Her father was more perceptive. “Huxley, I’ve warned ye already,” Angus growled. “Ye keep those bluidy English hands off my daughter, or it willnae matter whether yer connections include that fat king of yers.” The man stalked toward John, leaning close and quietly growling, “Or an earl’s whelp.”
John froze. He knew?
John glanced behind him at the three towering brothers. Rannoch seemed amused. Alexander seemed murderous. Campbell seemed forbidding. Nothing unusual there. Did they know, too?
Did Annie? She was frowning at her father, arms crossed, head shaking. Annoyed, perhaps. But no. John didn’t think she knew.
Angus continued his threats at a volume only John could hear. “Unless ye mean to put yer ring upon her finger, lad, ye’d best keep yer distance. No matter who a man is, gelded is gelded, I reckon.”
His ring? Cold flooded his body. No. He didn’t want a wife. He especially didn’t want one as frustrating and fiery and foul-mouthed as …
Annie. There she stood, chin tilted and cornflower eyes flashing.
“Och, ye’re waddin’ up yer drawers fer nothin’, auld man,” she scoffed. “Huxley is too bluidy proper to luik in my direction.” She came forward and tugged Angus’s arm, trying to pull him away from John and soothe him at once. “Dinnae fash.”
Angus didn’t budge. “He wants ye. I can see it.”
“Nah. ’Tis likely he’ll marry some milk-faced lass his mother serves up at a Nottinghamshire supper.” Those cornflower eyes caught him unawares. They should be teasing. Amused. They were not. Rather, they seemed melancholy as the moon. “Isnae that so, English?”
Something foreign moved through him. He couldn’t name it. Couldn’t describe it. All he knew was that the wistful note in her voice made him want to howl. And lift her off her feet onto his shoulder. And haul her out of her father’s house back to his castle. Then, he wanted to …
His breath halted. His hands clenched into fists.
He wanted to … God, he wanted to …
Claim her.
Yes, that was it. The knowledge surged. Thrummed. It took everything he had to hold still.
What the devil was wrong with him? He didn’t know, but something obviously was. She was bent on marrying a title—any title—regardless of the man who came with it. He’d spent his life avoiding women like her.
Apart from which, her father had just threatened to remove what Annie called his “manly bits.” And he heard at least two of her brothers making growling noises near the door. And her hair was a ragged, damp mess. And she couldn’t get through a sentence without cursing. And, despite his best efforts, he suspected she’d never be comfortable dining at his mother’s table.
And the way she’d spoken to a simple, freckled boy about his new pup had stirred something inside him he didn’t understand. Something needful. Near painful.
“I should go,” he rasped.
He didn’t belong here. Annie didn’t belong to him. Or with him. Or beneath him, moaning his name. Yet, he’d spent the day buying her gowns, envisioning her in each one. Fantasizing about how azure silk would look with that fiery hair. Contemplating what a proper corset might do for her lush bosom. Had he lost his bloody mind? Probably.
“English?” Her brow puckered with concern. “Ye’ve gone a bit peely.”
“I should go,” he repeated, pivoting toward the door.
“Angus didnae mean it. He’s just fashed I’ll marry ye and he’ll have to pay someone to cook his dinner.” She followed him to the door where her brothers waited like ominous sentries.
From inside the room, Angus spoke. His voice was remarkably quiet and threaded with steel. “Ye’re not to see her again, Huxley. No more teachin’. No more visits.”
Annie spun to face her father. “Dinnae be ridicu—”
“Haud yer wheesht and listen, lass,” he barked. “Ye seek him out again, and I’ll make that bonnie face of his far less bonnie. That’s a promise. Ye ken?”
“But I—”
“Dinnae try me, Annie.” His voice was harsh. Unyielding. “If ye want to keep yer place in my house, do as I tell ye!”
Shock widened her eyes and rounded her lips. Watching her expression, John knew Angus had never before made such a threat.
“Da,” she whispered as though it was the only word she had left.
John hated the hurt on her face. He wanted to gather her in and hold her tight until it disappeared. He’d felt the same after the women in the dress shop had ridiculed her.
But she wasn’t his. He must remember that. He might have fooled himself for a while, savoring their game more than was wise. She might make him feel alive after a long stretch in the grave.
But she bloody well wasn’t his. And he was damaging her by pretending differently.
Using her distraction as an opportunity, he nodded his understanding to Angus, who looked devastated to have wounded his daughter but determined not to show it. Then, John slipped between the tallest two brothers and made for the entrance hall.
Just as he exited the front door, Campbell caught up with him. “I need to speak with ye.”
Silent and unsmiling, Campbell MacPherson was intimidating on a good day. Now, in the frost-coated dark, the man seemed more monster than man.
“Your father made himself clear.” John tugged on his hat. “I’ll keep my distance. Nothing more to say.”
“Annie mentioned ye ran into David Skene on yer return from Inverness.” Amusement entered the other man’s voice. “She said ye handled yerself in a right entertainin’ fashion. Two pistols. A wild tale about Spanish brigands.” He paused. “Ye kept her safe. I’m grateful to ye.”
“There was never any question,” John replied softly. “And the wild tale was true.”
This time, the pause was longer. “Da believes ye’ll use Annie to gain an advantage then cast her aside when ye return to England.”
“I’m aware.”
“A man bent on such a scheme would have no use for a chaperone. He’d take what he wanted because he could.”
“Indeed.”
A nod was followed by another deep, considering silence. “Skene’s attacks have been bolder than I anticipated.”
John scowled at the memory of Skene’s hand reaching for Annie. “You’d do well to dispatch that problem sooner rather than later.”
“Aye. We plan to.”
John hesitated, willing his next warning to remain where it belonged—in his head. But out it came, dark and true. “If he comes near her again, I will do it myself.”
Campbell stilled then edged closer. In the faint light from the windows, John could just make out his expression. The heavy brow was furrowed and the jaw was hard, but he wasn’t threatening. At least, not toward John. “Do ye ken which lord Annie aims to wed?”
“No.” Another surge of resentment made him grind his teeth. He’d felt it before. It was stronger now. “My impression is that she seeks the title, not a specific man.”