“What are you working on?” she asked desperately.
Smirking, Bull held his knitting out. “I dinnae ken. Another scarf, perhaps? Do ye think I could find some orange yarn before we board the train tomorrow?”
He was teasing her. Honoria sighed and unconsciously rubbed at her temple. “Bull, if there’s any orange yarn to be found in this city, I believe you would be the best person to find some. I still cannot believe you managed to find Crowe a suit without measuring him.”
Her brother winked as his fingers flew. “And evening wear as well.”
She chuckled in defeat, and shook her head. “Thank you for the reminder.” She had to admit; the banter had relaxed her. “You are a remarkable young man when it comes to procuring things. I am delighted to say I have no idea how you do it, nor do I want to know.”
“And have I ever told ye how much I appreciate ye no’ butting into my business?”
Business. Chuckling, Honoria shook her head once more, enjoying the sensation of the smile after the last stressful week.
And of course, it was right then that the universe decided she needed some humbling.
The door opened, and Crowe stepped through.
The smile froze on her lips, and the breath in her lungs.
Holy mother of God.
He was… He was fooking beautiful.
Rough language seemed somehow appropriate.
Dear God in heaven, no man should look as dangerously delicious as Crowe did at that moment, not without expecting women to be fainting from dehydration as their nether regions slicked with their sudden arousal.
His hair fell in those thick, dark locks around his shoulders, which were encased in the black wool of his evening jacket. From the waist up, he was dressed as impeccably as Jamie to one of his evening affairs, but from the waist down…
Somehow, somewhere, Bull had acquired a MacLeod plaid. The black and yellow of the kilt should have looked odd with the formal dinner wear, but with those black boots and the sporran, on Crowe it just looked…remarkable.
Wildness, barely contained.
Primal energy, wrapped in a thin veneer of social reform.
Good heavens, even the tattoo at his neck managed to fit with the ensemble.
It wasn’t until she dragged her attention back up to his face that she saw the hint of uncertainty in his eyes, and remembered that until yesterday, he’d been in prison. He held his arms at his sides, and as she studied him, he flipped them palms-up.
“Well?” he growled.
That was when Honoria realized her mouth was open. She closed it, swallowed, then tried to say something. No sound emerged, so she swallowed again and dragged her gaze to her younger brother, whose hands were unnaturally still as he smirked proudly.
“Good work,” she managed in a hoarse whisper.
“Ye look dashing!” Bull announced as he hopped to his feet.
“Dashing,” she repeated weakly.
Crowe’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a good thing?”
“Ye look fine,” Bull assured him.
“Fine,” came her whispered agreement. Goodness, why couldn’t she make her tongue work better?
Does his tongue still work as well as it used to?
The thought—the memory—made her knees wobble. Swallowing yet again, she lurched for one of the chairs scattered around the room, and curled her gloved fingers around the back, in order to keep herself upright.
Crowe was peering at her suspiciously, but he finally nodded, as if satisfied, and turned to Bull. “Thanks, lad. Feels good to be back in a kilt.”
Her younger brother was cheerfully wrapping up his knitting. “No’ a problem. Do those boots fit a bit better?”
Looking surprised, Crowe glanced down at his feet. “Aye, they do. Ye noticed the others pinched?”
“I notice everything.” Bull winked. “Noria was concerned I’d forgotten what it meant to have good taste.”
Weakly, she objected. “I…did not.”
Luckily, Crowe’s lips curled up on one side as he strolled into the room. “I’m glad ye didnae find us matching togs. How formal are we dining tonight?”
Bull was busy shoving his knitting back under one of the pillows, but he managed to shrug. “I dinnae ken if Noria’s decided.”
At that, both of them swung to look at her, and she felt herself go weak again. She slid around the front of the chair and sank into it, trying to disguise the motion as nonchalance. “You—” She cleared her throat, and willed her arousal under control. “You should choose, Crowe. I think after being locked away for so long, there must be foods you have missed.”
His smirk turned almost feral. “’S no’ the food I’ve missed, angel.”
Good heavens.
Is it warm in here? It is warm in here. Unseasonably warm. I wonder if I could talk Bull into opening that window.
Instead, her younger brother laced his fingers together and flipped his hands around to stretch them. “What are ye in the mood for, Crowe?”
Without taking his gaze from her, Crowe growled, “Food?”
“Aye, food.” Bull chuckled as she shook out his hands. “Carlisle isnae as fine as London or Edinburgh or even Leeds, but there’s plenty of selection, thanks to the railroad. Italian food? Indian? We can find it.”
Finally, Crowe pulled his attention away from her to look to Bull. “Italian?”
“Aye, like pizza. Pasta. Plain buttered noodles.”
Crowe frowned, his arms rising almost unconsciously to cross in front of his chest. Honoria wondered if that was a learned response when something made him uncomfortable.
“That sounds like something a bairn would eat. Is there a separate menu for bairns?”
“Nay.” Bull waggled a finger good-naturedly as he strolled toward the table where he’d placed his outrageously feathered hat, beside a much more subdued black one for Crowe. “A bairn would eat plain rice or fried chicken or mushy corn or a sausage in a bun. Speaking of which, there’s also American cuisine.”
“Americans have cuisine?”
Smiling, Bull turned to Honoria. “Where do ye want to go, dear sister?”
She managed to wave her hand airily, as if she had no cares. “Oh, wherever you would like.”
Her brother huffed out a sigh. “Nay. Ye say that, and then whatever we chose, ye’ll veto.”
“I will not.”
“Aye, ye will.” Bull winked at Crowe. “All women do it.”
She sniffed. “First of all, you are far too young to form offensive opinions about all women. Second of all…you are wrong.”
“Fine.” Her brother clapped his hands behind his back. “Where do ye want to eat?”
Why did it have to be her decision? “Where do you want to eat?”
“Indian.”
Honoria wrinkled her nose. “Curry?” She’d been hoping for an elegant restaurant.
“Then what about German?” her brother asked.
“I do not care for—”
“Noria! Ye’re doing it!”
It wasn’t until she saw Crowe raise a brow, arms still crossed, as Bull rolled his eyes, that Honoria realized she’d just proved her younger brother’s point. Rather than admitting he was right, however, she pressed her lips together and glared.
Bull knew her well, apparently. “What if I give ye three suggestions, and ye narrow it down to two, and we let Crowe chose?”
She hesitated. “Is there a French restaurant? It is not that I dislike curry…”
It took a moment to recognize the sound Crowe was making.
His shoulders shook, and the snorts were coming from the back of his throat.
He looked as if he were having some sort of fit. It took a moment for the truth to dawn.
“Are you…” She slowly stood. “Are you laughing at me?”
Dear heavens, when was the last time he’d laughed?
Copyright © Caroline Lee 2022 (www.CarolineLeeRomance.com)
Those Kilted Bastards #4
He might have killed her brother, but this sinner is now the only man who can save her.
Lady Honoria Lindsay is the daughter of a duke and the sister of three-too-many dead brothers. Yes, there’s something mysterious going on at Exingham, and the only person who can help her get to the bottom of it is Crowe MacLeod, the baseborn bastard who is currently in prison for murdering one of the aforementioned brothers.
He also happens to be the only man she’s ever loved.
So she does what any well-brought-up young lady would do; acquires a gun, recruits a young pickpocket as a chaperone, and jaunts off to spring Crowe from jail. With a few caveats, of course.
After nine years in hell, he’s finally free… Thanks to the one woman he has cause to hate.
It’s galling enough to owe his freedom to the woman who landed him in prison in the first place, but to learn she’s kidnapping him at gunpoint? Crowe MacLeod cannot allow the memory of their forbidden passion to blind him to the certainty of how she betrayed him, no matter how tempting she may be.
His captor has plans for him, and if he wants his future returned to him, he has to help her solve the mystery of her dead brothers. But as danger closes in, and he gives in to the temptation of their shared desire, Crowe comes to suspect he has no future…without her.
Warning: Dun-dun-DUUUUNNNN!This thrilling/electrifying/sensational (insert other big blockbuster words here) conclusion to Those Kilted Bastards is the story you’ve been waiting for! Get ready for plenty of laughs (and even more naughty bits) with this fabulous RomCom
Romance Historical [Self Published, On Sale: May 26, 2022, e-Book, / ]
Caroline Lee is what George R.R. Martin once described as a ""gardener author""; she delights in creating interesting and lovable characters, and allowing them to lead their own stories. Often they draw the story along to completely unexpected--and wonderful!--places. She considers a story a success if she can re-read it and sigh dreamily... and she wishes the same for you.
A love of historical romance prompted Caroline to pursue her degrees in social history; her Master's Degree is in Comparative World History, which is the study of themes across history (for instance, 'domestication of animals throughout the world,' or 'childhood through history'). Her theme? You guessed it: Marriage throughout world history. Her favorite focus was periods of history that brought two disparate peoples together to marry, like marriage in the Levant during the Kingdom of Jerusalem, or marriage between convicts in colonial New South Wales. She hopes that she's able to bring this love of history-- and this history of love-- to her novels.
Caroline is living her own little Happily Ever After with her husband and sons in North Carolina.
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