Page 35 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

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She had made it through the early morning without seeing him.

This was an achievement she afforded herself one brief moment of quiet satisfaction over before Brian materialized outside her chamber door.

He was holding a wooden sword nearly as long as he was tall, gripped in both hands. When the heavy door creaked open, he looked up at her, “Fight with me,” he said.

“I beg yer pardon?”

“I have a sword that could fit ye.” He stated this as though it resolved every possible objection she could conjure.

“Do ye now.” She crossed her arms, fighting the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “And what makes ye think I’d lose?”

That, clearly, had not occurred to him. He blinked up at her, momentarily recalculating. “Ye’re a Lady.”

“I am a great many things before I am a Lady, wee man.” She reached out and tapped the flat of the wooden blade with one finger. “Mind yer footin’ next time ye say that to a woman holdin’ a sword.”

A slow, delighted grin broke across his face, gap-toothed and entirely unguarded. For a moment, he looked so much like his uncle that something in her chest twisted pleasantly before she could stop it.

“Are ye always this cheery before breakfast?” she asked, crouching slightly to bring herself level with him.

“Aye.” He offered the word proudly, his small chin lifting.

Dear God.

He was Sebastian in miniature, only softened by wild curls and two missing teeth on his left lower jaw.

She reached out and flicked one of those curls off his forehead. He ducked away from her hand, laughing, then immediately leaned back in for more.

“Brian.” She kept her voice low and warm. “Ye are too young to be fightin’.”

He drew himself up to his full height, which brought the top of his head approximately to her collarbone. “I am nae. I am a young man.” He paused, his expression turning deeply earnest. “Uncle Sebastian says proper trainin’ starts early or it doesnae start at all.”

“Did he?” She bit back a smile. “And does Uncle Sebastian also say young men should be challengin’ ladies to duels before they’ve had their porridge?”

Brian considered this with great seriousness, clearly searching for the trap in the question. “Nay.”

“I thought nae.”

“He’s very firm about it,” Brian added, undeterred, circling back to his original point.

“Then go fight yer uncle.” She had to press her lips together hard against the laugh that wanted out.

Brian considered this with apparent seriousness. “He’s choppin’ wood.”

“Excellent.”

“And he looks angry.”

“Even better,” she murmured, mostly to the oak door frame.

A short, cautious pause. “I ken nae to bother him when he looks angry.”

“Wise lad.” She reached out and tugged gently at his ear, just enough to make him swat her hand away with an indignant huff that did not hide his grin. “Ye’ll go far.”

Brian watched her with those steady, dark eyes. She could practically see him recalculating.

She straightened fully, smoothing her skirts. “I willnae be fightin’ this morning. I have affairs to attend to.” She looked at him softly. “If ye’d like to help me see to them, ye’re welcome to come. If ye’d still prefer a fight, yer uncle is at the woodpile.”