Laird of Ballanclaire Read Online Free PDF Page B

called insurgency. It’s also treason. It’s whispered about on every street corner of your cities, bandied about in every tavern, and it’s lauded in your little news rags, like the Colonial Register . All of which is treasonous by law.”
    “I know what insurgency is, and you’re wrong. What you just described sounds like free men with a voice. If that is treason, then the word needs another definition.”
    He sighed hugely, reaching for his mug of water. “I thought we changed the subject.”
    “Find one more to my liking than looking at a man’s behind, then.”
    His reaction was probably a chuckle. He shouldn’t have been drinking at the time, she thought, watching him cough and choke again. It was some time before he said anything. She waited.
    “Verra well, Constant. We’ll leave off arguing finer points of treason and the law. I’m at a disadvantage at the moment. I canna’ face you and argue.”
    She smiled at that. “Does that mean you’re going to be quiet, finally?”
    “Quiet?” He tipped his head as if considering it. “I might, if you answer my question first.”
    “What was it?” she replied.
    “Why have you na’ wed?”
    Constant had a handful of grease and was hovering above the well-feathered rump, trying to gather her courage. She knew what she had to do. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She knew it made her warm with the blush. Nothing helped. She swallowed.
    “I have no offers,” she answered.
    “Really? The men in this country are more dense than I suspected.”
    She reddened even more, closed her eyes, and plopped her greased hand on his buttocks. It was just as embarrassing as she’d suspected it would be. She felt him stiffen as she picked up the cheesecloth and wiped him free of feathers. And then she opened her eyes.
    Oh no! That is much worse! More man than she’d ever seen was displayed right in front of her, covered only by the thin sheen of black tar.
    “You should na’ be doing this,” he said.
    “No, I shouldn’t. Why, I’ll probably have lost my virtue before I’m finished, too.”
    He chuckled. “Na’ from this position, sweet.”
    “Sir—”
    “Kam,” he interrupted her. “It’s my name, Constant. Please use it. Please?”
    Constant picked up her knife and started sharpening.
    “I doona’ like the sound of that,” he said.
    “What?”
    “I may na’ be a colonist, Constant, but I’m still human. You’re starting to make me verra nervous. I dinna’ ask for this. I did little more than drink overmuch in the wrong den of seditious souls. Now I’m covered with a rock-hard substance, weak as a new bairn. I’ve some verra angered ribs, I’m na’ certain my legs survived the burns, I’ve my bare backside in the air, and a young lass who detests me is sharpening her knife prior to carving on me. I doona’ see much to like. Do you?”
    “You liked my stew,” she answered. “Kameron.”
    Saying his name gave her chills. It was almost as strange as the tingle she got when her left hand rested on him. She took a deep breath and slid her knife under the layer of tar. The skin she uncovered was as unblemished as his shoulder and a lot pinker. Her embarrassment deepened. If he said one word, she was going to choke.
    She wiped the knife and slid the blade along his flesh, slipping the tar away just like an apple peel. It even curled as it lifted. Constant watched that, and ordered her mind and eyes not to see what she was revealing. And knew it was impossible.
    She had to stop more than once to dab at her forehead, upper lip, and then her fingers. Her hands were shaking, too. It was so excruciatingly embarrassing it brought tears. She only hoped he didn’t hear it. And then it was finished. She was finally done, and she sniffed loudly against her sleeve. Then she put her hands to her eyes and tried to hold it in.
    “I doona’ believe I can ever repay this, Connie,” he whispered.
    “Please . . . don’t say a word,” she answered, her