Free Highland Rogue by Deborah Hale Page A

stifle her mirth. Whoever she was, Ewan had no doubt she’d understood every coarse oath that had left his lips.
    Would she repeat them to Claire Talbot? Ewan slammed the cabin door and began tearing off his shirt, popping a collar button in the process.
    When someone knocked on the door, he barked, “What do ye want? Tell Miss Talbot I’ll be along directly!”
    The door eased open and Jock popped his head in. “It’s only me with a kettle of hot water for ye, if ye fancy a washup?”
    “I reckon I could stand one—” Ewan nodded toward the washstand “—though it’ll have to be quick.”
    “Can I give ye a hand?” asked Jock as he poured the steaming water into the basin.
    Be waited on by one of his old mates? The notion made Ewan squirm, though he probably could get ready quicker with some help.
    “Don’t trouble yerself, laddie.” He rummaged in the wardrobe for a clean shirt, pulling on the first one that came to hand. “I’m used to managing on my own. Thanks for the water, though.”
    “Just as ye like, then,” said Jock. “If ye change yer mind, ye’ve only to ring the bell.”
    Once Jock had closed the cabin door behind him, Ewan glanced down at his shirt to find it misbuttoned. He cursed again.
    By the time he fumbled his way through a quick wash, finished dressing and pulled a comb through his hair, he was in a vile temper.
    Miss Talbot’s greeting, when he finally reached the dining room, did not improve it.
    “There you are.” She fluttered a very elegant fan in front of her face. “I was afraid you had decided to jump ship.”
    Ewan almost wished he had. Late as he was, he still had a long evening ahead of him. What did he have to talk about with this woman, anyway, besides how much she used to vex him? Despite his promise to make a fresh start, he was beginning to remember why they’d never gotten on.
    “I was busy with something,” he muttered. “I didn’t notice the time.” Belatedly and grudgingly, he added, “I apologize for keeping ye waiting.”
    “Pray, what kept you so occupied?” Though Claire Talbot’s tone sounded polite enough, a steely light in those blue-gray eyes of hers made him feel as if he were being interrogated. “I feared you might be restless and anxious for some diversion.”
    “I was at first.” Ewan circled the dining table, eyeing the settings of china, crystal and silver even more elaborate than those at Lydiard House. “Then I met up with one of my old mates from Strathandrew who introduced me ’round to the crew. We got talking and the time just … went.”
    “Did it?” Her fingers appeared to clench the fan harder.
    Perhaps she took it as an insult that a bunch of common sailors had made him late to dine with her. Ewan wondered what she would say if she knew he’d rather be eating in the crew’s mess this very minute than in her too-quiet, too-lavish dining room.
    She drew in a long, slow breath through her nose. “You’re here now. That’s the important thing. Would you care for a drink before dinner?”
    A dram sounded like a fine idea, to settle him down after the fuss of being late. “Aye, I’ll have a whiskey, thank ye.”
    Claire nodded to a young man in uniform stationed by a small sideboard.
    He poured Ewan a liberal measure of amber liquid from a heavy, cut-glass decanter. “Water with that, sir?”
    Ewan shook his head and reached for the glass. He considered it almost sacrilege to dilute good whiskey. The smooth single malt rolled over his tongue and down his throat, warming as it went.
    “Anything for you, Miss Talbot?” asked the young steward.
    Claire shook her head. “The dinner wines will be sufficient for me, thank you.”
    Was that her way of chiding him for accepting the drink
she’d
offered?
    Ewan tossed the rest of his whiskey back in a single swig. “That was good! I believe I’ll have another, if ye don’t mind.”
    “By all means, Mr. Geddes. I am pleased our refreshments meet with your approval.”