Page 44 of Kidnapping Cordelia

He shrugged, unrepentant. “Well, ye cannae blame me entirely. Many a lassie would, even some who were born here.”

Delia made a harrumphing sound but allowed him that, for she knew it was true.

He stuffed his hands in his pocket before saying casually, “Luella tells me she asked Mr Macalister if ye could help with a lambing, but he widnae let ye.”

“Another man who thinks me a frilly bit of nonsense,” Delia remarked. “Just because I like to wear pretty things does not mean I’m weak, or incapable of learning a new skill. But really, Muir, what kind of life could I have here if I can’t be a part of your life? Do you expect me to sit about the house looking ornamental? For I assure you, if that’s what you have in mind—”

“Nay, lassie,” he said at once, holding his hands up in a peaceable gesture. “I’ll admit that’s what I expected might happen and why I felt so reluctant, for I thought ye would be bored out of yer wits by the week’s end.”

“I should never be so lacklustre and dull,” Delia retorted hotly.

He laughed at that, his eyes bright with amusement. “That much I believe. Pax, Delia. Can we be friends again?”

Delia sighed. “We were never not friends,” she said, starting a little as he took her hand, his fingers closing around hers. Delia looked down, noticing how tanned and strong his hand was, the fingers calloused and scarred in places. They were the hands of a working man, despite the fact his father was an earl. Muir worked for his place in the world, and he worked hard to make certain that place was secure.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, stepping closer to her.

Delia’s heart kicked in her chest as he closed the space between them, still holding her hand but settling the other at her waist. “The next weeks are going to be busy, lassie, but if ye think ye would like to, perhaps we could have lunch together. I’ll ask Mrs Paterson to make us a picnic.”

“A picnic?” Delia said sceptically, for though there had been a fair amount of sunshine in the past days, it was by no means warm.

“Aye. If yer as hardy as ye would have me believe, ye can picnic outside in April in the Highlands.” He laughed at her expression, squeezing her waist. “Dinnae fash. If it’s raining or too awful, we’ll seek shelter in one of the barns, aye? But I’d like it to be informal, to give ye a taste of how I live my life, which is a good deal spent out of doors. What do you think?”

“I think I shall wrap up warmly and enjoy it very much,” she told him, thinking it was a rather lovely notion, and a way they could get to know each other with no one else around.

“That’s my girl,” he said approvingly, and Delia felt a surge of pleasure at his words, which she told herself was ridiculous, but the sensation remained all the same.

She stared at him, aware of a sudden change in his demeanour, of the thrum of tension that prickled over her skin.

“May I kiss ye?” he asked, and Delia struggled to hold his gaze, for his eyes had darkened, a wicked glint visible there that she had seen before and had ended in her allowing him to take liberties she’d never imagined.

“That depends,” she said, wishing she did not feel so breathless, “on whether you mean to kiss me, or try to seduce me again?”

“I dinnae try to seduce ye, Delia,” he said, his eyebrows tugging together as his arm slid tighter around her, pulling her close. “If I had been intending to seduce ye, we would be wed by now, for there would be nae choice for ye.”

“Why, you arrogant—” she began crossly, only to have her words smothered as he pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her until the tension left her body and then he drew back.

“’Tis nae arrogance,” he said softly. “Ye want me. ’Tis as obvious as the nose on yer face, and a fine and pretty nose it is,” he added, kissing it and grinning at the glare she shot at him.

He kissed her again and Delia felt her wits dissolving as she recollected just why she had allowed him such freedom with her person. When he kissed her nothing else existed, there was no one else anywhere, no other reason to be anywhere doing anything but in his arms. The world went away, and that was at once reassuring and rather terrifying.

“You are an arrogant lummox,” she told him firmly, once he let her up for air again.

“Aye, maybe,” he conceded, amusement glinting in his eyes. “But I’m nae wrong.”

Delia sighed and reached up, linking her arms about his neck.

“No, you’re not wrong, drat you,” she said, and pulled his head down for another kiss.

The next days settled into a routine for Delia and Muir. Whilst Muir hardly knew what was day and what was night, as he snatched an hour’s sleep whenever he could grab one, he felt increasingly at peace with the idea of marrying Delia. Each day she would arrive around midday, and Muir would carry the basket to whichever spot he had chosen for their picnic. The weather had been exceptionally kind, with dry, sunny days that even held a little warmth as the sun shone on their backs. On those days, they talked and ate and got to know each other by exchanging stories of their childhoods and their hopes and dreams for what their futures might look like. Muir entertained her with stories of his and his brothers’ escapades as children, and he took delight in her reaction, for she laughed easily and without reserve. There was no false tittering or simpering giggles, like some ladies he had met over the years. When Delia laughed, she did it with her whole heart, her nose and her eyes crinkling and the sound exploding from her without a thought for being ladylike, and Muir realised he liked that about her. She spoke without thinking sometimes, and the way her mind worked fascinated him as he struggled to connect whatever they’d been talking about with the new topic of conversation she threw at him out of nowhere. They spoke about the farm, with Muir explaining about caring for the sheep, and suddenly she was talking about an Italian opera. When he had asked the connection, she had said the sheep reminded her of goats and she’d had a wonderful goat’s cheese at the meal she’d had before she’d gone to see the opera when she’d been in Italy. Then they had gone from whiskey to her wondering if people would one day discover a kind of fish that could fly – because Hamilton had a distillery and the herring business, and she’d been watching the sea birds dive into the sea to catch fish. It made perfect sense when she explained it, but the leap could be dizzying.

Today, the sunshine had deserted them, and a fine, mizzling rain had settled over the landscape, shrouding everyone and everything in mist.

“Quick,” he told her, tugging at her hand as he ran inside the barn where he had set up their picnic earlier in the day. “Are ye wet through?” Muir asked, turning to her to discover her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold.

“No, though I never understand how such a fine rain can make you so wet,” she said, laughing as she took down her hood and unfastened her cloak.

“Will ye be warm enough?” he asked in concern, as she hung it up on a peg in the timber frame. “We could go back to the house.”