matter of course, a rounding out of her accomplishments. She just found sidesaddles rather uncomfortable, and besides, she had two sturdy legs that the good Lord meant her to make use of.
His mention of distance prompted her to ask, “Are you just arriving then, to Summers Glade?”
He glanced down the hill at the house, which got another one of his glowers, before he said, “Nay, just needed tae work off a wee bit o’ steam, and thought the stallion there could accommodate me. Silly notion. I should’ve known riding would cause me more aggravation than ease.”
She chuckled. It caused Duncan to take a second look at her, more closely than his first.
She was a bedraggled wee lass, with her long brown hair gone all hither and yon, but he found her lack of decorum rather appealing. She was small, but even her long coat, covering her from neck to foot, couldn’t hide the very plumpness of her breasts, though it did conceal the rest of her shape. He noted two buttons were missing. He noted the prettiest lilac eyes he’d ever seen.
A thought occurred to him and he voiced it abruptly. “Are you Lady Ophelia, by chance?”
“Good heavens, no, but you must be the Highland barbarian I’ve been hearing so much about.”
For some reason, he didn’t take offense. Perhaps because of the twinkle in her lovely eyes as she said it. She was obviously amused by the term “barbarian” used in context with him, and he was amused by her amusement.
Then, too, he’d donned the kilt, which he normally wouldn’t wear in winter, to make a statement for Neville’s benefit, that he preferred things Scottish to English. It could be seen as a barbaric statement, though, by others, considering the time of year, not that this paltry English cold could bother him. But that, too, was amusing, now that he was calm enough to think about it.
So he said with a bit of humor in his own tone, ‘Aye, that would be me.”
“You’re not as old as I thought you would be,’ she continued.
He raised an auburn brow at her, asking, “How auld was that?”
“Forty at least.”
“Forty!” he roared.
Her peal of laughter was infectious. Duncan just managed to not chuckle with her and gave her what he hoped was a stem look instead.
“You were teasing me then?” he said.
“Was it obvious then?”
“There’s no’ many I know that brave.
She smiled at him. “I highly doubt you’re the barbarian you’ve been reputed to be, but then I’m not the walking ghost I’ve been reputed to be either. Strange thing about rumors and gossip. They so rarely deal with the real facts, yet so often are taken as the literal truth.”
“So Neville was expecting a barbarian, was he?” Duncan said.
She blinked at him, then laughed again. “Oh, my, I highly doubt it. He would know better, wouldn’t he, since he knows you well enough, being your grandfather. No, no, it’s those who haven’t met you yet, but know of your coming, that might be predisposed to wonder about a Highland Scot, when so few ever come to England to prove that the Highlands of Scotland must be civilized by now, and goodness, that was quite a mouthful, wasn’t it?”
Duncan had been about to growl in response. That assumption that his grandfather should know him had really rubbed him on the raw. But the rest of what she said he found so amusing, it actually put him at ease again, so much so that hefelt like teasing her back, rather than seriously addressing what the Highlands were
reputed
to be.
“Must it be?” he said.
“What?”
“Civilized.”
She appeared to give that some careful thought, then replied logically, “Well, it might not be quite as civilized as England, of course. But I seriously doubt it’s still producing barbarians of the truly barbaric sort. Look at you, after all. Or did you forget to bring your war paint?”
He burst out laughing. He doubled over with it. He had to wipe tears from his eyes.
But when he wound down a bit, he noticed she was
His mention of distance prompted her to ask, “Are you just arriving then, to Summers Glade?”
He glanced down the hill at the house, which got another one of his glowers, before he said, “Nay, just needed tae work off a wee bit o’ steam, and thought the stallion there could accommodate me. Silly notion. I should’ve known riding would cause me more aggravation than ease.”
She chuckled. It caused Duncan to take a second look at her, more closely than his first.
She was a bedraggled wee lass, with her long brown hair gone all hither and yon, but he found her lack of decorum rather appealing. She was small, but even her long coat, covering her from neck to foot, couldn’t hide the very plumpness of her breasts, though it did conceal the rest of her shape. He noted two buttons were missing. He noted the prettiest lilac eyes he’d ever seen.
A thought occurred to him and he voiced it abruptly. “Are you Lady Ophelia, by chance?”
“Good heavens, no, but you must be the Highland barbarian I’ve been hearing so much about.”
For some reason, he didn’t take offense. Perhaps because of the twinkle in her lovely eyes as she said it. She was obviously amused by the term “barbarian” used in context with him, and he was amused by her amusement.
Then, too, he’d donned the kilt, which he normally wouldn’t wear in winter, to make a statement for Neville’s benefit, that he preferred things Scottish to English. It could be seen as a barbaric statement, though, by others, considering the time of year, not that this paltry English cold could bother him. But that, too, was amusing, now that he was calm enough to think about it.
So he said with a bit of humor in his own tone, ‘Aye, that would be me.”
“You’re not as old as I thought you would be,’ she continued.
He raised an auburn brow at her, asking, “How auld was that?”
“Forty at least.”
“Forty!” he roared.
Her peal of laughter was infectious. Duncan just managed to not chuckle with her and gave her what he hoped was a stem look instead.
“You were teasing me then?” he said.
“Was it obvious then?”
“There’s no’ many I know that brave.
She smiled at him. “I highly doubt you’re the barbarian you’ve been reputed to be, but then I’m not the walking ghost I’ve been reputed to be either. Strange thing about rumors and gossip. They so rarely deal with the real facts, yet so often are taken as the literal truth.”
“So Neville was expecting a barbarian, was he?” Duncan said.
She blinked at him, then laughed again. “Oh, my, I highly doubt it. He would know better, wouldn’t he, since he knows you well enough, being your grandfather. No, no, it’s those who haven’t met you yet, but know of your coming, that might be predisposed to wonder about a Highland Scot, when so few ever come to England to prove that the Highlands of Scotland must be civilized by now, and goodness, that was quite a mouthful, wasn’t it?”
Duncan had been about to growl in response. That assumption that his grandfather should know him had really rubbed him on the raw. But the rest of what she said he found so amusing, it actually put him at ease again, so much so that hefelt like teasing her back, rather than seriously addressing what the Highlands were
reputed
to be.
“Must it be?” he said.
“What?”
“Civilized.”
She appeared to give that some careful thought, then replied logically, “Well, it might not be quite as civilized as England, of course. But I seriously doubt it’s still producing barbarians of the truly barbaric sort. Look at you, after all. Or did you forget to bring your war paint?”
He burst out laughing. He doubled over with it. He had to wipe tears from his eyes.
But when he wound down a bit, he noticed she was
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