After a huge debate with Sorely, who’d met them at the foot of the knoll, and then a continuation of that debate with the rest of the Munros as to the hows and whys she’d been pushed into the big laird she presently stood in front of, she was literally tired. Tuckered. Pooped out. None of them wanted her to stay in her room, and all of them wanted to stay with her. The laird included. ‘‘Ethan, stop pouting. Honestly, no matter where I go here, whoever’s trying to reach us will do it through me.’’ She inclined her head to the far wall, indicating the direction of the loch. ‘‘The knoll, my bathroom, the bedroom—I could change rooms a dozen times and it won’t matter. They’ll just follow.’’ She crossed her arms and ducked her head to look into his very irritated downcast eyes. ‘‘That’s a good thing. Don’t you see?’’ He looked up. ‘‘I dunna see, nay.’’ He crossed his own arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. ‘‘And I’m no’ pouting.
