d loved her father dearly, and mourned his passing with every bit of flesh in her body. Murine did not even resent him for not taking care of her in his will, saying only that he probably had thought she would be married and well cared for by the time he died.