A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,93

quickly through the scullery, as Bess wandered back to her guests.

Callum hadn’t a moment to set the man straight.

“She’s a bit like Carrie,” he said. “Though I’m guessing you already know. Here we thought you’d been laid six-feet under, and all the while you were out hunting for a wife. It all makes sense,” he said. “Being she’s a Sassenach. You cunning devil!” he said. “Just like yer Da. In fact, I wouldn’t be too surprised if Angus showed up here tonight as well.”

Callum felt the proclamation like a punch to his gut. There was no way his father was still alive. He was dead as the iron nails in Carrie’s bedroom door—dead as his heart had been for going on six months, until it was replaced by this bone-deep fury he couldn’t shake.

To his utter dismay, he could scarcely keep up with a sixty year old man, but Pitagowan didn’t notice, or was too polite to say so. He pulled Callum before Carrie’s door, shoved in a ready key, then pushed Callum inside, barking with laughter.

“I’ll send in a hot bath,” he said, winking. “Looks like you need it. Oh! And something to eat.” He laughed again, as he gave the other occupant of the room a raised thumb and then pointed to Callum and turned about with another chortle. “Love me a good miracle,” he said, and then happily closed the door with an exuberant, “Ta ta!”

Chapter Three

“Ta ta?”

The sight that greeted Callum as he entered Carrie’s room—certainly not Carrie—effectively silenced any protest he might have uttered. A lovely, tawny-haired beauty sat wide-eyed on the bed, in little more than a delicate chemise.

The firelight caught the hint of red in her tresses, giving her pale, golden hair a soft, burnished hue. Her clearly defined cheeks bloomed with color, and he couldn’t help himself; fascinated, he watched the blush spread down her long, delicate neckline, into her décolletage.

All his physical pain was forgotten, if only for the instant, and he was slow to remember his tongue as John closed the door behind him.

“I beg pardon,” the woman said, rising from the bed. “There must be some mistake. This is my room!” And then she suddenly cocked her head, her golden brows colliding, as she asked, “Did I hear him say he would draw you a bath?”

Callum nodded, bemused.

“Insufferable! He told me there was no one available to draw one for me! And what’s more, he insisted I eat out in that tavern with that randy lot of men; therefore, I was quite prepared to go to bed without supping.”

She was English, by her accent, of that there was no doubt.

Wellborn, too, he decided.

And spoiled.

Callum blinked as she crossed her arms, her silken chemise entirely too revealing as she stood before the hearth fire. In her pique, she mustn’t even realize, and God knew, it had been far too long since Callum had even seen a woman of her ilk, much less stood before one half-dressed. Swallowing convulsively, he lifted a hand to cover his eyes, as though to shield himself from the bright light of the sun—and that she was, bright as a sweltering noon-day sun, burning him up with her too-close proximity. No matter that she was the one blushing, Callum felt the heat of embarrassment creep over him as well—so bloody hot that, for a moment, he feared the return of his fever. “I-I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant to turn and go, but she thrust a hand against the curve of her hip and glowered fiercely, shocking him with her pronouncement—not to mention, that bold way she puffed up her chest, revealing the soft moons of her bosom rising above her neckline.

“I am to wed Lord MacKinnon,” she apprised him. “Do not doubt he’ll have word of this from me, and both you and that tonsured innkeeper will have the devil to pay!”

Callum blinked thrice, trying to make sense of her words.

She was to marry who?

Not his father for certain, not him, and certainly it couldn’t be young Lachlan, who’d only last year sprouted hairs on his bollocks.

“Mind you, I gave that man half a crown for this room,” she was saying, “and if anyone should be sharing this room with me, it should be my chaperone, not you!”

Again, he blinked. “You’re tae wed the MacKinnon?” he asked dubiously.

“Lord MacKinnon,” she corrected him. “Need I remind—”

“Nay, my lady. You need remind me of anything,” Callum said furiously, and, with the spell suddenly broken, he limped