The Laird (Captive Hearts) Read Online Free PDF Page A

left Ireland.
    “If I’m so fortunate, why did Bridget send me far, far away?”
    Such a scary distance too. The Scottish roads were nothing compared to the pitching of the Irish Sea and the odd languages people spoke in Belfast and Glasgow. In the port towns, Prebish had held Maeve’s hand, and Maeve hadn’t protested.
    “Your sister is expecting a child of her own, young Maeve, and your older brother is now a Scottish baron. He’s the head of your family, and the proper fellow to look after you now that all that nonsense is over with on the Continent.”
    Nonsense was what Prebish called everything from a disagreement among the maids to war to Maeve’s very reasonable arguments against having her hair braided every single day.
    “Tell me again what my brother looks like.”
    Prebish’s smile shifted and became wistful—or sad?
    “He’s a grand fellow, your brother Michael. As tall as Hamish Heckendorn, with green eyes and blond hair. He liked to laugh when I knew him, and your sisters adored him.”
    “Does he still like to laugh?” Because what did it matter if a man was taller than the blacksmith in Darrow if that man was grumpy and sour all the time?
    “He’s been long away to war, Maeve. That can take the laughter out of a man, but there’s nothing like a child to bring it back.”
    Who was to bring back Maeve’s laughter?
    The mountains never changed here. They took all day to get around, and the roads only got worse the farther the carriage traveled from the coast. In Aberdeen, Prebish had declared they needed a day to rest, but they’d also picked up baggage, the weight of which made the ride even rougher.
    “Will my brother like me?”
    Prebish was not ignoring this question. Maeve could see her old face was creased in thought. “He will love you, and you will love him, because that’s what family does.”
    Maeve reached under the seat for the basket of scones—which were not stale—and took a bite, hoping to settle her stomach. Prebish had told the truth—families loved each other, even families who sent their dearest little girl off to strange, cold, bumpy lands—but Prebish had also not answered the question Maeve had asked.
    Would Michael, a brother she’d never met, like her?
    ***
     
    Brenna had parted from her newly scrubbed husband at the first opportunity, needing activity to keep her from flying at him in a flat panic.
    Heirs were not a fit topic for the dinner table, though, so a lovely meal had been served an hour earlier than usual.
    Of which, Brenna had tasted not one bite.
    “Angus said you set a good table, and he spoke the truth.” Michael offered her a smile and put a slice of cheese on the end of a small bone-handled knife. Brenna took the cheese, knowing she hadn’t eaten enough dinner to sustain a hare in summer.
    She ignored the compliment and the smile, for Angus offering compliments was the local equivalent of Greeks bearing gifts.
    “Thank you.” She nibbled the cheese rather than speculate on what else Angus had said over a glass or three of whisky.
    “Does Angus usually dine here?”
    “He dwells in the dower house, and is well looked after there. This is our own cheese, you know. I like it particularly well.”
    From Michael’s expression, Brenna’s dodge hadn’t worked.
    He cut himself a thick slice of cheese in a single, clean stroke.
    “Why is my uncle residing in the dower house when we have an entire castle available to shelter our family?”
    “The castle is drafty, dusty, and without many modern conveniences, according to Angus.” While the dower house, built at the insistence of Michael’s mother, was an architectural gem full of comfort and innovations. “Your father gave him the tenancy of the dower house with your mother’s permission.”
    This was not far from the truth, if the late laird’s semi-drunken ramblings could be trusted. Brenna had been too grateful for Angus’s absence to question the explanation.
    “I suppose it’s the