Free Lucy and Her Scottish Laird by Margo Maguire Page B

from here to there. Otherwise, I have no use for them.”
    “Well, that is a pity. I would have enjoyed showing you my stable.” He stifled a grin, enjoying her scorn immensely. He had a minimal stable,
    but she did not have to know that. Not when she pulled such a delightful face.
    “No doubt you would,” she said, taking her hat from a branch of the tree and placing it on her head. She tied the bow beneath her chin, then
    pulled on her gloves. She stared at him a moment. “Will your fath—”
    “Besides horses, I have a way with the fish. Don’t you want to stay and witness a master fisherman at work?”
    She gave him a sour look and started walking toward the path, waving her hand behind her dismissively.
    “Your loss, then,” he said. “But you will enjoy the results of my efforts come suppertime.”
    Had he teased her in order to avoid questions about his father? God knew he did not have any answers. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to keep
    all liquor away from the duke. There were so many servants in the castle, and a few who were bound to be loyal to him and might well provide him a bottle,
    not understanding the consequences.
    Ian hoped he could put off that day, but even if he managed it, Dr. Henderson’s prediction was dire.
    He could not help but wonder if his father had divulged Ian’s true parentage to anyone else. The highly unlikely tale would be difficult to believe,
    unless his father or the duchess swore to the circumstances of his birth. He had never heard of such a situation, and did not know what the legalities
    would be. Could he be declared illegitimate at this late date? He did not dare consult with a lawyer, for fear that the truth would somehow get out.
    Even if there were no legal ramifications, Ian assumed his credibility would suffer greatly. As would that of his children, if he ever had any.
    One thing was certain. Ian needed to have a talk with his father when he was fully sober in order to sort out truth from falsehood. He needed to know
    exactly how many people knew about his true mother, and whether or not Duncan was his half brother.
    It was bound to be a difficult conversation.
    He tied one of his neatly crafted flies onto his line and cast it into the stream, counting on the next hour to soothe his battered soul.

 
    Chapter Eight
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    Lucy put aside the image of Lord Broxburn without a coat, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. How was it possible that she had never noticed a
    man’s forearms before? Broxburn’s were thicker and a great deal more muscular than hers, and obviously quite strong.
    She might have stayed and watched him fish, but his presence perturbed her. And not in the annoying way he had done at Glencory, but something altogether
    different. Something wholly inappropriate.
    Slipping away from the river and her unseemly thoughts, she followed the narrow path through the deep wood, assuming it led to the hamlet Broxburn spoke
    of. It did not seem to be well used, but she was able to pick her way through the trees without difficulty. It was farther than she thought it would be,
    and she saw no sign of human habitation until she noticed a stone grotto, just off the path in a thicket of shrubs and trees. It looked like an ancient
    cave that might have been used for shelter or storage. Perhaps it was a small chapel. She started for it, but suddenly stopped short at the high-pitched
    sound of a woman’s squeal.
    She walked farther along the path and caught sight of a man and woman lying together in a clearing up ahead.
    The woman gave out a sultry laugh and rose to her feet. Lucy was shocked to see that she was only partially clothed. Her stays and chemise were in place,
    but barely covering her. Her hair was in disarray about her shoulders, and her homespun bodice lay draped around her hips. As the man stood, he lifted the
    bodice to her shoulders, somehow embracing her as he did. Amid kisses and other intimate behavior Lucy could not quite see, the