Her Highland Fling Read Online Free Page A

rather proud of himself for thinking of it.
    She shook her head and laughed. “Charming.”
    P en watched as surprise and good humor flitted across MacKenzie’s broad face.
    Though this afternoon he’d seemed a rather empty vessel, tonight he wore his every thought openly. Was this really the same gruff man who’d greeted her so rudely outside the posting house? He seemed more relaxed. Or perhaps that was just an effect of a mild intoxication. He really was rather sweet, trying so hard to convince her of Moraig’s appeal.
    But he needn’t bother. The town was charming.
    Far more charming than London, which had done little to impress her with anything beyond its sheer size and head-spinning bustle. Though she’d only just moved to the city, she was already questioning how she might live there. As a result of her impoverished Brighton upbringing, she’d come to expect a certain freedom of movement beyond that which most ladies enjoyed. But she certainly couldn’t move about London without an escort, or else she risked being accosted on the street. And after experiencing the summer stink of the Thames firsthand, she could see why the city’s residents fled to more pastoral places when the temperatures soared.
    Though she was still none too impressed with the man’s intelligence—blathering on as he was about mythical creatures—she was marginally impressed that MacKenzie had at least shown enough sense to deflect her questions about his brother’s marriage.
    She was a reporter. It was her lot in life to ask probing questions.
    But it was equally clear that his lot in life was to protect his family and his town, and that was something she could not help but respect.
    Still, she couldn’t resist teasing him a bit now. “If you would like me to report on these water cattle, then by all means, do go on.” She picked up her pencil again. “Are they very large creatures?” She tapped the pencil against her lips. “Perhaps they b-bellow a warning to unsuspecting boats, warning them of the water dragons?”
    His lips twitched. He leaned forward, and she was surprised to find herself dragged into the warm depths of his eyes. “Crodh mara are not to be trifled with, lass.” He lifted his hands, pantomiming horns. “They’ve gored all the water dragons, you see. But that’s a good thing, because now it’s quite safe for the tourists to walk about our loch.”
    She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud.
    He chuckled as well, and with that shared intimacy, warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the whisky she’d gulped. Tonight, there was something about his easy grin that threatened to lay waste to the poor initial impression he’d made. She was tempted to believe that perhaps he’d not meant to mock her this afternoon.
    Moreover, both James MacKenzie and David Cameron had insisted that William MacKenzie was the man to speak to if she had any questions related to the upcoming Highland Games, so she knew she needed to further this acquaintance.
    And heaven help her, the way he’d said “crodh mara,” with a caress of brogue, made her stomach tilt in new and dangerous directions. Then, of course, there was the matter of his well-made legs to contend with—the memory of which made the blush she had fought off so valiantly this afternoon return in full measure.
    She was disturbed enough to take another sip of one of the remaining glasses of whisky—a smaller taste, this time. She tasted peat and smoke and an underlying hint of salt. It went down far more smoothly than her first swallow. She blinked in astonishment.
    Was William MacKenzie much the same as the whisky?
    Something to choke down at the first but then savor later?
    She took another sip and then set down her glass, curiously studying his profile as he called the serving girl to their table. Though he wasn’t the swiftest of men—or even the most handsome man in the room—there was something about him that made her want to lean