A Common Name #2
Astonished at his audacity, she drew back. “Do ye think to insult my honor?”
He blinked, startled, and his grin turned a shade rueful.
“Ach, ‘tis not what I meant, ye wee fool,” he replied with a short laugh. “Though I daresay such a bonny lass as yourself caught the eye of an earl’s brother, no? I’m told one shares the same name as myself.
” He chuckled again, apparently finding that strangely amusing before adding, “But then, ‘Alec’ ‘tis a common enough name. My own cousin at yonder table is an Alexander as well.” With a grin, he nodded at the man he’d addressed as ‘Taran’ just moments before.
The highlander raised an oddly censorious brow.
Shrugging him off, Alec turned back to Sorcha and lowered his lashes to say, “But I hear this Alec of Lainshaw canna overlook a bonny face, and now that ye mention it, I fancy he canna be disregarding ye now, can he?”
The men at the table snorted.
Sorcha eyed him warily, unprepared for his intense interest. “Aye then, if ye must know, Alec will be sore angry should ye cause me distress,” she lied with conviction, drawing upon her meagre knowledge of chambermaids engaging in illicit relationships with their masters.
“He protects what he cherishes.” Let him think the man was her lover.
She didn’t care. Not if it got her to Lainshaw safely.
Alec’s eyes crinkled at the sides. “Aye, he is the jealous sort, from what I hear,” he admitted with a crooked smile, and then planting his face close to hers, asked, “And surely, he’s one to acknowledge I should be rewarded for my trouble, aye?”
Was it her imagination, or was his tone a shade suggestive? Slightly perturbed, she struck a chilling tone. “Aye, I’m sure he’ll reward ye handsomely.”
The man’s eyes lit, and he gasped as if overcome with delight, his carved lips forming an ‘o’ of anticipation. “Handsomely, aye?” he asked with a roguish grin.
It was strange. She hadn’t thought him the particularly greedy kind.
Inwardly dismayed—and inexplicably disappointed—she drew back, repeating uneasily, “I assure ye, once I’m safely in Lainshaw—and Gellie as well—ye’ll get your due.
” That was true enough. He wouldn’t be getting a penny.
And with Lady Margaret leaving her Montgomery husband soon, she likely—and hopefully—wouldn’t be staying at Lainshaw long herself.
Alec’s dark lashes dropped over his eyes even more to view her through two calculating slits. “This Alec of Lainshaw must hold ye in high esteem. Treasures ye so?” He paused before dipping his voice lower to add, “’Tis odd he’d love a Cunningham though. They’re a treacherous lot.”
“Alec,” Taran admonished coolly from the table. “Should I appeal to your good sense now?”
Sorcha hardly heard him. The Montgomery’s alarming greed coupled with the belittling inflection of her name jolted her to her feet. Planting her hands on her hips, she glowered down at him still on bended knee.
“And what would a mere Montgomery understand of honor and loyalty now?” The words tumbled out in a heated flame. Her mother had often claimed Montgomerys lacked both. Clearly, it was true.
The Montgomery lad’s nostrils flared.
The grin slipped from Alec’s mouth. Slowly, so very slowly, he rose to his feet, and with each rising inch, her heart quaked.
“Well, aren’t ye a brazen lass, slighting the hand that protects ye now?
” he accused, a genuine anger flaring in his eyes.
“Your lover is a Montgomery, aye, yet ye claim he is honorable and loyal to ye?”
She blinked, belatedly realizing her blunder. She’d only wanted to evade the bailiff. She most certainly hadn’t planned on conjuring up an imaginary Montgomery lover.
“‘Tis best ye heed your venomous tongue lest ye be left to Seton’s devices after all, aye?” he snapped, clenching his lean jaw so hard she thought his teeth just might crack.
Sorcha bit her lip to stop herself from unleashing a truly venomous remark.
“Alec, I am appealing to your good sense now,” the highlander at the table inserted equably.
Alec ignored him. His eyes bored through hers. “Ach, have a care, ye wee hellion. There’s not a Montgomery walking this good green earth that owes aught to a Cunningham—even this Alec of yours, aye?”
How had she gotten herself into this mess?
Recovering her calm and licking her dry lips, she had no choice but to forge ahead.
“Ye’ll find that my Alec’s no ordinary Montgomery,” she began in the lame attempt to correct her blunder, but faltered as her words produced a strange effect on the man looming over her.
At those words, something else replaced the annoyance on his handsome face, something that sparked her awareness of his muscled chest barely two inches away.
Instinct informed her that she stood in no true danger with him—not in the classic sense, anyway.
The magnetism of the man, the raw, primal glint in his eye brought a different sort of danger to mind, one that made the tips of her ears burn even as she held her ground and locked her gaze with his.
Abruptly, his strong arm snaked around her waist, crushing her tightly against his chest.
She choked.
Bending down, his lips brushed her ear with a soft warning. “If ye wish to reach Lainshaw without being tossed into the nearest loch, then stay as far from me as ye can, Cunningham.” The next moment, he pushed her away.
Aye, he was angry, but she was no fool. The glimmer in his eyes had more to do with tossing her on a bed than in a loch.
Her pulse quickened at the thought. Agitated at her own response, she retorted, “I’m warning ye fair, Montgomery.
My Alec willna allow any ill-treatment to go unpunished.
He’ll heed what I have to say of ye. And he’s a possessive man.
He’ll be fair angry if ye touch a single strand of my hair.
So, keep your pawing fingers to yourself, aye? ”
An expression crossed the man’s face, one she couldn’t interpret, and then he practically roared in response, “We’ve yet to begin, and already I canna wait to be rid of ye!
” Turning to his companions, he thundered, “I’ll see to Tinker’s cart and leave this wee pest in your company now.
Keep her out of my reach, or I swear by all that’s holy, I truly shall pitch her in the nearest loch to see if she can swim, aye? ”
Swearing under his breath, he whirled away only to graze his shin against a wooden bench.
There were several moments of absolute silence and then, sucking in a huge breath, he slammed his fist down on the table.
The dishes rattled. With a loud curse, he directed his ire at the offending bench and, shoving it back with a vicious kick, stalked towards the door.
Sorcha eyed his exit pensively. This Montgomery was rather more complicated than the men she used to outwit in the herb markets. She would have to tread carefully.
As the door slammed shut behind him, the highlander at the table named Taran arched a curious brow at the lad. “I canna recall him ever so wrathful, can ye, Andrew?”
The lad drew his brows in a puzzled line. “Nay, never. Truly. I dinna know he knew how.”
As one, the men’s eyes shifted, settling upon her with open speculation.