Free Laird of Ballanclaire by Jackie Ivie Page A

way to her toes and back. Constant only hoped it wasn’t as visible as it felt.
    “I make it my business to look beneath the surface, love. I’m good at it. There’s a wealth of information people keep hidden. Sometimes from others. Sometimes from themselves. You’re in the latter category.”
    “I don’t think I like it,” she answered.
    “What? That I can tell what a person might be thinking, or why he’s about to do something? It’s a talent I have. Tell me another of yours.”
    “Another?”
    “You are definitely the most talented cook I’ve run across in this country of yours. I’m just impressed that I had the good sense to fall into your ditch from where I was slung across my horse. You did see a horse, dinna’ you?”
    “No,” she answered.
    “That’s depressing. I guess he was na’ very loyal. It’s a good thing he was military issue. I’d hate to claim him as one from my own stables.”
    Constant’s lips twitched despite herself.
    Kameron’s expression sobered as he watched her. “You probably underprice yourself, Constant, love.”
    “What are you talking about now?”
    “Pricing. In the marriage mart. That’s what lasses do. They price themselves. They tend to attract the men worthy of the price they set. You probably haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, do you?”
    She shook her head.
    “If you see a beautiful rug for sale and the owner is asking a pittance for it, what happens to your opinion of the rug?”
    She scrunched her face in thought. “I would wonder what’s wrong with it.”
    His smile was back in full force. “Verra good. I knew you were quick. I’m glad it’s borne out for me. I doona’ much like being wrong.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Have you been available for this Thomas before?”
    “I don’t think I like your meaning,” she replied in a very careful, emotionless tone.
    Kameron narrowed his eyes in thought and lost any hint of joviality. He was even more handsome with that sort of expression. If any of her sisters could see him, they’d most likely swoon.
    And if they saw his current lack of attire, they would for certain.
    She put the thought away the instant it occurred, but it was too late. Her eyes flicked down the length of him, to his feet and back. When she came back to his eyes, his eyebrows were lifted, and there was the slightest hint of color high in his cheeks. It made the amber of his eyes glow.
    “I think you need to keep to the subject at hand, Constant, love,” he said softly.
    “What?”
    “I am verra aware of you as a woman now. You did well.”
    The flush heated her right to the roots of her hair. She had to drop her eyes, although there wasn’t much safe to look at. He still had her boot, his arm was still extremely muscled, and she already knew what his eyes looked like. She closed hers to keep any reaction exactly where it belonged . . . inside. When she opened them and looked up, he was still watching her, and those golden eyes were exactly as leonine and warm as she’d already imagined.
    “I meant, if your Thomas comes calling, do you go to meet him immediately or do you make him wait?”
    “He never comes calling,” she answered.
    “When do you meet this fellow?”
    She shrugged. “Church. Quilting bees.”
    “Your Thomas is a quilter? Good Lord.”
    Her eyes flew open at the insult. “His mother is notorious for being the best with a needle in the area.”
    “Oh. My mistake,” he replied, with what she recognized was a sarcastic tone.
    “Let go of my foot,” she said finally.
    “Why?”
    “Because I’ve finished here.”
    “I’m getting a little too close to the truth of this Thomas lad, am I?” he asked softly.
    “You are not!”
    “If you rarely see him, and you doona’ look at him, and he doesn’t come calling, what by the saints makes him your beau?”
    Constant swallowed around a knot that contained tears. “I really . . . should be going. There’s still time to get a few hours of