Page 6 of When the Laird Conquers

Her sniffles grated on him, cutting through his skull like a javelin as she drew nearer and the sound got louder. Still, at least it helped to cool the desire that kept trying to rise in him. Lust that came from a different wolf within him, more intensely caged.

He glanced down at the baby, noting the shock of vivid ginger hair and a pair of wide eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Ye and yer niece can stay for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll see that ye find someplace safe. But it willnae be at the altar with me.”

“But…” She stepped right up to him, her hand reaching for him.

Before she could touch him, he grabbed her by the wrist. “Daenae push yer luck, lass. Ye’re lucky enough that I havenae thrown ye out and whatever guard let ye in along with ye.”

There was no more than an inch or two between them, her ragged breath stirring up things that needed to remain smothered. If she kept gazing up at him with those big, pleading eyes, he might have to throw her onto the bed instead of out of the gates.

Just then, a hard jerk on his beard snapped him out of any wild and wayward notions.

He blinked and found the culprit—the baby. Something like a laugh bubbled out of her as she tugged again.

Agnes stifled a laugh a few seconds too late and earned a glare for her gall.

“I’m sorry, my Laird,” she said quickly, amusement lingering in her pretty eyes. “Gentlemen where I am from don’t have quite such… luxuriant beards, and she has not met too many men besides, only the staff. She is just curious.”

Gordon grunted and managed to extricate his beard from the child’s surprisingly strong grip. “She’s fortunate she’s endearin’. Thank her for me lettin’ ye spend the night in comfort instead of me dungeons.” He paused, frowning as the baby shoved her fist into her mouth again, chewing on her knuckles. “Is she hungry? There’ll be roast chicken left over from the lads’ dinner.”

“My Laird, she has no teeth,” Agnes said, her voice laced with amusement. “She cannot eat chicken; she is almost six months old, that is much too young for chicken.”

His brow furrowed, annoyed by his own ignorance and that Agnes was there to witness it. In fact, the sooner he was out of this woman’s company, the better.

“What does she need?” he muttered.

“Well, she had a wet nurse in England, but she wouldn’t accompany us, so⁠—”

“The short version,” he interrupted sharply.

She cleared her throat. “A wet nurse, if one can be found. I don’t think she will manage much longer on goat’s milk and barley paste alone.”

“Come with me,” he commanded, grabbing his folded tartan from the chair as he headed out.

Up and up through the silent, drafty castle, the Laird led Agnes. When they were as high as she suspected it was possible to go, he shouldered open a door and gestured for her to step inside.

“I’ll send someone to help ye,” he said gruffly. “I expect to nae even remember ye’re here. I like me peace and quiet, and ye willnae disturb it again, through me windows or any other way. Am I understood?”

Agnes walked into a spacious chamber, steeped in the inky light of the before-dawn sky and the surprising glow of a crackling fire.

“My niece and I will be as quiet as church mice,” she promised. “Thank you, my Laird.”

He didn’t bother to respond.

With one last frown at the baby, he stormed off back down the endlessly spiraling stairs, the scuff and thud of his footsteps echoing long after he had disappeared from sight.

“Well,” Agnes exhaled, “he is quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

Lizzy burbled, though Agnes couldn’t say if it was in agreement or not.

3

Fifteen minutes later, as Agnes attempted to settle on a reading chair by the fire, to soothe a baby that was becoming rather short-tempered in her hunger, the door opened.

She jumped, half-expecting to see the muscular giant with the tuggable beard and cold grey eyes. Instead, a tiny woman bustled in.

Agnes herself wasn’t exactly blessed with great height, but this newcomer was almost a head shorter. Yet, her radiant smile could have filled entire halls with warmth.