Free My Fierce Highlander by Vonda Sinclair

you.”
    Uneasiness crept in on Gwyneth. “What are
they saying?”
    Tessie cast her a nervous glance. “That
you’re English and an enemy MacIrwin.”
    “I am English, true, but not an enemy.” She
couldn’t deny her distant blood link to the MacIrwins, but she
could refuse to accept them as true family. “Anything else?”
    Tessie studied the bowl she was drying.
“Well, some are saying if not for you traipsing onto MacGrath land,
Campbell might yet live.”
    Gwyneth had feared as much. And indeed she
carried a heavy weight of guilt for the boy’s death. “I wish he had
never ridden into the skirmish. He was too young. I had no other
choice but to come here. It was either flee to MacGrath holdings or
be murdered by my own second cousin. I had to protect my son.”
    Tessie nodded. “I understand, mistress.”
    “Please, call me Gwyneth.”
    “As you wish.” Tessie’s smile disappeared
when she glanced over Gwyneth’s shoulder. Heavens, what could be
behind her?
    She turned to find Alasdair limping across
the suddenly quiet kitchen. Goodness! What did he want? Given the
servants’ reaction, she suspected he didn’t visit the kitchen very
often, and his imposing form seemed out of place.
    His penetrating gaze touched upon her with
much familiarity and connection. “I would have a word with you
upstairs, Mistress Carswell,” he said in a formal but kind
tone.
    “Very well.” She wiped her hands on her
skirts and preceded him toward the spiral staircase. She felt all
eyes boring into her, speculating what their laird wished to speak
to her about in private. She prayed that whispered rumors would not
start. The last thing she wanted was another scandal.
    “We shall talk in the library.” His voice
echoed when they entered the empty great hall. His cane pecked
along the stone floor as he kept pace beside her.
    Alone? In a private room? It wasn’t that she
didn’t trust him. She did. But there could be much speculation from
the clan.
    How singular and strange this seemed, to be
strolling along with such a handsome laird. She must remember her
manners. “How are your toe, your head and your other injuries,
Laird MacGrath?”
    “Please, I would have you call me Alasdair.
My foot is mending by the day, and the lump on my head no longer
causes me dizziness. As for the cuts, they no longer bleed.”
    “I’m glad.”
    “’Tis to your credit I’ve healed so
quickly.”
    She started to argue, but they entered the
library through an impressive carved oak door, and he closed it
behind them. She glanced about in wonder at the book-lined room.
The MacGrath clan must’ve indeed been more fortunate and prosperous
than most. The musty scent of books reminded her of the small
library in the manor house where she’d grown up. A moment of
nostalgia transported her back to a time and place where she’d
laughed with her sisters and read stories.
    Oh, if only she could read some of these
books to Rory. She wanted to pull one from the shelf and leaf
through it, but restrained herself.
    “What a lovely library,” she whispered.
    “My thanks. Do you read?”
    “Eh, yes.” Although she was revealing to him
her former social station—because usually only the wealthy or the
titled read—it could not be helped. Her mother had educated her and
her sisters.
    “You may use it whenever you like.”
    “I thank you. I am teaching Rory to read.”
She was also grateful he didn’t ask more questions about her past
because they always led to the scandal. And that, he could not find
out about.
    This room was smaller than the great hall
here at Kintalon, and clearly a newer addition, with a lower
ceiling and chairs and benches in groupings. Her toes itched,
wanting to dig into the rich plushness of the Turkish carpet spread
across the center of the floor. A small fire crackled in the
fireplace, topped by a carved walnut mantel. She had not seen such
luxury since she’d left England. This was a fitting place for a
noble laird