Page 23 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

Gordon slowed, and she nearly walked into him. He turned, studying her more carefully now, his green eyes moving over her face as if searching for a crack in her pride. The look made her want to step closer and step back at once. She did neither.

“We practically raised ourselves,” Ailis said. “Me siblings and I. I am nay some spoilt lady like ye assume.”

The words came sharper than she meant, and he nodded. “Good. Then he must ken how to tend to chickens.”

Ailis stopped dead at that, panic striking her into a hiccup.

A hen strutted past her boot as if summoned by insult.

“Chickens?” she repeated, already feeling a chill inside.

Gordon looked back at her, and this time, she was certain he was amused.

“Aye,” he said. “Chickens.”

Ailis stared at him. Then at the kitchen yard ahead where several feathered demons scratched near a low fence, making suspicious little clucking sounds. One particularly plump hen turned its bead-black eye on her with the cold judgment of a dowager at a wedding feast.

Malcolm, who had followed at a distance, leaned against a post with the look of a man about to enjoy himself far too much. Ailis lifted her chin, determined not to show him any weakness.

“Thank ye for this opportunity, Me Laird,” she said, her voice ringing sweetly across the yard. “Truly, I have longed all me life to be honored among poultry.”

Malcolm made a strangled sound.

Gordon’s mouth twitched, and Ailis saw it. Her heart gave one stupid little leap before she crushed it under annoyance.

“Of course, Ma’am,” Gordon said.

He opened the small gate and gestured for her to enter.

Ailis looked from him to the chickens. The hens shifted. One flapped its wings suddenly, and she did not jump. She merely moved with elegant surprise as the hen clucked loudly. She dodged behind him right then, trying to hide.

“Why is that one restless?” she questioned, still letting his wider frame form a shadow around her.

“Which one? Agnes?”

She gasped from her shock. “Ye named it?”

“Marion did.” He almost smiled as he said that, like there was some memory behind naming the chicken.

She felt her heart melting again and quickly stiffened.

Nay, nay, nay… Gordon could never in a million years impress me.

Ailis snatched the small basket of grain from the fence post with more force than necessary. “Tell me what to do.”

Gordon stepped behind her into the pen, and the space immediately felt smaller.

His presence settled at her back, his warmth enveloping her. She felt the faint brush of his plaid against her sleeve. The scent of leather, rain-washed wool, and steel. The low sound of his breath as he leaned slightly closer to see the basket in her hands.

“Scatter it,” he said. His voice came near her ear, and Ailis’ fingers tightened around the basket.

“Like this?” she asked and tossed a handful of grain with far more vigor than needed.

The chickens exploded into chaos, beating their wings and shrieking.

One chicken leaped toward them, and Ailis gasped, staggering back before she could catch herself.

His hand caught her waist immediately, steadying her before she fell and broke her neck. His touch burned through gown and stays, large and firm and shockingly careful.