Lana and the Laird Read Free Page B

meant to sweep, intending to impress Olrig with how imposing he was.
    Olrig, however, wasn’t cooperating. He had his back to the door and was gazing up at the portrait over the mantel. It was a lovely woman holding a tiny child. Lachlan had no idea who the woman was—one of his long-dead ancestors, no doubt—but when he’d returned to Caithness Castle, he’d left the painting there because he liked the look of it. He liked the look of her . Something about the glint in her eye, the way she gazed at the babe in her arms, touched him. He liked the prospect that one woman, somewhere in time, had not abandoned her child.
    A bitterness rose in his throat and he swallowed it down, forcing his gaze from the painting. Thrusting thoughts of mothers who did not abandon their children—and those who did—from his mind, he struck a ducal pose and cleared his throat.
    Olrig spun around. He was a man of substantial proportions, with a face so round it seemed to swallow up his eyes. His bushy brows were flecked with gray, and his thinning hair was the color of mud. His nose was crooked, as though it had been battered in an unseemly scuffle, and there were bruises around his eyes, as though said scuffle had happened recently. His lips were troutlike; they curled up when he saw Lachlan.
    â€œAh! Your Grace,” he gusted as he rushed forward.
    It was somewhat alarming, being rushed by a rhino, but Lachlan held his ground. Olrig skidded to a halt—far too close, close enough for Lachlan to catch the stench of rotting teeth—and he bowed. It wasn’t much of a bow, as bows went, because the girth around his middle wouldn’t allow it. But at least it was a bow.
    â€œOlrig.” Lachlan extended his hand and allowed his baron to kiss his ring. “Shall we sit?”
    â€œThank you, Your Grace.” His chins wobbled. “I must say, I was verra pleased to receive your invitation to visit.”
    Pleased? A Scot? Well, there was a novelty. Lachlan wanted very much to like this man right off, but couldn’t shake the fact that something about Olrig set his teeth on edge. He wasn’t sure if it was the way the man’s gaze darted incessantly about the room or the smile that seemed far too cheery to be sincere. “And you brought your account books?”
    â€œOf course.” Olrig took the lesser seat next to the king’s chair and slid his books across the table. Lachlan opened them and scanned the pages. He’d always had a head for numbers and quickly assessed the figures. It was clear the books were a mess, nowhere near as meticulous as Dunnet’s had been. It was also clear that Olrig wasn’t as effective an estate manager as Dunnet.
    With a scowl, Lachlan forced all thoughts of Dunnet from his mind. It was foolish of him to obsess. The lingering resentment was beginning to burn.
    Although, if he was being honest, it wasn’t resentment of Dunnet’s defiance that burned as much as the seething bitterness of the bonds that conscribed Lachlan’s world. That he truly was not free to do as he liked.
    Dunnet was wild and free. Clearly, he did as he liked at all times. Even it if meant defying his overlord.
    There was no call for this irritating slither of jealousy.
    â€œIs everything in order?” Olrig asked with a worried glance at the tomes.
    Lachlan closed the books with a snap. While he was interested in evaluating the financial status of his barons, he was far more interested in assessing their loyalty. “It is fine. Fine. But I think it would be best if we improve the land. What do you say, Olrig?” No point in beating around the proverbial bush.
    Olrig blinked. “Improve the land? Ye want to clear it?”
    Aw, hell. Lachlan didn’t like the waver in the man’s tone. He steeled himself for an obstreperous response. “Yes. I think it would be best. More profitable, wouldn’t you say?”
    His baron observed him