savage scar tracking down one cheek. His brown eyes were solemn and steady.
Lachlan reminded himself not to be taken in. It was those eyes that had made him want to trust Dunnet. It was that sincere and serious gaze that had fooled him before.
âYour Grace,â he said. âWelcome to Dunnet.â
When Dunnet introduced his wife, Hannah of Reay, Lachlan couldnât help but feel a prick of envy. The delicate, dark-haired beauty was besotted with her husband. And Dunnet had her.
All the things Lachlan wanted to the depths of his beingâbut couldnât haveâcame so easily to this man, despite his treasonous heart.
It hardly seemed fair. But then life never was.
Although Lady Dunnet was adequately deferential, with a curtsy of the appropriate depth, Lachlan couldnât miss the curl of her nose as she surveyed his person.
Damn these Scots. He was sick unto death of their irreverence.
Likely Dougal was right when he said he wouldnât put it past them to murder him in his sleep or poison his food.
âWonât you please come in?â Lady Dunnet said with a thin smile. âI have arranged for some refreshments after your journey.â
Ah yes. Poison indeed. Lachlan fixed his sharp gaze on Dunnet. âI need to speak with you immediately,â he said in a clipped voice. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable.
Lady Dunnetâs lashes fluttered. Her lips worked. She was clearly put out at his refusal to be poisoned immediately upon his arrival. âWould you care to settle into your rooms first?â she asked.
âNo.â He frowned at Dunnet. âIs there somewhere we may speak? In private?â
Dunnet swallowed heavilyâapparently heâd correctly interpreted Lachlanâs tone. âOf course. The library.â
They made their way through the bailey and into the castle in silence. Lachlanâs aggravation rose with every step. Thoughts of Dunnetâs perfidy coiled through his heart and soul, further souring an already sour mood. Lady Dunnet followed them, and it occurred to Lachlan she intended to join them in their discussion.
This surprised him, because most of the women of his acquaintance would never consider such a thing. Business was for the men and the men alone. Most women would understand this and make themselves scarce. Hie off and sip tea or embroider something.
Not Lady Dunnet.
As they reached the library, Lachlan turned to her and proffered a small bow. âLady Dunnet. If you donât mind.â
Her face flushed, but the baroness nodded and backed away, although Lachlan didnât miss her scowl. But really, this was for the best. The conversation he was about to embark upon was not for tender ears.
With Dougal at his back, he strode across the cavernous library and took a seat at the desk. Dunnet took the chair across from him. True to form, the man was silent, but he simmered with a cocky bravado, one that made Lachlanâs nerves thrum.
Dunnetâs man, a dour Scot with a mangled visage, brought whisky for all of them and then left; with his retreat, silence blanketed the room. Lachlan glanced at his glass and his nose curled as Dougalâs dire warnings about the Scottish propensity for poisoning enemies wafted through his head. He didnât touch the drink. Adjusting his cravat, he leaned forward and said, in the gravest tone he could manage, âI cannot tell you how disappointed I am in you, Dunnet.â
For some reason, Dunnet smiled. Smiled. It was an irreverent offering that made Lachlanâs left eye twitch. âDisappointed, Your Grace?â
Fury rocked him at the manâs moue of innocence. He was not innocent. Not in the slightest. Not if what Olrig had told him was true. But they would come to that ⦠âFirst, your failure to respond to my order for the Clearances of Dunnet.â
Dunnetâs eyes narrowed. âI did respond. My answer was nae .â
Lachlanâs
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