“Well, he’s a right git sometime.” He wanted her to smile back at him, but so far that was a lost cause. He’d keep trying, though, because he expected a smile on that face would make a lad’s heart stop. “More a Sassenach than a Scot term, but that’s the advantage of being a world traveler. You can mash the languages together. All right, then, no more putting it off. Since you gave me such a pretty tale, I’m going tae give you a romantic one. Brace yourself, because I’m going tae sing it.”
She probably had the wisdom to object, but before she could, he’d already put his own quarter in, so to speak. Instead of the bawdy song he’d promised, he sang her the ballad of Tam Lin. Because his singing voice actually did make a bear’s indigestion sound like birdsong, he gave her and the flight attendant respites, adding his own commentary in between the verses.
“‘Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet, And why breaks thou the wand? Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh, Withoutten my command?’
“And being a saucy wench with her own mind,” he added, “because aren’t they all? She replies . . .
“‘Carterhaugh, it is my ain, My daddie gave it me; I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh, And ask no leave at thee.’”
The attractive flight attendant gave him a smile. Another time, he’d have taken advantage of it, but his first duty was to his charge. Plus, Alanna was intriguing enough to have his full attention. She noted the woman’s interest, though, and cataloged his response. Most servants didn’t miss such details, part self-preservation, part anticipation of their vampire’s need for intel, but it was obvious to him that she took it to a higher level, her attention honed razor sharp.
According to Brian, her dedication to her training was what had saved her. Stephen had expected resistance to his invasion, and she hadn’t obliged him. She’d fought to stay alive, but she hadn’t fought what he was doing to her, and that had preserved her mind, like wheatgrass bending down before a storm wind. But it had taken a hard battering, as if she’d been hanging onto a cliff edge, stoically enduring a maniac stomping on her fingers, refusing to let go as he crushed her bones with steel-toed boots.
She’d obeyed the laws of pure servitude, believing that her Master had the right to do as he would with her, except that a higher power—in the form of the Council—had trumped his claim on the one issue of her staying alive. It showed a remarkable will, for a lass who claimed to have none of her own.
When he finished the ballad, her lips curved politely. “Thank you. I need to take my medication now. Will you excuse me?”
“Would you like me to do the injection? I’ve a gentle hand for it.”
She paused, already half rising. It was clear she wanted an escape from scrutiny, but her face went back to that mask. “You don’t need to trouble yourself. I can do it.”
“No trouble for me. But if you prefer to do it, that’s fine.”
Sitting back down, she opened the case Lord Brian had given to her and proferred it to him in that same distantly courteous manner. She didn’t in fact prefer him to do it; she was erring on the side of what his desires might be.
Leaning forward in his seat, splaying his knees to accommodate her closed ones, Niall put his hands on hers on the case, closed and latched it again. “Muirnín, take a little time without me gawping at you. There’s a small sitting area beyond the lavatory, a couch. Have a nap or whatever ye desire. It’s fine by me.”
Her eyes frosted, but she rose like a wooden mannequin. Swearing softly, he caught her waist and rose. “Okay, now I’ve insulted ye. You’re going to have to tell me what it is I’ve done wrong so I dinnae keep doing it.”