Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3) by Angeline Fortin (bill gates books to read .TXT) 📕

“Well, in about three hundred years, you’ll get your chance.” The pert comment escaped her lips before Al had a chance to think through the ramifications, but it was too late. That serious expression was back in his eyes.

The moment—again—was gone.

Without another word, he dragged his shirt over his head. Given only a second to enjoy the ripple of his six-pack abs before they were covered, she drank him in but lifted her eyes back up before his head emerged.

He turned, tilting his bent elbow toward her. It took her a while to grasp he was offering her his arm, but she tucked her hand in as he began a slow stroll back into the garden.

It was the first time she’d had to touch him, she realized. Keir had kissed her hand, touched her hand and cheek… even wrapped his fingers around her neck, but she hadn’t actually touched him yet. His arm was solid and warm beneath her fingers. Even through his sleeve, he felt so manly.

Curling her fingers tighter, she wondered if the rest of him would feel just as nice. Ah, the wonderings of the sexually repressed millennial! Al shook away the thoughts of him and focused her attentions elsewhere.

As she’d already given the garden her admiration that morning, the castle ahead was an easy target. The morning sun kissed the exterior, giving it a fairy tale like appeal. “The castle is truly beautiful. Huge, but beautiful.”

“Ye think Dingwall is large?” He chuckled. “Ye should see Rosebraugh.”

“Rosebraugh?”

“Hugh’s estate. ‘Tis nae far away. A day’s ride. Nae more.”

A day’s ride was not far? “Is it more elegant than Dingwall or only larger?”

“Och, ‘tis like a French chateau, Rosebraugh,” he said. “All white stone and turrets. Truly fitting for the dukes of Ross.”

Stopping, she looked up at him in surprise. “Dukes? That man was a duke?”

“Aye.”

“Holy shit,” she mumbled under her breath. She’d met a duke and didn’t even know it? For some reason that made her feel even worse for the man’s situation.

“Holy shit?” he repeated, aghast.

She ignored him even though he gaped down at her. Somewhere deep inside she knew castles and dukes didn’t just happen by every day. Despite the old joke about how the sheer number of Barbara Cartwright’s dukes alone could populate the whole of England, they were rare and so were castles. Not just anybody owned a castle. Not one like Dingwall. If Keir were related to a duke, a cousin, he must be nobility at least, as well.

“How exactly are you related to him?”

“Cousins. My mother was Hugh’s father’s sister.”

“So, your mother was a duke’s daughter. And she married a…?”

“Interested in titles now are we, lass?” he asked, recovering his humor. “My father is the Earl of Cairn.”

Al bit back a laugh. Of course he was an earl’s son. Didn’t that just figure? She couldn’t have been any further off when she’d labeled him a barbarian. But all the blood she’d seen on both him and Hugh hadn’t only been blue.

“Why were you out there that day when the wormhole opened?”

“Fighting in the battle.” His look said she should have known that. But she knew nothing.

“Which battle?”

“It dinnae hae a name. ‘Twas a battle fought to secure the throne for the Bonny Prince Charlie.”

“Bonny Prin…” A jolt of surprise. “Culloden? Are you shitting me?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Nay, lass, wh—”

“Joking? Kidding?”

“Nay. The battle was fought nae far from Culloden.”

“Holy shit,” she muttered again. She was right in the middle of history in the making! How strange and thrilling.

“Ye keep saying this,” he said. “Blessed excrement?”

Al blinked and squinted up at him. “What? No. It’s just an expression. Never mind. Tell me more about what’s happening around here.”

“Nay, lass, ye’ve had yer turn. In all fairness, now I’ll hae mine.”

“A little quid pro quo, huh? Fine, we’ll play it that way,” she said, “but I’ll be wanting my turn again soon.”

Instead of getting angry as he’d done before, he only nodded. “Verra well.”

*

Keir tucked Al’s hand more firmly in the crook of his arm and they resumed aimlessly meandering the garden. Curiosity about her had kept him tossing and turning through the night. Part of him wanting to confront her in her bedchambers to pester her with the never-ending questions that plagued him. The other part refrained, knowing an interrogation would be the last thing that might occur between them if he came upon her with a bed nearby.

She’d been a vision of splendor when he’d first seen her in the garden after returning from his morning swim. The sun reflecting off her uncovered and unbound hair, the golden locks falling softly around the sweet curve of her rounded cheeks, over her shoulders and down her back in spiraling waves.

She was dressed informally in a bleached muslin gown with a brocaded casaca jacket over it. He’d only noticed this time because the deep V created by the jacket before a single button fastened it at her waist showed her cleavage to marvelous advantage.

Once more, she’d distracted him from pelting her with questions. He might have grown irritated with her, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that she wasn’t doing it on purpose. In fact, she seemed utterly unaware of her appeal.

Then she’d sidetracked him with words. Compelling descriptions of scanty swim apparel. Peculiar words of shite. Awe over noble titles.

All of it only made him more curious about her and the world she came from. So much so that the whys and hows of her arrival in this time were slipping in importance.

But he couldn’t let them pass entirely.

“I want ye tae tell me more aboot this worm hole ye spoke of. How did it take my cousin?”

The lass giggled, an unusual sound coming from her, and Keir glanced down to find her usually stormy gray eyes shiny like silverplate with humor. Her pale cheeks warmed, arousing him once more, but he tamped it down.

“It’s not a worm hole,” she