“Nephews?”
“Sons of my mother’s sister.”
It was the story they’d given to everyone but immediate family and those who knew Ian’s mother well, as it was impossible to explain how Shona, whom they’d known as a twenty-one-year-old woman, was suddenly a much older woman with three grown sons.
Everyone crossed themselves, the mountain man included. Ian was quick to do the same.
The laird looked at his daughter, who smiled as if she knew she was in trouble. “’Twas just a short ride to the loch.”
“Without a guard.”
“On our property.”
“Bordering theirs.”
Theirs? The MacKinnishes? The man’s brogue was so thick, Ian could hardly understand him. The daughter’s words were easier to follow. Why would that be? He’d noticed the same thing at Hightower: everyone sounded different. But he supposed the same was true of people who were raised in New Orleans—some had thick accents and some did not.
“Hewas not there,” Màiri said.
Ian shifted, now wondering who “he” was.
Laird Kelbrue looked at him and then Grey.
“Thank you for returning my daughter safely.”
Ah hell. Ian had a bad habit of not being able to lie very well. Or at all. It made for some nasty fights between him and his brothers. As the head of McCaim Shipping’s PR team, he had to skirt the line of truth more often than he liked. When he refused to cross it, even just a little, it infuriated pretty much everyone.
“It was our pleasure to do so,” Grey said.
The laird looked directly at him then.
Ian, keep your mouth shut. You’re supposed to charm this guy, not piss him off.
“I apologize for her behavior,” the laird said.
“Father!”
Ian didn’t look over at her, but he could imagine that beautiful face twisted in anger, and he didn’t blame her. She’d done nothing wrong. Well, not really.
For fuck’s sake, would he ever listen to his brother? Probably not.
“I’m the one who should apologize, Laird.”
“Ian,” his brother warned next to him. Ross’s face looked like a thundercloud.
They obviously didn’t want him to say anything, but it occurred to him that they’d be a hell of a lot worse off if she told her father about the incident later. Ian would never save face if that happened. Maybe the kiss wasn’t the kind of thing she’d tell her dad about, but Ian had always told his mother everything.
No, it would be best to be forthright with the man.
“I did not realize she was your daughter,” he started, but his uncle cut him off.
“Ian, my boy,” he said, his words full of warning.
The laird held up his hand. “Let him finish.”
There was never any shame in the truth. And if they wanted to gain this man’s respect and confidence, lying wouldn’t be a good start.
Ian held his head high and started again.
