My Highland Laird - J.L. Langley Page 0,125
was in a meeting with Nate and my uncle all morning.” Dalton reached out and flipped the canvas the other way. When Bannon tried to restore it to its proper position, Dalton slapped his hand away. “This really is shit.”
Snorting, Bannon gave up and stuck his brush in the glass of turpentine on the table by his easel. He did it with a little too much force, and the liquid splashed a few drops on the table. “What do you want? Did Blaise send you?”
His brother had been bothering him for the last several days, trying to get him out of his mood, as Blaise called it. Blaise couldn’t seem to understand that Bannon didn’t want to socialize; he just wanted to paint. Painting made him feel….
Horrible. It’s giving us way too much time to think.
“No, he did not. He’s at Parliament, working on his orphanage bill. I actually brought you something from my meeting, but now I’m debating giving it to you.”
He didn’t want whatever Dalton brought, unless it was peace and quiet, and somehow he doubted that. “Maybe you should go see if he’s available for lunch.”
“No, I think my time is much better spent here with you.”
Sighing, Bannon ran a hand through his hair. “You are very annoying.”
“So I’ve been told. But you see, here is the thing. You’ve been moping around since you came back, and it’s making Blaise upset. It’s making your parents upset, and it’s making me upset. I don’t like seeing my family brooding. So I’m here to do something about it. Unlike my consort and your parents, I’m not going to just pat you on your head and make all the hard decisions for you so you’ll feel better. If you want something, galaxy forbid, you are going to have to commit and go after it this time.”
The words slammed into him like a brick wall. Was that what happened? Did his family try to pamper him and make his decisions for him because he pouted? Did he force them to it to protect himself? Oh my galaxy! He couldn’t breathe; this damned cravat was choking him. He tugged at it under his smock, loosening it.
“I want to go back to Skye.” The words came out in a harsh whisper, and he wasn’t even sure whether he said them to Dalton or himself. He missed Ciaran.
His father had been right; he should have given Ciaran a chance. He should have argued it out. Instead he’d done what he always did. He ran. He could see it so clearly now. No wonder his family coddled him and didn’t respect him; he never stood up to them. Just like he hadn’t stood up to Ciaran. He’d just gotten mad, clammed up, and taken matters into his own hands.
Dalton stepped in front of him and gripped both his hands on Bannon’s shoulders. “Why do you want to go back to Skye?”
Bannon didn’t even bother looking up. He just stared down at Dalton’s polished Hessians on the paint-splattered tarp and his own bare feet. He grinned and wiggled his toes. He’d refused to let Louie browbeat him into a pair of boots this morning. It was his one act of defiance. “I miss Ciaran.”
“I thought you were mad at him for not listening to you?” Dalton gave him a little shake, making Bannon look up at him. He really did like his brother-in-law, but the man was… exasperating.
“I was… I am, but I shouldn’t have run away.”
Dalton smiled. “Ah, I think we are getting somewhere. Now would you like to have what I brought you?”
Bannon frowned at him. “Now you are coddling me.”
Cuffing him on the cheek, Dalton released his shoulders and chuckled. “Not at all. You should know by now, I don’t coddle.” He turned away and headed for the door. As he gripped the doorknob, he turned back and gave Bannon his very best rakish smile and said, “The painting really is shit. Time to put an end to your blue period.” He opened the door and walked out. Without shutting it and without….
“Dalton, what did you bring—” Bannon gasped and blinked. “Ciaran?”
Ciaran stood in the doorway Dalton had just vacated, like a mirage. A Highlander mirage. He wore a crisp white lawn shirt, the MacKay plaid, and new boots. There was a pouch of some sort around his waist, hanging down the front of his kilt, and a sword handle stuck out behind his back. Even cleaned up, he looked fierce and… beautiful.
Bannon blinked, convinced he was seeing things. Ciaran would never leave his clan. He was…. “The council made you leave Lochwood?”
A grin flirted with Ciaran’s lips. “Nae. I told them they willnae be dictating tae me any longer.”
“Then you are still chieftain?”
“Aye.”
Bannon’s stomach swirled with nervous energy, trying to decide if this visit was a good thing or bad.
Don’t just stand there, you ninny! Go to him!
He wanted so badly to listen to Timothy and run and throw himself into Ciaran’s arms, but he couldn’t seem to make his feet work. Could things really be this easy?
For several moments he and Ciaran just stared at each other, frozen in place, just taking each other in.
Finally Ciaran walked forward. Slowly he raised his arm and held out his hand.
Bannon stared at it for several seconds, then reached up and placed his hand in Ciaran’s. Just like that, the awkwardness faded, and that familiar sense of rightness settled in his stomach.
Ciaran pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him, and buried his face against Bannon’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time. After that, Bannon couldn’t think at all for the feelings surging within him. He couldn’t believe Ciaran was really here. He inhaled the scent of fresh heather and crisp clean air. The scent of Skye. He wrapped Ciaran tighter, not wanting to ever let go. Gripping Ciaran’s face, Bannon pulled him closer and planted a kiss on his mouth. Ciaran did not disappoint. He kissed right back. They lost themselves in each other until they couldn’t breathe, then stopped for air.
Reaching up, Ciaran pulled something out of Bannon’s hair. “Ye have paint….”
Bannon chuckled and looked down at himself. He must look a fright. “I haven’t been myself lately.”
“Oh?” One dark brow arched.
He shook his head. “I should have stayed and fought with you. I should have yelled and ranted and raved. You were wrong.” He was not going to back down. “I told you Captain Kindros would come.”
“Aye, ye did, and if ye come with me tae Skye, I canna promise I’ll always do what ye want, but I promise I’ll always listen.”
Those were the most beautiful words Bannon had ever heard. He kissed Ciaran again.
“Och, but I missed the two of ye.”
The two…? “What? Me and Louie?”
That smile got bigger. “Nae. Though I missed Louisa tae, but I meant that I missed ye—” Ciaran leaned back and kissed his lips once and then again. “—and Timothy. I love ye… both of ye.”
On second thought… those were the most beautiful words Bannon had ever heard. “We love you too!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.L. Langley said her first words at six months of age. By the time she was a year old, she was talking in complete sentences and, as most of her family and friends will tell you, she hasn’t shut up since. After becoming an accomplished motormouth, J.L. set out to master other avenues of self-expression, including art, and dance.
She attended the University of Texas, where she majored in art, and worked as a dance instructor on the side. Her love of artistic expression in dance landed her a career in which she taught and performed for over twenty-five years. After marriage to her junior high school sweetheart and the birth of their children, J.L. decided to try her hand at writing. To date, she has several successful novels and a handful of novellas to her credit.
She lives in Texas, where she was born and raised, with her real life hero, their rowdy two boys, two even rowdier German Shepherds and ten goldfish, one of which is named Jaws. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found with her nose in a book, appreciating the communication skills of other writers.
Learn at www.jllangley.com
BOOKS BY J.L. LANGLEY
Sci-Regency series
My Fair Captain
The Englor Affair
My Regelence Rake
Diplomatic Relations
My Highland Laird
With or Without series
Without Reservations (coming soon)
With Caution (coming soon)
Without Abandon (coming soon)
With Love (coming soon)
Without Secrets (coming soon)
Stand Alone Titles
His Convenient Husband
One Good Favor
Anthologies
Shifting Sands