Duncan sipped from his ever-present whisky, glaring over the rim. “What do you know of our father?”
“Enough to suspect he wouldn’t readily cut his youngest son out of his will.” Trick met Duncan’s glare with one of his own. “His favorite son.”
Sensing violence about to erupt, Kendra bit the inside of her cheek. “Can we not all be civil?”
Annag turned in a huff, her gaze narrowing with disdain on Kendra’s low neckline. “You stay out of this.”
“You’ll address my wife with respect,” Trick said through gritted teeth. If Annag had been a man, he’d have been on her, Kendra thought, drawing the shawl tighter to cover the front of her gown. As it was, she sensed he was barely holding himself in check.
When Annag’s son began crying, Duncan’s face turned red to match. “Who needs this trouble?” he barked at Niall, half-rising to his feet. “Ever since they got here”—he waved an angry hand at Trick and Kendra—“I cannot have a word with you without them sticking their noses into it. Keep them out of our family business, or else—”
“Or else what?” Niall stood, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m grown now, aye? You cannot beat me up anymore. I’ll floor you in a minute.”
It was no idle threat. Niall topped his brother by a good four inches, and his youthful frame was solid and honed, while Duncan’s was softened by sloth and drink.
Apparently not as dim-witted as he was surly, Duncan sat back down. “Just keep them away,” he growled. “Both of them.”
“They’re family as much as you,” Niall shot back. “My family.”
Annag aimed a pointed look at Duncan. “Blood will tell.”
“Blood will run if you don’t back off,” Trick said darkly. His knife clattered to his trencher, and, as he stood, his hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Kendra rose quickly, reaching out a restraining arm. “Have we not seen enough violence here tonight?” Evidence still remained of the earlier brawl. “Come, Trick. I know where I’m not wanted.”
She curtsied to Niall but ignored his siblings as she took Trick by his sword hand and led him away. He allowed himself to be dragged, although not before fixing Hamish’s older children with a murderous glare.
Murderous…Kendra wondered for a second if she’d just narrowly prevented murder. Trick was a highwayman, after all, accustomed to violence, and she’d never seen him this incensed.
But then she shook her head, chiding herself. Her husband might be an enigma, but she felt certain he was no murderer.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to get him as far from Annag and Duncan as possible. She led Trick out the door and around to the garden. The whole long way he didn’t say a word, but as they stepped into his mother’s wonderland of little model castles, she felt him begin to relax.
Night had nearly fallen, and the branches overhead were black silhouettes against the dark gray sky. Hand in hand, they walked in silence up the long avenue of trees and back, up then back again. The crunch of their footsteps on the gravel seemed lost within the sounds of rushing wind and rustling leaves. Trick’s grip gentled on her hand, and his breathing settled; his gait became looser.
A light mist began to fall, and in mute agreement, they headed back inside.
The door shut behind them, blocking the rain and the noisy wind. In the tunnel that led through the thick stone wall, Trick stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. Illuminated by the torches that lit the entry, his eyes searched her face. Kendra gazed back, wondering what he was looking for.
“I don’t like those two,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t put anything past them. I don’t know what Hamish has to bequeath to his children, but I suspect they’d go to any lengths necessary to see it ends up in their hands. All of it.”
Trick shrugged, moving closer, backing her up until she felt the wall, hard against her spine. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “They’re powerless, and they know it. They speak from desperation.” He skimmed his knuckles across her cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty head about them, leannan.”
Leannan. It sounded different now that she knew what it meant. “My head is more than pretty,” she retorted, not immune to his nearness or the sudden spark that lit his eyes.
He nodded slowly. “Aye, that it is.” The wind had blown much of her hair loose from the bun, and he tucked it behind her ears, one side and then the other. He glanced into the great hall, sending a quelling glare to some poor soul who dared to look their way. Then, shielding her body from view with his larger one, he lowered his lips to hers.
The kiss was long and gentle, reawakening the feelings that had started in Hamish’s chamber. Of their own accord, it seemed, her hands moved to touch the rough wool of the kilt where it stretched across his hips.
“Hmm.” With a low laugh, he swept both her hands into one of his, then raised them above her head and pressed her against the chilly stone. In contrast, his body felt warm along the length of hers. And his lips this time moved faster, pressed harder. She felt strangely vulnerable with Trick restraining her arms, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. In fact, it was thrilling. Thrilling with an edge of…something else.
He pulled back and cocked a brow. “That’ll teach you to take advantage of a man in a skirt.”
“Will it?” she wondered, and a shiver ran through her.
She knew for sure it would happen tonight.
“Are you cold, lass?”
“Maybe a bit.” Nervous and excited and backed against the cold stone wall. But the stones were more than cold. “There’s something about this place…”
He put a palm to the wall and leaned his weight on it. “What?”
“I…well, I’m just not comfortable here.” She tried to look away, but he captured her chin in his free hand, forcing her
