The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,23
so unabashedly happy.
He glanced over his shoulder. He doubted anyone was within earshot, but he checked all the same. “I must apologize about last eve. It was not my intention to put you in a…ah…compromising situation.”
“I ken.” She looked directly at his eyes. Almost. “Though I’m not sorry about it at all.”
With her laugh, Albert started to run, pulling her toward the river.
Ciar followed, ready to pounce on the dog if need be. “Call him to heel!”
“Are we nearly to the shore?”
“Too bloody close to the shore!”
She pulled on the lead. “Come behind.”
But she was too late. The mongrel leaped into the water, tugging the poor shrieking lass along with him.
“Emma!” Ciar hollered, dashing into the swells, watching her falter.
With one more step, he swept her into his arms as she howled. “Are you hurt?”
The lass threw back her head and kicked her legs, laughing outrageously. “N-n-naaaaaay!”
The dog splashed around them, yipping as if he’d just caught a fish.
“I fail to see what’s so funny.” Ciar tightened his grip, raising her beyond the reach of Albert’s splashing. “You could have been completely doused.”
“But I wasn’t. Did you see us? It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.”
“Och aye, terrifying for me.”
“Oh? I thought you were a braw chieftain, afraid of nothing.”
“Aye, except young dogs hauling blind women into a raging river.”
“The current doesn’t seem bad.”
“You wouldn’t think the same if he’d pulled you all the way out to the middle. And there are rapids yonder. You could have been hurt.”
She thwacked his chest. “And here I thought you had an adventurer’s sprit.”
He gave her a look and then burst out laughing himself. Of all the men he knew, he was the most likely to go on an adventure—mayhap barring Kennan Cameron.
“See? I believe this is the most fun I’ve had since…” A wicked expression crossed her face as her teeth coyly bit her bottom lip. “Since last eve.”
Ciar glanced down. Must her face be so radiantly beautiful? God, if Janet and Robert weren’t surely watching, he’d kiss Emma again and again…and again. “Och. Fun, aye? We are standing in knee-deep water and Albert has wound the lead around my legs so tightly if I take a step we’ll both crash into the river.”
“Bad Albert.”
“He’s wagging his tail.”
“Ha!” Emma giggled again. “Whatever should we do?”
“Unwinding is the only option.” He pulled her tightly against his chest. “Are you ready?”
“To spin?”
“You want to spin, aye?” he asked, whirling in place to the sound of her jubilant howls of joy while the water dog barked and splashed.
“Leave it to you to make a simple stroll to the river complicated,” boomed a humorless voice.
Stopping, Ciar instantly recognized Grant’s deep bass. And he sounded about as amused as a vicar pontificating Sunday’s sermon.
Ciar took a step toward the shore, except his ankle was entwined with the dog’s lead. Stumbling, he cradled Emma as he twisted to protect her from hitting any rocks. Down he fell while they both hollered.
Kersplash!
Something hard jabbed him in the backside as water doused them both. Howling with laughter, Emma squirmed, her elbow smacking him in the jaw. Ciar straightened his arms, keeping her above the water. “I have you.”
“Yes, you do,” said Robert. “Far too much of her, I’m afraid.”
“Let go of the lead,” Ciar said, gaining a foothold and standing.
Emma was still laughing as he set her down on the shore. “Oh, my heavens. Naughty dog.”
“Dog?” asked Grant.
“Aye.” She twirled in place, throwing up her arms. “I love him!”
Ciar blinked for a moment, then looked to the dog, who was now standing in the water, innocently wagging his tail—albeit much slower than before. Oh, aye, the lass loved her new pet. Not Ciar, of course. “He’s a Saint John’s water dog. Should have thought of that before venturing to the river.”
Robert’s jaw twitched. “And you couldn’t keep him under control?”
“I was leading him,” said Emma. She shook her finger, though it wasn’t clear at whom. “And do not always be so overbearing, Robert. I’ll train Albert, and by the time we reach Glenmoriston, he’ll be the most obedient dog in the Highlands.”
Grant looked between them. “Well, the pair of you are soaked to the bone. You’d best—”
“Lairds!” hollered Livingstone as he ran toward them at full tilt. “Grave news.”
Ciar stepped forward, his fists jamming into his sodden hips. “What has happened?”
“It’s the queen. She’s dead. Lochiel just received word from Fort William.”
“Good God,” Ciar said, sliding his fingers over the hilt of his dirk. From here on out he’d