“Do Scots habitually throw large things?” “Oh, aye.” Hadley’s grin was ridiculous. “B-but why?” Jane deeply resented that his absurd behavior had reduced her to stuttering. “Why?” He smiled wider, teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Why tae make the lasses stop and stare, o’ course.” “What lass would ever find such a thing as that”—she flapped a hand toward the caber, now being hefted by one of the under-gardeners—“attractive?” Even Jane marveled at her baffled tone. Hadley glanced behind at the men and then turned back to her. “Well, you stopped, did ye not?” He clucked Thunder to walk on.
