My Laird's Castle Read Free

plaid and hooked it into the belt around his waistcoat. I had never seen a kilt quite like his with so much material. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel like admiring his costume so much as ensuring my safety. A sword?  
    I panicked.
    “So, your wife? Could I meet her?” I said breathlessly. I moved closer to the fire, both for warmth and with some plan to grab the nearby iron poker and smack him with it.  
    Colin stopped and dipped his head. He laced his hands behind his back, bringing into focus the muscles of his chest as they pressed against his shirt. Even in my anxiety, I could not deny that he was quite a specimen of a man.
    “I fear I lied to ye about a wife, Mistress Pratt. I have nae such.”
    I drew in a sharp breath and dropped my eyes to the poker, only inches from my hand. I reached for it, and though I didn’t brandish it at Colin, I settled it in front of me, crossing my hands over the handle.
    “Why would you lie about that? Do you have any other family here?”
    “Nay,” he said in a somber tone. “None have survived me. I told ye an untruth because I feared that ye wouldna come wi me, that ye would fear me more than wolves, the English soldiers or the storm.”
    As he spoke, a loud clap of thunder startled me, and I jumped, raising the poker and pointing like a sword.
    Colin thrust up his hands, a smile breaking across his face. I looked down at the poker and lowered it.
    “There now, lass. Calm yerself. It was only the storm. I am sorry for lying to ye. Ye will be safe here. I have plenty of womenfolk in the house to see to that.
    “Seat yerself near the fire,” he said, pointing to a satin embroidered cushioned bench positioned against the wall. “Rest. We will sup soon. Can I interest ye in a dram of whiskey?”
    I shook my head.  
    “Tea then? To warm ye up? Ye still look a bit cold.”
    That sounded quite civilized to me.  
    “Yes, tea, please.”
    He moved toward me, and I shrank back against the stone wall until I noted he was reaching for a bell on the mantel over the fireplace.
    George appeared almost instantly in response to the ring, and Colin muttered at him in the strange language. I began to think Colin was speaking Gaelic, and I strained to make out any familiar words. I found myself once again fascinated by him—an old-world man in a modern era. It wasn’t just his costume that compelled the imagination, but his mannerisms and his speech.
    “Is that Gaelic you’re speaking?”
    “Aye,” he said, pulling a chair away from the table and turning it to face me. He seated himself.  
    “I didn’t know many Scots spoke Gaelic anymore,” I said. “Admittedly, I should know more about a country I’m visiting, but don’t they only speak it in the outer islands?”
    “The Hebrides?” Colin asked. “I suppose they do, but we still speak it amongst ourselves, though it is forbidden.”
    “Forbidden?” I asked.  
    “Aye, for some time now. I suppose ye wouldna ken such, coming from the colonies as ye do.”
    The fire warmed me, relaxed me, and I almost laughed.
    “The colonies,” I repeated. “You Brits! Still referring to the colonies.”
    Colin tilted his head again in that charming way of his, as if he didn’t quite understand me.
    “Brits? Please, madam. Scots. Is it improper to call America the colonies then? Instruct me.”
    I thought Scots were Brits, but then again, maybe I was wrong. I smiled.  
    “No, I’m used to it. I’ve traveled to the UK before. This is not the first time I’ve heard the United States referred to as the colonies. It’s not taken seriously, like an insult or anything.”
    Just then, George entered with a silver tea service that he set on the dining table. He poured a cup for Colin and for me.
    “Sugar? Milk?” he asked me in English.
    “Neither, thank you.” He nodded and handed me my cup, one of the loveliest patterns of china I had ever seen, and then he left the room promptly.  
    “I must say, Mistress Pratt, that ye