Love Without Reason

Left with no choice, Riona went through to the kitchen at the back, where her grandfather’s collie greeted her with much tail-wagging before taking an alert stance as the American appeared behind her.

If he’d thought the living-room bad, Riona knew he’d find the kitchen worse. The linoleum was peeling, the table and chairs rickety, and the cooking range large, ugly and ancient.

He looked round with a critical eye, but again refrained from commenting, nodding towards the collie instead.

‘Jo, I presume.’ He bent to offer the collie a hand to sniff.

‘Yes, but he doesn’t much take to strangers,’ she responded, as the collie backed away to his basket in the corner.

‘Like dog, like mistress,’ the American drawled in an undertone intended to be heard.

Riona refused to justify herself. No, she didn’t like strangers. Not over-familiar ones, at any rate, she thought, as he leaned his considerable length against her granny’s old dresser.

‘Jo’s my grandfather’s dog, actually,’ she replied coolly.

‘Your grandfather,’ he echoed. ‘Yes, Dr Macnab said he’d died recently.’

Busy with the tea things, Riona gave a brief nod that discouraged further interest in her private life.

Or would have done, if Cameron Adams hadn’t been so thick-skinned. ‘It must be difficult, running this place on your own,’ he continued, oblivious.

‘I manage,’ she countered, wondering what he was getting at. Perhaps it wasn’t just casual conversation. ‘I won’t fall behind in my rent, Mr Adams, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

‘Cameron,’ he insisted, ‘and no, I wasn’t worrying about your rent. From what I’ve seen of the accounts, I doubt it’s worth worrying about,’ he added with a short laugh.

Riona did not laugh back. What did he mean? Did he consider the rents too low? She could barely pay the present amount.

Her face revealed her thoughts, as Cameron Adams drawled, ‘Relax, kid. Whatever you pay for this place, it’s probably too much.’

He cast a disparaging glance round the kitchen.

Riona was caught between reactions: relief there’d be no rent rise versus anger at the insult to her home.

Powerless to argue, she confined herself to asking how he liked his tea, before placing it unceremoniously on the dresser beside him. She didn’t invite him to sit, and didn’t sit herself, instead taking a stance by the sink, as far from him as possible. Being a small kitchen, it wasn’t very far, and she felt overly conscious of him.

He stared back at her, without any attempt to pretend he was doing otherwise, and she dropped her eyes to the worn linoleum.

‘Does the boyfriend help?’ he suddenly asked.

‘What?’ She looked at him blankly.

He repeated, ‘The boyfriend. Does he help with the croft?’

She narrowed her eyes. How much did he know of her life?

‘Who says I have a boyfriend?’

‘It’s not a secret, is it?’

He smiled at her caginess. She frowned in response.

‘He’s in the Navy, isn’t he?’ he said, as if her memory might need jogging.

Of course she’d realised whom he meant. Fergus Ross. But who had told him? Surely not Dr Hamish?

‘So how serious is it?’ he asked, when she remained silent.

‘I...I...’ His directness was unbelievable. ‘Why do you want to know?’

He shrugged, before saying, ‘I guess I’m interested, after all.’

‘In what?’ Riona genuinely didn’t understand.

‘In you,’ the American replied simply.

He was joking. He had to be, Riona decided, as she gave him a disgruntled look and he flashed her a brilliant smile in return. He was just trying to disconcert her.

‘It’s against my better judgement, of course,’ he continued in the same vein. ‘I mean you’re really not my type. That’s not to say you aren’t beautiful. You are. Very.’

He paused to give her a look that made Riona wish she’d kept her coat on. ‘Do you expect me to be flattered?’

‘Hell, no,’ he said, clearly amused by the conversation, ‘I expect the boys have been queuing up to tell you you’re beautiful for a few years now.... I suppose all the practice has helped you perfect that put-down manner of yours.’

‘Why, you...’ Riona searched furiously for a suitable insult to trade, then remembered once more whom she was talking to.

He lifted a dark brow, prompting. ‘Yes?’

‘I...you...this isn’t fair!’ she finally protested.

‘Fair?’ he echoed.

‘You can stand there, saying what you want,’ Riona ran on, ‘and I have to stand here, taking it, because you’re laird, and I’m not.’

‘What?’ He’d obviously not thought of it from that angle, and, when he did, he laughed out loud. ‘How feudal. You think you can’t argue back, because I’m your landlord. What do you imagine I’m going to do? Throw you out on the street?’

Put like that, it did sound absurd, and Riona went on the defensive. ‘I don’t know. Your great-uncle wasn’t too keen on people disagreeing with him.’

‘So I’ve gathered—’ the American shrugged ‘—but I’m not Sir Hector. And, despite its attractions, I don’t believe in droit de seigneur.’

‘What?’ Riona had never heard the phrase.

‘Droit de seigneur?’ he repeated, and, at her clear ignorance, went on to explain, ‘In olden days, I believe the local lord in an area had the right to sleep with village maidens the night before they married. Unfortunately the custom’s been out of fashion for a few centuries. However, if you fancy reviving it...’ he suggested with a lascivious smile that definitely made a joke of it.

Riona felt she should be disgusted, but wasn’t. In fact, for a moment she actually pictured it, two figures entwined on a big four-poster in Invergair Hall. She blushed at the direction her imagination had taken her and looked away from those sharp blue eyes of his.

‘I don’t suppose you’re planning on marrying soon,’ he added with the same undercurrent of laughter.

‘No, I am not!’ Riona declared on an emphatic note.