Free Lois Greiman by The Princess, Her Pirate Page A

be yer opinion.”
    “That would be your opinion,” Albert corrected, tight-lipped. “If it cannot be said correctly, it should not be said at all.”
    “What do you want, Bert?”
    The little man drew himself even straighter. His height barely exceeded her own. “You cannot keep this”—his gaze skimmed her—“woman…” She had felt a host of emotions emanating toward her throughout the years—jealousy, avarice, hope. But never had she felt such utter disdain. “…in your chambers.”
    “Aye,” MacTavish disagreed, but he had released her entirely now. “I can.”
    She wouldn’t have thought the little man’s back could possibly get straighter. “Then pray, what is my purpose here?”
    “I’ve wondered that meself.” MacTavish’s language was deteriorating by the minute. A strange thing.
    “How will it look if word of this becomes loosed?”
    She could almost feel MacTavish sigh. “How will what look?”
    “The mighty lord of Teleere with…” He indicated herwith a sweep of a soft, long-fingered hand. “Her!” He couldn’t have sounded more disapproving if his master had been found abed with two sheep and a handful of snails. “Really, my lord!”
    MacTavish rubbed his eyes, but perhaps there was the hint of humor quirking his lips now. “So you’ve heard of her, Bert?”
    “Yes.” He didn’t sniff, but he might have just as well. “Lieutenant Peters informed me of her presence.”
    “Did he say he put her in Pikeshead?” There was something in his tone she could not quite decipher.
    “My lord…” The little man’s voice had lowered to little more than a whisper, as though he barely dared to say the words. “You should not have gone there yourself.”
    “To Pikeshead.”
    “You must think about your reputation. Your safety.”
    He smiled. “Aye, I’ll have to do that.”
    “You think I jest.”
    “No. I’m sure you don’t.”
    “Your father—”
    “Was a true gentleman,” MacTavish finished.
    The little man nodded. “And not one to take in…” He paused as if he had no wish to offend her, but his expression did that for him. “If one has…” He paused again as if searching for the perfect words. “If one has needs one should keep himself to himself.”
    MacTavish’s smile widened. “I’m sure you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
    The little man actually blushed.
    “This is not a matter lightly taken.”
    “I’ve rarely taken sex lightly.”
    Sir Albert drew himself even straighter. He had a beard, neatly trimmed. Even that seemed affronted. “If you hope to shock me, you will be sorely disappointed, my lord.”
    MacTavish laughed out loud. “And if you hope to discourage me from bedding who I will, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
    “She’s not the proper sort.”
    “I’ve always liked the improper sort, Bert.”
    He pursed his lips. “So you’ve no wish for an heir, my lord?”
    MacTavish scowled. “I doubt that bedding the girl will make a difference on that front.”
    “You think a proper heiress will want you after you’ve soiled yourself on her.”
    “Aye. I think a proper heiress will want my money regardless.”
    “So jaded, my lord.” He sniffed sadly. “It pains me to hear it.”
    “Damn.” He sounded immensely tired suddenly. “Have you come here for a reason, Bert?”
    “What of disease?”
    “What?”
    “Look at her. The wastrel of the streets. Might you believe that she’s kept herself pure?”
    MacTavish glanced at her. She stared back. “I hope not.”
    “’Tis not a laughing matter, my lord. Aye, she may be comely enough to look at if you’ve a weakness for that sort…” Again she imagined a sniff. “But is she worth the loss of an heir?”
    MacTavish opened his mouth, but Albert hurried on.
    “’Tis said it falls off.”
    “What?”
    Sir Albert’s face was beyond red now, beaming like the inner core of a blacksmith’s fire. “Your…” He cleared his throat. “Your most private