Page 3 of When the Laird Conquers

Still strapped to her back, the baby began to mewl, no doubt awoken by the Laird’s sharp threat.

The man stepped forward, and the dim light shining in through the window finally revealed him. He stood at a towering height, his messy mane of dark hair almost brushing the low ceiling of the outbuilding.

A beast with bulky, broad shoulders and bulging arms, and a powerful chest that she could see every bit of, silvery scars flashing all across tawny, freckled skin.

Apparently, he wore nothing but a loincloth to bed.

Yet, his exposed state did nothing to diminish the intimidation, the sheer power he exuded. If anything, seeing every muscle, every sinew, every inch—almost—of his body made him all the more frightening. Everything about him seemed crafted to crush and pulverize, built to fight and destroy, down to the defined lines of his muscular thighs, thick as tree trunks.

Even if she had wanted to speak, she wouldn’t have been able to. The shock of seeing a near-naked man had rendered her speechless, her throat closing up.

Her panicked eyes met lupine grey eyes that glinted within a face half-concealed by a wild, dark beard. Handsome, perhaps. She couldn’t quite tell.

He crossed those immense arms over his muscular chest. “A lady, are ye?” He raised an eyebrow.

Agnes gulped and almost choked. “Yes.”

“Expensive, eh? Someone must be missin’ ye,” he said mockingly. “So, how can the Mad Laird help ye, me Lady?”

Lizzy’s quiet babbling reminded Agnes of her strength and why she had come so far and climbed through a window in the first place.

She loosened the knots of the carrier and maneuvered her niece around to her front, bouncing the child gently.

“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely,” she replied, matching his mocking tone, “I need you to marry me.”

2

Gordon didn’t know if he should laugh or kill the lass on the spot for trespassing.

Then again, it wasn’t in his nature to execute the insane, and this woman was clearly away with the fairies if she could climb in through his window and then demand marriage from him.

“Marry ye?” Disdain colored his voice.

Although she was a pretty thing. Very pretty. Big eyes of a color he couldn’t discern in the dim light, skin pale as the moonlight that was suspiciously absent that night, wavy locks of fair hair framing fine features: plump cheeks, full lips, a dainty chin he would have liked to take between thumb and forefinger so she couldn’t look away.

She was short enough that if he was looking straight ahead, he wouldn’t see her. A ripe, ample bosom heaved below the knot of her cloak. He couldn’t see the rest of her figure, but he could imagine it.

An even greater pity that she’s mad.

“I did not misspeak,” she replied, with all the boldness of someone who had no idea of the danger they were in. “Yes, I am asking that you marry me.”

His gaze flitted to the child. A sweet, plump thing with meaty little fists that it was shoving into its mouth.

“Lass, if ye’re trying to imply that the bairn is mine, ye must think I cannae hold me whiskey,” he replied coolly. “I’d remember sirin’ that bairn on ye.”

“What?” Her sharp gasp made a faint ember smolder in his loins. “Oh… Oh, no! No, my Lord! Of course not. She is… She is not mine either. She is my niece. I am… Well, I am untouched.”

He wished it wasn’t so dark so that he might have seen the blush he knew was glowing in her cheeks. It seemed her boldness didn’t stretch to talk of carnal relations.

Although he rather liked the way she said ‘untouched’ in that clipped, Sassenach accent of hers.

He looked her up and down, and contemplated removing her cloak so he could see the treasures underneath.

“Let’s just start with yer name and how ye got here, lass,” he said instead.

She straightened, tilting up that dainty chin. “I am Lady Agnes Norton, youngest daughter to the Earl of Hampton.”

“That’s supposed to mean somethin’ to me?” he asked dryly.