Hero of a Highland Wolf
Page 42
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
She wondered just how Grant and his kin had handled him. She never had been able to. She observed him for a moment, his dark eyes studying her in return. “You thought I’d be just like him.”
“The thought had crossed our minds.”
“Well, I’m nothing like him.”
“Aye, we learned that quickly enough.” He didn’t say anything more for a while, then let out his breath in a way that said he wasn’t sure how to broach the next topic. “I wanted to ask you a question about another matter having to do with the sleeping arrangements.”
His chamber. She almost laughed. She suspected they’d have this discussion every day for a year if she didn’t let him back into his own room. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “Yes?”
“The adjoining chambers next to mine have a bathroom en suite.”
“The rooms that are freshly painted?”
“Aye. Maybe you would prefer staying there and you’d have the same arrangement you have now, except both rooms would be yours to do with as you wish.”
She pondered that. By all rights, the lady’s chamber was hers. She liked the colors and the way it was decorated. By giving up the chamber, she was signaling that Grant had won the battle. Then again, did it really matter?
Yes. Having him sleep elsewhere signified she owned the castle. Psychologically, she felt moving to the other chambers would make her a guest again. An unwelcome guest, because no one had invited her here.
Was she putting too much significance on things? As long as she was well aware of the position she held, she didn’t need a room, throne, crown, or any other symbolism to prove she owned the castle, as much as Grant seemed to need his room to prove he was in charge of his pack.
She swore Grant attempted not to show any hint of emotion—as if she’d say no if he looked too hopeful. “Okay, but I like the lady’s chamber’s decor and—”
“You can stay in that room if you’d still like,” Grant quickly said, as if he still wanted to share the bathroom with her.
“No. I’ll take the other adjoining chambers if you’ll have the furniture from the lady’s chamber moved to the one next door that has the bathroom attached.”
Before she was prepared for his reaction, he gave her a curt nod and looked like it killed him not to shout out with profound exuberance. He glanced around and saw a gardener nearby watching them, which made her think Grant had it mind to kiss her for giving his room back to him but couldn’t with one of his people watching. Instead he said, “I’ll have it taken care of at once.”
Then without another word, he stalked off for the keep. And that signaled the end of their walk together.
Wishing he’d kissed her, just to thank her, though not wanting any of his people to see and get the notion there was more going on than just profound thankfulness, she sighed and continued strolling along the garden path. She enjoyed the chilly sea breeze, hearing the waves crashing down below, and headed to the seawall. She had another half hour or so before the meal was served, and she intended to walk for a while longer.
She hadn’t gone to the seawall and looked at the path she’d taken since she’d been dumb enough and drunk enough to traverse it. Curious if it was truly dangerous or if Grant had made more of a fuss than was warranted, she reached the wall and peered over. She noted movement below. Her heart nearly stopped.
Two wolf cubs, maybe around ten years old or so, were close to the breakers striking the rocks below. She yelled at them to return to this side of the seawall immediately, at the same time climbing over it herself to reach them.
“Stop! Come back here at once!” she shouted, not having time to get help in case either of the wolf cubs lost their footing and ended up in the rough sea.
One of them glanced back at her, his eyes widening.
Giving herself a near heart attack, she slipped on the treacherous, moss-covered rocks, trying to reach the wolves. They were much too close to the breakers. One rogue wave could sweep them off their feet, drag them under, and dash them against the rocks.
“Come back here, now!” she shouted, not having time to strip and shift. She wasn’t sure what she could do, whether she was in her wolf coat or not, if the wolves fell into the frothing surf. She wondered then if anyone had ever survived such a mistake.
The one wolf began to head back up the slippery path, tail tucked between his legs. With horror, Colleen saw an enormous wave rising up before the other wolf could move out of its path.
Colleen dove for the wolf and grabbed him, just as the wave hit them. The force of the water knocked them both off their feet and sucked them into the sea.
***
As soon as Grant got the call that someone was in trouble at the cliffs, he took off at a dead run and exited the keep. Several of his clansmen hurried with him to reach the seawall.
Troy, eleven years old and always getting into mischief of one sort or another, howled from beyond the seawall. It was a mourning howl—warning the sea had taken one of his friends.
Cursing, Grant dashed through the garden and saw Darby sprinting toward him. “The lass and Ollie are in the sea, my laird.”
“The lass?” Grant shouted, not slowing down. “What lass?”
“Lady Colleen, my laird,” Darby said, keeping pace beside him.
“Why in God’s name were they beyond the seawall?” As if Grant and his brothers and so many others hadn’t done the same thing when they were younger while exploring the danger over the years.
She wondered just how Grant and his kin had handled him. She never had been able to. She observed him for a moment, his dark eyes studying her in return. “You thought I’d be just like him.”
“The thought had crossed our minds.”
“Well, I’m nothing like him.”
“Aye, we learned that quickly enough.” He didn’t say anything more for a while, then let out his breath in a way that said he wasn’t sure how to broach the next topic. “I wanted to ask you a question about another matter having to do with the sleeping arrangements.”
His chamber. She almost laughed. She suspected they’d have this discussion every day for a year if she didn’t let him back into his own room. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “Yes?”
“The adjoining chambers next to mine have a bathroom en suite.”
“The rooms that are freshly painted?”
“Aye. Maybe you would prefer staying there and you’d have the same arrangement you have now, except both rooms would be yours to do with as you wish.”
She pondered that. By all rights, the lady’s chamber was hers. She liked the colors and the way it was decorated. By giving up the chamber, she was signaling that Grant had won the battle. Then again, did it really matter?
Yes. Having him sleep elsewhere signified she owned the castle. Psychologically, she felt moving to the other chambers would make her a guest again. An unwelcome guest, because no one had invited her here.
Was she putting too much significance on things? As long as she was well aware of the position she held, she didn’t need a room, throne, crown, or any other symbolism to prove she owned the castle, as much as Grant seemed to need his room to prove he was in charge of his pack.
She swore Grant attempted not to show any hint of emotion—as if she’d say no if he looked too hopeful. “Okay, but I like the lady’s chamber’s decor and—”
“You can stay in that room if you’d still like,” Grant quickly said, as if he still wanted to share the bathroom with her.
“No. I’ll take the other adjoining chambers if you’ll have the furniture from the lady’s chamber moved to the one next door that has the bathroom attached.”
Before she was prepared for his reaction, he gave her a curt nod and looked like it killed him not to shout out with profound exuberance. He glanced around and saw a gardener nearby watching them, which made her think Grant had it mind to kiss her for giving his room back to him but couldn’t with one of his people watching. Instead he said, “I’ll have it taken care of at once.”
Then without another word, he stalked off for the keep. And that signaled the end of their walk together.
Wishing he’d kissed her, just to thank her, though not wanting any of his people to see and get the notion there was more going on than just profound thankfulness, she sighed and continued strolling along the garden path. She enjoyed the chilly sea breeze, hearing the waves crashing down below, and headed to the seawall. She had another half hour or so before the meal was served, and she intended to walk for a while longer.
She hadn’t gone to the seawall and looked at the path she’d taken since she’d been dumb enough and drunk enough to traverse it. Curious if it was truly dangerous or if Grant had made more of a fuss than was warranted, she reached the wall and peered over. She noted movement below. Her heart nearly stopped.
Two wolf cubs, maybe around ten years old or so, were close to the breakers striking the rocks below. She yelled at them to return to this side of the seawall immediately, at the same time climbing over it herself to reach them.
“Stop! Come back here at once!” she shouted, not having time to get help in case either of the wolf cubs lost their footing and ended up in the rough sea.
One of them glanced back at her, his eyes widening.
Giving herself a near heart attack, she slipped on the treacherous, moss-covered rocks, trying to reach the wolves. They were much too close to the breakers. One rogue wave could sweep them off their feet, drag them under, and dash them against the rocks.
“Come back here, now!” she shouted, not having time to strip and shift. She wasn’t sure what she could do, whether she was in her wolf coat or not, if the wolves fell into the frothing surf. She wondered then if anyone had ever survived such a mistake.
The one wolf began to head back up the slippery path, tail tucked between his legs. With horror, Colleen saw an enormous wave rising up before the other wolf could move out of its path.
Colleen dove for the wolf and grabbed him, just as the wave hit them. The force of the water knocked them both off their feet and sucked them into the sea.
***
As soon as Grant got the call that someone was in trouble at the cliffs, he took off at a dead run and exited the keep. Several of his clansmen hurried with him to reach the seawall.
Troy, eleven years old and always getting into mischief of one sort or another, howled from beyond the seawall. It was a mourning howl—warning the sea had taken one of his friends.
Cursing, Grant dashed through the garden and saw Darby sprinting toward him. “The lass and Ollie are in the sea, my laird.”
“The lass?” Grant shouted, not slowing down. “What lass?”
“Lady Colleen, my laird,” Darby said, keeping pace beside him.
“Why in God’s name were they beyond the seawall?” As if Grant and his brothers and so many others hadn’t done the same thing when they were younger while exploring the danger over the years.
