“Nae me,” he said, the two words coming out clipped, strained.
“Then who?”
He slid his teeth back and forth, loath to tell her, but he would not lie. He could not be so dishonorable.
“Who, William?” she demanded, her voice louder.
“Does it matter?” he asked, fumbling around for a way out of the mess he’d made.
She cocked her head and plunked her hands on her hips as if she were disassembling his inner thoughts by staring at him. The last thing he needed or wanted was Ada in his head. Releasing her, he started to turn away, but she caught his forearm. “William?”
His name was a quiet plea. How the devil was any man supposed to resist a plea from Ada?
He swallowed hard. “The man who wishes to hold yer heart,” he said.
She recoiled as if he’d hit her, and then her lips pressed into a thin line. “I see,” she said quietly. “Then my gift most definitely will nae work as it should yet. More’s the pity for ye. Or should I say for yer brother?”
“Are ye trying to provoke me?” he asked, stunned.
“Of course nae,” she said, then spun on her heel and marched toward the woods.
Grant shook his head at William. “Ye are in trouble with that one. She’ll have ye around her wee pinkie sooner than ye realize.”
William made a derisive sound from his throat, though he’d already had the same thought. Now he was more intent than before not to allow himself to become close to her.
