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Chapter Four
Liam ran a hand over his beard. Of late, he’d actually contemplated shaving it off. Kristin had despised facial hair, and after she’d scarred his face, he’d grown the beard, partially to conceal the scar, but primarily to rile her.
With deliberate intent, he shoved thoughts of his unhappy, dead wife aside. She’d haunted his dreams and memories long enough. From beneath half-closed eyes, he watched Emeline pick at her breakfast.
What in the name of the wee man had possessed him to tell her she wasn’t meant for menial tasks? He’d sounded like an arrogant, condescending arse. Anyone with eyes in their head could see she wasn’t a pampered lass in manner or appearance.
The color still high on her cheeks, and what he suspected was hurt shimmering in those gorgeous big doe eyes of hers, she gave a slight shake of her dark head. “Let’s no’ argue. Ye’re right. I dinna want to perform the task. I just wanted to show that I was capable and have nae need to be waited upon.”
Lifting the cup, he took an appreciative sip while studying her. Why did she feel a need to prove herself? He hadn’t paid her much mind at Kennedy’s gathering, but from what he had observed, she appeared timid and retiring.
He didn’t recall her dancing, or even speaking to any men for that matter. But that might’ve been due to her dragon of an aunt hovering about and breathing fire at any gentleman who glanced at Emeline with more than passing interest.
Why wasn’t she married?
Why did he care?
He didn’t. And with that determined and final thought, he turned his attention to his cooling porridge. Taking a bite, he opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Ye put apples in the porridge?”
She gave him a searching look and then a hesitant nod. “Aye. I thought they’d add a bit of flavor.”
“It’s delicious.”
This time, a flush of pleasure turned her cheeks rosy, and when she dropped her umber-eyed gaze to her own bowl, a slight, pleased smile bent her pink lips upward. “I thought, if ye’d like that is, I could make an apple tart or pie this afternoon. I found a small sugar cone, but nae spices.”
An apple pie? Odin’s balls, he adored apple pie.
Whywasn’t this jewel of a woman married?
Were all men in Edinburgh blind, daft idiots?
The prices of spices were far too dear to leave them in an unattended cottage. However, Liam adored apple anything. Had since he was a wee laddie.
“I’d be most grateful for a pie,” he said with a wink.
She appeared inexplicably pleased by his response and gifted him a celestial smile.
His heart leaped behind his ribcage, shaking his judiciously erected ramparts of isolation and aloofness. If he wasn’t diligent, this entrancing lass might very well cause the formerly impenetrable battlements he’d come to rely upon to crumble to fine dust at his feet.
Mustering his equanimity, he helped himself to another serving of porridge then casually glanced about the small cottage. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d come here with his friends or by himself.
Especially when Kristin was alive but before the wee bairns came along. He’d needed the respite from her incessant nagging, harping, and complaining. Never had he known such a discontented woman. Nothing pleased her, and even now, nine years after meeting her, he still couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to be caught in her well-devised trap.
He’d not so easily slip into a harness again.
Liam took another bite, and chewing thoughtfully, observed the woman across from him.
Emeline LeClaire was the opposite of his deceased wife in almost every way.
As dark in coloring as Kristin had been fair. As slender and lithe as Kristin had been abundantly rounded in all the places men most appreciated. As soft-spoken, serene and considerate as Kristin had been demanding, difficult, and impossible to please. As unassuming and unaware of her loveliness as Kristin had been bold and confident of her unquestionable allure.
Once before, he’d let himself be blinded by beauty and lust.
And where, devil it, had that landed him?
Never again would he lose control or be vulnerable to a woman’s wiles. Having one’s heart carved out with a bejeweled hair pin and the remnants left for the crows to feast upon rather had a way of discouraging interest or affection for the fairer sex.
Excepting his mother and sister, naturally.
