pulling her to a halt. “You mentioned a proposition.”
Her lips were tight, he noticed, tight and pale. She refused to look at him, instead gazing out across the loch. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Nonsense. You didn’t walk all this way in the frigid damp to abandon your purpose.”
She snorted. “My proposition requires that ye be a gentleman with some knowledge of proper manners. ’Twas my mistake.”
Rarely had John been accused of poor manners, but the uncomfortable prickle of heat rising from his neck suggested Annie’s charge had merit. He had been rude. A natural reaction to her hoydenish ways, perhaps. Still, he didn’t like the paleness of her lips, the bruised quality to her glare.
“Perhaps I was … too plain in my speech,” he conceded.
“Perhaps ye were an arse.”
He found his lips twitching. “Perhaps I was.”
She sighed then glanced down to where he still held her elbow. For some reason, he’d been absently stroking her with his thumb.
“My bones are pure ice, John Huxley. Invite me to warm myself by yer hearth, and I’ll consider forgivin’ ye.”
He released her, bent into a deep bow, and gestured toward the castle. “My dear Miss Tulloch, won’t you join me by the fire?”
Her chin rose along with the corners of her mouth. “Very well, English. If ye insist.”
By the time they arrived back in the kitchen, he’d begun to question the wisdom of his invitation. Whether Annie meant to tempt him or not, he found her bizarrely arousing. The way her lips pursed around simple words—aboot and luik and looosin’. Or the way she touched him as casually as she might stroke a pet. Or that amused chuckle after she’d lobbed an effective insult.
God, maybe he should go for a swim. The loch was frigid this time of year.
“… is why ye need me, English. The caber toss is more about aim than distance. I ken ye think ’tis merely the liftin’ ye must master, but that’s only the beginning.”
He blinked, realizing he’d been staring at her the way a cat might watch a tasty, unsuspecting bird. Meanwhile, she pottered about his kitchen, rearranging his pans and crockery while lecturing him on how Scots prefer to heave logs.
He cleared his throat. “So, you’re offering to teach me the proper techniques for each event.”
“Aye.”
“Forgive me, but aren’t the games a male domain?”
“Aye.” She grinned over her shoulder. “And a splendid spectacle they are.”
Why her comment should make him want to grind his teeth, he couldn’t say. He rubbed a hand over his beard and shrugged off the odd resentment.
“But what ye’re really askin’ is how I ken enough to train ye. Simple. I’ve watched the MacPhersons train—and win—for nigh on twenty years.”
He nodded. Having applied her advice on hammer throwing, he’d noticed improvement in both control and distance. She knew her subject well. “And the favor you would ask in return?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she wandered into the larder he’d recently cleared and called out her displeasure. “Ye need more shelves in here. Explains why ye’re so dainty. Scarcely enough storage to keep the rats satisfied.”
“Miss Tulloch.”
She emerged shaking her head and dusting her hands. “I’ll speak to Angus. Ye should be permitted to hire a lad or two. Mayhap a maid or cook.”
“The second half of your proposition?”
At first, she avoided his gaze. But eventually, she came to stand before him. Her cheeks were flushed. The heat from the fire, perhaps. “I would have ye instruct me,” she declared.
He frowned. “In what?”
“How to be a lady.”
For a moment, he simply glared. It was one thing to continually call him “bonnie” or “dainty”—which, at six feet tall and a stone shy of two hundred pounds, he decidedly was not—or complain about his “soft Englishman’s hands.” But implying he wasn’t a man at all was going too far.
“Enough,” he uttered. Before she could smirk, he moved into her, forcing her to stumble backward. Then, he braced her lower back and turned their positions until he could bracket her against the table.
Her eyes flared as he loomed. Leaned in. Brought their mouths within inches and let her feel the difference in their sizes.
“English? Wh—what are ye—”
“I must seem rather civilized to you, Miss Tulloch.” He kept his voice low and calm, though even he could hear the darkness threaded inside.
Bewilderment crinkled her