The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,5
it was she who truly ran the clan. The whispers had also claimed her father was too addled with age to handle the duties of a chieftain. Sutherland barely controlled his amusement at that idiocy. Chieftain Greyloch was definitely in full possession of his faculties. Rumors of his weaknesses were false and probably a sham propagated by the chief himself out of craftiness. So, what of the rumor about Lady Sorcha’s assistance with controlling the clan?
“Twenty percent,” Sutherland said in a tone that dared her to argue. Alexander had given him permission to go as high as fifty, but they didn’t have to know that—at least, not yet.
She gave him a look that said he could go straight to hell. “Preposterous! Ye mean to have yer horses clip our pastures clean and only offer us twenty percent? Nay, I say! Keep yer beasts on yer own land or risk getting shot.”
He warmed even more to the game, daring to shift so close the delicious heat of her caressed his thigh. “I am quite open to negotiation, m’lady. What do ye propose?”
Her gaze dipped to the lack of space between them, but she held her ground—even dared to scoot closer, so the length of her fine long leg pressed firmly against his. Damnation. The woman was trying to kill him. He resettled his arms across his lap to conceal his admiration that was growing stiffer by the minute.
“Sixty-five percent,” she said, pausing for a sip of her wine. Lowering her glass, she graced him with a calculating smile. “Whilst horses and cattle graze in different ways, the herds will have to be managed carefully to prevent stripping the land bare and rendering it useless for either of them. Not only will we be sharing our land, but it will also take more of our herders to ensure the animals are moved properly from glen to glen without issue.”
“Forty percent.” Maybe if he made her negotiate longer, she would move closer still—Lord Almighty, what he wouldn’t give to get her into his lap.
She didn’t blink those gorgeous eyes of hers that had shifted to a piercing golden shade rather than the earlier hazel green. “Seventy percent.”
“Daughter!”
Chieftain Greyloch barked out the word, but Lady Sorcha held up a finger to silence him without breaking her gaze from Sutherland’s. “What say ye Master MacCoinnich?”
“I say ye’re going the wrong way, m’lady.” Emboldened by her daring, he took her hand and lifted it for a kiss. “Fifty percent and the finest colt born to the herd this spring belongs to ye personally. I shall see to its training myself so ye’ll have a fine new mount to ride when it comes of age.” He allowed his lips to linger on the silkiness of her skin a bit longer to help her decide.
“Fifty percent and my pick of the foals born to the herd every year ye make use of our lands. Be it a colt or not that I choose, one foal comes to Greyloch stables each year. What say ye?” With a smug look, she pulled her hand free of his.
“Fifty percent, yer pick of the foals every year, and a kiss to seal the bargain.” He couldn’t resist. Her full lips looked as delectable and succulent as fresh berries. Damn, he was starving for a wee taste.
“Done, sir.” She brushed a glancing kiss across his cheek as she rose and hurried to take a stance beside her father’s chair. “A fair and suitable agreement. Do ye not agree, Da?”
Chieftain Greyloch beamed with a self-satisfied grin. “Well done, daughter. Shall we drink on it, sirs? Then I shall have our own solicitor draft the document for yer clan solicitor’s perusal, aye?”
“Not yet,” Sutherland said as he slowly stood. The woman might think herself clever with that harmless peck on his cheek, but he wasn’t about to let her off that easily. “Our bargain isna sealed as yet, m’lady. There is still the matter of the kiss.”
“Ye received yer kiss, sir. On yer cheek.” Victory sparkled in her eyes. The lass was so pleased with herself, she could barely stand still.
“Nay, m’lady. That wee pecking was little more than a greeting to a friend or a brother.” He took a step closer. “I am neither. I am a man looking to seal an agreement once papers are drawn and signatures are rendered.” He moved forward again until he stood close enough to take her in his arms. “Or are ye afraid?” he asked softly.