Page 73 of Kidnapped by a Rogue
“Entirely.” Finn did not bother to keep the sarcasm from his tone.
“I’ll forgive that remark as well as your baseless insinuation that I was involved in this murder, because ye protected my son today,” his uncle said. “I was right to trust in your loyalty to him.”
His uncle motioned Finn into the chair opposite and poured them both a cup of whisky. Finn drank it down. Charging in here and accusing his uncle was a mistake. Did he expect his wily uncle to confess? All he had accomplished was risking his uncle’s goodwill and his newly regained place in the clan.
“I need to know,” his uncle said, examining him through narrowed eyes, “if this Seamus is still a threat to Alex.”
Seamus would not live long if the earl believed he was.
“Seamus gave me his oath that neither he nor the Sutherland men who follow him will attempt to harm Alex.”
His uncle raised a skeptical eyebrow. “How did ye manage that?”
“I persuaded Seamus to pursue the prosecution of the bishop instead,” Finn said. “He’s headed to Edinburgh now to petition the King’s Council.”
“You silver-tongued devil!” His uncle threw his head back and laughed. “Seamus hasn’t a bloody chance in hell of succeeding. The bishop is a Stewart, for God’s sake.”
“Seamus denied he made any attempt to harm Alex before today,” Finn said, after his uncle’s laughter subsided. “The broken shards in Alex’s cup at Huntly and the thorn in his horse’s hoof must have been accidents.”
“I suppose you’re right. But if not for that, I wouldn’t have had ye here to protect Alex today.” His uncle raised his cup to him. “You’ll always have a place in my household. I’ll not forget what you’ve done and the debt I owe ye.”
Finn should be happy. This was what he had hoped for, but his troubles with Margaret dragged his spirits down even now.
“Helen is worried that there’s some trouble between you and your bride,” his uncle said, stopping Finn as he started to leave. “Maggie’s a good woman. Don’t let yourself lose her.”
“I don’t deserve a good woman like her.”
“None of us do,” his uncle said. “But ye must tell yourself you’re better than the man who’s likely to take your place.”
With all his flaws, Finn was better than some Lowlander laird like her former husband. But Margaret had made her choice.
She did not want him.
CHAPTER 20
At supper that night, his aunt embraced him and gushed over how he’d saved her son, and the men toasted him until Finn was drunk enough to decide to take his uncle’s advice to try to hold on to Margaret—and drunk enough to believe he had a good chance of succeeding.
Alex told the story about Seamus two or three times, embellishing the tale more each time, as any good Highlander was expected to do. Then Alex told them again about the stag they were tracking when Seamus interrupted their hunt.
“Ye should have seen the size of him!” Alex said. “Finn said we’d go back tomorrow and try to pick up his trail again.”
“I’m sure Finn will get that stag,” Curstag said in her throaty voice. “A brave man can get what he wants.”
Finn hoped so. When he caught Margaret darting glances at him, he smiled to himself. Now that he was the hero of the day, she just might be willing to overlook his shortcomings for another night together. One night could lead to two, and two could lead to more.
True, things had ended badly last night—verrabadly—but Margaret had a cautious nature. Perhaps she just needed time to become accustomed to the notion that they would be together.
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Margaret rested her hand on his arm. As she leaned close, the light scent of wildflowers from her hair filled his nose. Lord above, he wanted to have her in his arms again, to hear her soft moans when he kissed her breast and—
“Can ye come to our chamber after supper?” she whispered.
“Aye, lass!” He could not help grinning like a fool. She wanted him. He could tell by the way she blushed.
As he followed her up the stairs, he watched the graceful sway of her hips. He was sorely tempted to pull her sweet bottom against him and kiss her neck, but then he recalled how last night had ended and decided it would be wise to follow her lead. He was usually good at reading women, particularly in bed. But if Maggie had shown any sign of distress before bursting into tears last night, he’d missed it entirely—and unlike now, he’d been stone cold sober.
When she closed the bedchamber door behind them, he leaned against the bed, folded his arms to keep from reaching for her, and waited to see what she’d do. Her delicate features were strained, suggesting she had not slept any better than he had last night. She held herself very still, revealing in tension.
“Ye did a fine thing today,” she said. “I’m so happy neither you nor Alex was hurt.”
