for you, your lands, or your people, and only your purse.”
He scoffed, and she poked him again. “And need I remind you, that you asked me for help, not the other way around.” Abby turned him about and looked over his many guests. “I tell you what, why don’t you walk up to Lady Aline and ask her to marry you? Since you’re so bloody smart, why not marry the first woman who’s shown an interest in you?”
His face turned thunderous, and Abby wondered if she’d overstepped. But damn it, he couldn’t keep being contradictory. He had to choose a path and go with it. She was only trying to help him not make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Why did he have to be such a Neanderthal?
“Very well, I’ll consider what my heart is telling me, but be warned, I don’t take nicely to being talked to so dismissively or without respect.”
“And neither do I, so from now on, we’ll not do it to each other,” Abby said, patting his arm. “I would like to help you, Aedan, but you must be willing to help yourself, as well.” Abby spied Gwen, who was gesturing to her to come across the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have mingling to do.”
Abby walked quickly toward Gwen, all the while feeling her back burn with the heat of his gaze. It was no surprise he was pissed off, but he’d pissed her off, too, so they were even. Laird or not, it was his sister’s fault she was here, and she’d be damned if she’d cower to him.
Abby hadn’t put up with such treatment in the twenty-first century, and she wouldn’t in the seventeenth, either.
Aedan took a deep breath and relaxed his fisted hands. Revelry continued, unaware of the seething temper a lass with dark brown locks and knowing eyes had brought forth in him. With a defiant tilt to her chin, she joined his sister and didn’t even look to see if he was watching.
He was watching. Couldn’t take his eyes off the bonny chit. The fact that he’d wanted to follow her across the room and berate her for her rudeness was another matter entirely. Berate her and possibly something else. Kiss the wicked mouth silent. But he couldn’t. As to why, he didn’t want to think about it, but he had asked for her help. Not the other way around.
Abigail was a woman who could help him. A woman who was strong of character, had lived a life free of restraint that he could only imagine. Having been made the laird at the young age of sixteen, he’d not dallied with the lasses like Abigail seemed to have with the boys of her time.
Of course, when he’d grown a few inches, and his body had filled out, the lasses had soon rectified the lapse. He certainly knew what to do with them now. His gaze travelled down Abigail’s form, the dress in no way hiding what delicacies were hidden beneath.
She was bonny, probably the bonniest woman he’d ever met. Her skin was flawless, not marked with childhood scars or illness. Her eyes were clear and bright as the stars, and her breasts, pert, a good handful that begged for a man’s touch.
His touch.
He ground his jaw and tore his attention elsewhere. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. She wasn’t Scottish enough, nor of his time, notwithstanding the fact she wanted to go home as soon as she may.
Her words flittered through his mind. No. His heart couldn’t be used in the decision of choosing a wife. As long as he lusted for his future wife, there wasn’t a need to be any more emotionally attached to the woman. There were plenty of marriages where such an agreement was entered into, and they still procured offspring.
He caught sight of his sister laughing at something Braxton said, her eyes alight and looking at his best swordsman with affection. She, too, would be married soon, and although she would have a marriage of love, he would not. A laird’s first and foremost role was to ensure his people were well cared for and safe. Having a wife he loved would distract him from that role. To care was dangerous.
He walked over to a servant, and giving the red-headed lass a wink, took a goblet of wine from her tray. He captured Abigail’s eye and nodded. Aye, he’d let the lass think he’d include his heart, if