Hard-Hearted Highlander. Julia London

      “Not alone. You know I’ll be nearby,” Bernadette said soothingly. “Say you are invited to walk with him. You might use that opportunity to converse with him, ask him questions about himself and assure yourself he is not as...” Boorish. Primitive. Savage? “As distant as he has appeared to you,” she said, and smiled. “Men are quite eager to speak of themselves and need only the slightest encouragement. I’ve no doubt you’ll find him a wonderful companion if you allow him to focus his attention on himself.”

      Avaline seemed highly skeptical. Bernadette would have to improve her powers of persuasion, but her belly chose that moment to growl with hunger. And rather loudly, too. She hadn’t had a bite of food since early in the morning.

      Avaline looked at Bernadette’s belly. “Oh, dear! You haven’t eaten!”

      No, she’d not eaten, because that craggy old bastard of a butler had instructed her to come and prepare her lady’s bedchamber. Firstly, Avaline was not a lady. Secondly, Bernadette was not a bloody chambermaid. Granted, she was scarcely a rung above it, but she had her pride. She was, after all, the daughter of a recognized knight, Sir Whitman Holly, and his wife, her mother, Lady Esme Holly.

      “How very careless of us,” Avaline said.

      “You mustn’t give it another thought,” Bernadette said. She would be thinking about it all night, enough for the both of them.

      “No, I am going to summon them now, and tell them—”

      “I’ve an idea,” Bernadette said. “I’ll help you ready for bed, then I’ll go and seek out the kitchen. I shan’t disturb anyone—they’ll be quite well occupied with putting the house to bed.”

      “Well...” Avaline said uncertainly, and bit her bottom lip again. Bernadette pointed to her own lip, and Avaline stopped chewing at once. It was a dreadful habit the girl had, and on more than one occasion, she’d ended the day looking as if someone had slapped her across the mouth.

      “Come,” Bernadette said. “I’ll brush your hair.”

      When she’d brushed and braided Avaline’s hair and put her in bed with a book she wouldn’t read, Bernadette said good-night and went in search of the kitchens. She was not accustomed to missing her supper and she didn’t much like it. She hoped she was not too late.

      The castle was a confusing maze of winding corridors, some of them poorly lit, but Bernadette possessed a keen sense of direction and found her way to the great hall. It was empty now, save for four dogs that had staked their places before the massive hearth and the warm embers there. They scarcely lifted their heads when she paused to look inside.

      She walked on, turning down one of the more brightly lit corridors. She heard voices, and realized the sound was coming from an open door. She moved closer. The voices were male, and she paused just outside the door, listening. She couldn’t make it out, really, and honestly didn’t care what they were saying—she only wanted to sneak by. She darted past the open door, but realized, too late, that in the shadows just past the open door was another door that closed off the hallway. “Of all the bother!” she whispered, and tried the handle, but it was locked.

      Bernadette turned around, prepared to dart past the open door once more, but she realized with significant consternation that she was plainly visible from the room where the men had gathered, and they were visible to her. And there, facing the door, sat Avaline’s intended. Or was he now officially her fiancé? Whoever he was, he was staring at Bernadette, his expression unreadable...unless one looked at his eyes.

      She didn’t know the man’s eye color, but from here, it looked as black and as hard as obsidian. His gaze moved over her, slowly and deliberately, as if he found her wanting. His casual perusal felt as if it had singed her, leaving a tingling trail down her chest to her abdomen. He was a beast! An uncivilized beast.

      Bernadette glared right back at him. Men didn’t scare her as they did Avaline. Quite the contrary.

      She lifted her chin and walked on, aware that his gaze followed her for the space of that open door.

      “Madam?”

      Bernadette had been so intent on showing that wretched man she was not the least bit intimidated by him that she hadn’t seen Captain Mackenzie moving down the corridor toward her, and almost jumped out of her skin.

      He smiled at her obvious surprise. He was carrying a bottle in one hand.

      “I beg your pardon, Captain,” she said as he neared her. “I’m a bit lost. Would you kindly point me to the kitchen?”

      “The kitchen?”

      “I, ah... I was tending to Miss Kent’s things during the supper hour,” she said, wincing slightly with apology.

      “Ah. Come then,” he said, his warm smile returned. “You’ll be quite lost if you attempt to find it on your own, you will. Our ancestors didna think much of efficiency when they built this fortress.” He gestured for her to come with him.

      He had such a lovely smile and even lovelier light blue eyes. He’d been unfailingly kind to them all since the moment they’d boarded his ship, and Bernadette couldn’t help but smile now, happy to have been rescued by him.

      “Miss Kent, she’s well, is she?” he asked pleasantly as they took another turn into another corridor.

      “Quite. A bit tired, what with the journey, but very well, thank you.”

      “Aye. Here we are then,” he said, opening a door and allowing Bernadette to pass through before him. A wooden table stretched long through the middle of the kitchen. On one wall were the many pots used for cooking. On another wall, jars of spices. The smell of lamb roasting made her stomach growl, and she smiled sheepishly at her escort.

      Captain Mackenzie walked to the bell pull and tugged on it. A moment later, a woman appeared. Her gray hair was knotted on the top of her head and her apron was wet from the chest down, as if she’d been washing.

      Captain Mackenzie spoke to her in Gaelic. She responded in kind and disappeared through the door from where she’d come. The captain turned to Bernadette and bowed. “Barabel will prepare something for you, aye?”

      “Thank you,” she said gratefully.

      “Will you find your way to your room, then? I’ll have Frang come and—”

      “No, please. I am confident I know the way.” She wasn’t the least bit confident, but she’d as sooner wander all night than see Frang again.

      “Aye, verra well. Oidhche mhath, Miss Holly,” he said, and walked out of the kitchen with his bottle.

      Bernadette watched him go, marveling at the way nature worked. How on earth could two brothers be so entirely opposite of one another in both looks and mien?

      Barabel returned with a platter of brown bread, cheese and meat. She very unceremoniously slapped it down on the table in the center of the kitchen with a pointed glare for Bernadette.

      “My apologies for the inconvenience,” Bernadette said, and smiled.

      Barabel did not return her smile.

      “Do you speak English?”

      Barabel responded to that by turning about and walking through the door. A moment later, Bernadette heard the clink of china and the slosh of water.

      She moved cautiously to the table and looked around for a stool. There was none. Neither were there any dining utensils. Well, that wouldn’t deter her, not when she was this hungry. She hoisted herself up onto the table and put the platter on her lap and ate with her fingers, listening to the moans and groans of the wind moving through this heap of stones, sighing with relief at the taste of food.

      She had managed to have some bread, some chicken and a bit of cheese when she heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward the kitchen. She assumed it was the captain, and looked up, smiling self-consciously.

      It