Hit Me With Your Best Scot (Wild Wicked Highlanders #3) - Suzanne Enoch Page 0,65
lads. I’ll nae stomp ye.”
“Are ye safe now, Niall?” Aden asked.
“Aye. I reckon so. As long as the buffoon there doesnae say anything else insulting about Amelia-Rose.”
“As a separate point of interest, then,” Aden commented, releasing him and returning to the scattered breakfasts on the table, “I danced with the lass last night, and she explained to me that Niall thought her name too long to say, so he called her adae for short. Adae meaning ‘rose.’”
“And?” their mother prompted, every ounce of her alert and angry and likely expecting more trouble from her sons.
“Adae doesnae mean ‘rose.’ It means ‘trouble,’” Aden supplied.
“Did ye tell her that?” Niall asked. Damn it, that could lead to some complications. He would have told her himself, when the moment seemed right.
Aden snorted. “I’m nae an idiot. I nodded and smiled and stepped on her toe. Gently.”
“That’s bonny, then.” Niall looked over at the countess, who was already gazing at him. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“So I’m to give in, am I? Pretend the lot of you didn’t embarrass me and poor Amelia-Rose? Pretend that you didn’t have an ulterior motive in escorting her about town, and that Coll never had any intention of honoring his word?”
Coll back pushed to his feet. “I didnae give my word. And I dunnae trust ye to choose me a wife who willnae do to me what ye did to Da. Ye’re holding us hostage, màthair, and we’re—most of us are, anyway—trying to escape.” He sent a pointed glance at Niall. “If I sign my name to a paper, I’ll honor it. I’ve nae done so. If he wants her, he can have her. Though ye’re nae a viscount, Niall, so ye may find she doesnae want ye.”
The countess turned her back for a moment. She nodded, though at what Niall had no idea, before she faced them again. “You’ve found a loophole, then. Very well. I will accept Niall as a substitute for Coll.”
“Thank the devil and his wee pointy hooves,” the oldest MacTaggert grumbled.
“There is no loophole in the other part of the agreement, however,” she went on. “You, and you”—she pointed at Coll and Aden—“are to wed English ladies. I will have something binding you down here, even if it isn’t me.”
“I’m taking Eloise and her beau to luncheon,” Aden stated, pushing his plate away once more and standing. “I’ll ask her to point me at one.”
“I’ll go with ye.” Coll headed out of the room, Aden on his heels and advising him to change out of his bloody cravat and not to pummel Eloise’s betrothed.
“Coll,” Niall called after him, and his oldest brother turned around.
“What?”
“Ye and I still have a disagreement.”
The viscount arched an eyebrow. “Nae, we dunnae,” he countered. “If ye’d told me ye liked the lass, neither of us would be bloody right now.” The two MacTaggerts left the room for the stairs and Eloise’s bedchamber.
Francesca uprighted one of the remaining chairs and sat in it as the servants scattered again. “You.”
Niall went after his last piece of sausage. “Make yer agreement with Mrs. Baxter, or dunnae. I ken I’m nae lofty enough to please that dragon. I want Amelia-Rose Hyacinth Baxter. If she’ll have me, I mean to take her. There’s nae else about it that concerns me.”
“Niall, this isn’t the Highlands. It’s not about physical ability or determination. There are bloodlines, titles, ambition, so many—”
“And who were ye to marry before ye met Da?” he cut in, standing. “I’m accustomed to keeping the peace,” he added, moving for the door. “This nonsense with Coll and my lass nearly … If nae for the fate of Aldriss Park I’d have been going after my own brother even before they parted company last night. Now that kin’s nae involved, though, I find I’m nae feeling particularly peaceful.” Niall stopped in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “That’s yer warning.”
As Niall left the small dining room, Francesca gestured for Smythe to pour her a cup of tea. Oh, she remembered quite well who she had planned to wed before Angus MacTaggert rode into London. She hadn’t been engaged yet, but she and Lord Peter Fenwill had had an understanding. She’d enjoyed Peter’s company, thought they were well suited temperamentally, and that while he would likely never inherit his father’s marquisdom, with her money they would have a comfortable, respectable life.
Angus MacTaggert hadn’t cared about any of that. And after she’d set eyes on the handsome Highlander and heard how passionately he’d spoken