A Time & Place for Every Laird by Angeline Fortin (ebook reader TXT) 📕

saw humor lighten her eyes if only briefly before shecontinued, “Still, maybe we should set some ground rules.”

“Such as?”

She didn’t respond immediately, and Hughcould sense that she had a great many rules warring in her mind andwas merely trying to prioritize them. The realization sent a shaftof humor through him, and Hugh had to stifle a smile. She was aprickly thing but a good sport nonetheless.

“No more removing clothing in my presence,”she said finally. “And no touching.”

“Done,” Hugh agreed immediately, droppinghis hands. “I promise I willnae touch ye again wi’out yer expresspermission.”

“I told you before, Hugh, I am offering … myhelp. Only my help.” She stepped back out of his reach. “Get somesleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Hugh felt a reluctant grin tug at the cornerof his mouth. She had certainly put him in his place, but littledid she know, for so many reasons, sleep would not be gracing himthis night.

“And ye get back tae yer warm bed ’fore yecatch a chill.”

In her room, Claire leaned against herclosed door, rubbing the goose bumps that covered her arms andrefusing to acknowledge that they had nothing to do with beingcold.

Chapter 10

The day after theescape

The sofa was empty and the blankets foldedin a neat stack when Claire crept down the stairs the followingmorning. Hugh was nowhere to be seen, but as she descended, muffledgrunts and thumps became audible, and crossing the kitchen, Clairecracked open the door to the garage. There she found Hugh beatingon the punching bag she kept hanging from the rafters for herkickboxing as if he were battling an army of men. He hit it againand again, his muscular torso covered with sweat and glistening inthe dim light of the overhead lamp.

Her hand tightened on the doorframe as shewatched him move. The muscles in his back worked with the effort,and as he circled she could see the huge span of his biceps, thebulge of his pecs … and the stark despondency written on hisface.

Pain. Aggravation. Desperation. Claireclosed the door before he saw her. Caveman type that he was, Hughwould probably resent being seen in such an emotional state, andbetter than many, she understood the need to lash out at somethingwhen in a hopeless situation. Venting the frustration and rage hemust be feeling for the world at that point seemed natural. Shesupposed, in the big picture, she should be glad he wasn’t ventingit on her.

Still … Claire hesitated only a momentbefore opening the door again, aware that Hugh had stopped to watchher, his chest heaving. Silently, she went to the back of thegarage and dug into a plastic storage bin before turning andholding out an old pair of her husband’s boxing gloves. Not thehuge ones used professionally, but rather fingerless gloves withheavily padded knuckles and wrist supports. She waited until Hughpulled them on over his already bruised hands before wrapping thelong strap around his wrist and fastening the Velcro.

Patting it down, she gave him a tight smileand a nod. Hugh nodded as well, and Claire left him alone to thrashhis demons, hoping for his sake that he was far more successfulthan she had ever been in driving them away.

The thump and grunt of his efforts resumedwhile Claire turned on the news and pulled out her laptop to Googlethe history of Scotland and Britain in the years before Hugh’sdeparture, hoping to learn enough to answer his questions, shouldthe subject come up again. With time to spare, she also looked upINSCOM, looking into the scope of their reach and finding that theyworked hand in hand with both the Army and the NSA in all areas ofcounterintelligence, electronic warfare, and information warfare,which helped to explain nothing of what their project with Dr.Fielding might be about. The morning news ended with nothing aboutthe situation at Mark-Davis on the local stations, and Clairedecided that the director and INSCOM weren’t going to go publicwith the incident.

No, all the better to do away with theproblem quietly when they caught up with Hugh, she decided. Nowatchful public eye. No muss, no fuss. Just quietly dispose of theproblem. Claire could only hope they would be more democratic thanthat with her after all this was over.

After a long while, silence fell in thegarage. Picturing Hugh as she had been so many timesbefore—forehead resting against the bag, with energy, if not will,exhausted—Claire turned off the TV and took some orange juice outof the fridge. She was holding a glassful when Hugh came in,covered now by a T-shirt that clung to his sweaty body. Wordless,she held it out, and Hugh took it, drinking without hesitation. Hiseyes widened in surprise but he finished it. His first Florida OJ,no doubt.

“Get a shower,” she whispered tightly.“Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Just in time,” his hostess said as Hughcame back downstairs dressed in another of her husband’s softshirts and knit breeches. She handed him a plate with two darkbrown discs stacked one on the other. “I’m sure they’re nothinglike your bannocks but I hope they’ll do.”

“I’m certain they will be delicious,” Hughsaid seriously, noting that Sorcha still seemed as tense as she hadwhen he had looked up to find her watching him earlier. Whether itwas wariness or her discontent at having him break one of her twosimple “ground rules” by having no shirt on, Hugh wasuncertain.

Joining her at one of the high stools on theopposite side of the freestanding kitchen worktop she had called an“ island,” Hugh followed Sorcha’s lead, covering the bannocksubstitutions with butter and syrup, though he usually had his withjam. There were sausage links and more of the orange juice set outas well as coffee. Cutting off a section, Hugh met her solemnamethyst gaze with his as he ate. “Ye dinnae ask why.”

Sorcha shook her head but remainedsilent.

“Because ye dinnae need tae.” It wasn’t aquestion so much as a confirmation on his part. For whateverreason, unlike the women he was used to, Sorcha understood a man’surge to expel his frustration and anger, and had even encouraged itwith her silent offering of gloves to