To Conquer a Scot - Tamara Gill Page 0,41

would, after all, only turn out to be nothing but desire, a passing lust brought on by being chaste for too long.

Aline smiled at him, and he headed toward her. It was time he listened to the lass from the future and secured his own in the past. No more desiring things that would never be his. The bonny Grant lass sidled up to him, and he whispered how pretty she looked.

She tittered up at him, and he supposed she was very beautiful, if not a little too sure of the fact. And if she proved herself in the arts befitting the station of laird’s wife, then he’d marry her, as soon as any other.

After all, what did it matter, as long as the woman warmed his bed, produced heirs, could sew, and make order of his home? What difference did it make if his chosen was vain? There wasn’t a consequence for that.

Aedan sat chewing the game bird Cook had covered in bread crumbs accompanied with an assortment of hot, steaming vegetables, and it tasted like cow dung in his mouth. Aline, seated beside him, kept brushing her breast against his arm in an attempt to seduce him, and normally he’d take pleasure in the flirting banter of the lass, but not tonight. This evening, his attention kept snapping to Abigail, deep in conversation with Black Ben. Their laughter, the guests around them laughing and enjoying themselves more than he, was starting to grate on his nerves.

He’d never wanted to smash the skull of his closest ally and friend like he did right at this very moment. In his wisdom, he’d changed the seating arrangements and ensured Abigail was placed in the main hall, beneath the laird’s table, to dine with his clansmen, like the commoner she was. He hadn’t thought Ben would be only too pleased to take a seat beside her.

As for Aline, seated next to him for what seemed too long already, she played the role of future laird’s wife very well, gloating over his people, smiling smugly at Abigail whenever she could. The crowing actions of the lass made him loathe her. She would never do, and it had been a mistake to allow her to believe she did.

He was a fool.

“Thank ye again for having me join ye tonight, Aedan. I so like the company of my equals.”

He raised his brow and took a sip of wine. “’Tis my pleasure. I’m honored to have yer company.” Gwen, seated beside him, scoffed and tried to hide her reaction with a cough. Throwing her a glare, he took another sip of wine and hoped Aline hadn’t heard her.

“I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I love riding.”

The way she said “riding” gave him pause and he caught her eye, not missing the seductive tease hidden in their dark depths. Has this woman, too, slept with a man and knows of the delights a couple can have together? He nodded. “Aye, a ride about the lands will be good for the ladies of the house. Ye be sure to let me know how it goes.”

“Are ye not coming then?” She frowned; her bottom lip pouting a little with the knowledge the men wouldn’t be joining them. “I didn’t think we’d be unaccompanied.”

“Ye won’t be. I’ll have men with ye to ensure your safety, but there are clan matters I must attend to that would only bore the womenfolk, so best to keep ye happy and occupied.”

Aline made a whining sound, and Aedan knew in that moment he could never marry the lass. He wanted a biddable wife, not someone who would grate on his patience after only a few hours. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a slight thumping above his eyes.

“Well, I’m sure that’s appropriate, then. And, of course, I’ll have Gwen and your pleasant houseguest Abigail to keep me company.”

She paused, her hand coming to sit on his knee. He stilled.

“What a shame it is that the poor lass is so unfortunate with her looks. Why, I believe you’ll find it almost impossible to marry her off to anyone, unless she’s blessed with a fortune.”

Aedan ground his teeth, hating that the viperish words were spoken out of jealousy. Abigail Cross was the last woman he’d ever call unfortunate looking, and that Aline made such a rude, untrue statement only made the beautiful lass seated beside him more ugly than a rotting corpse. “’Tis luck that it’ll not be you then who’ll be saddled with her.”

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