Page 76 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“Yes,” Charlotte said without hesitation, squeezing his fingers.
“I think so,” Jane seconded, not sounding nearly as certain. “I’m just glad my card is full so none of them can ask me to dance. That would be terrifying.”
“Well, they won’t, so you needn’t worry,” Charlotte put in, releasing his hand and instead putting an arm around her sister. “And none of them but Berling have ever so much as given me a glance, so I have no concerns at all.”
Together the four of them returned to the ballroom, and Ranulf had to watch Charlotte apologize to Henning for missing their quadrille and offer the round man the very next dance. He didn’t want to share her, even with her friends.
“You called herleannan,” his uncle muttered under his breath as they came to a stop at one side of the room.
“I know what I called her. It wasnae an accident. She has my heart.” And his mind, and his soul. Saying it aloud was easier than he expected, though he imagined making the same statement to Arran would be a much stickier conversation. Time to stop dissembling, though—it felt like he was dishonoring Charlotte by doing so.
“Do you mean to marry her?”
“Nae unless I can be sure my life won’t bring her hurt and heartache.”
“Ranulf, that—”
“I know. It sounds like an impossibility.” He forced what he hoped was a jaunty smile. “I do like a challenge, ye know.”
Rowena was dancing a quadrille with Arran, which had at least served to keep his younger brother and sister out of trouble. As for Berling and his cowardly friends and his troublesome cousin, they were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they’d decided to leave and plot another tactic when insulting his family to his face hadn’t worked.
He could only hope that they would continue to target him, alone, while he decided on a way to deal with them that would satisfy Charlotte, his family, his clan, and his God. He paused. Evidently he’d altered the order of his loyalties without even realizing it. The new order might not be entirely Scottish, but it satisfied his heart.
“What the devil happened?” Arran demanded the moment the dance ended and he and Rowena managed to navigate through the crowd to where Ranulf and Myles stood. Evidently his uncle had decided to serve as his bodyguard tonight. While it likely wouldn’t alter anything, he did appreciate the gesture.
“Naught I care to discuss here,” he said aloud. “Keep yer eyes and yer wits about ye. And the MacLawrys—none of us—are to begin, finish, or middle any altercations tonight. Is that clear?”
“I thought we already had this particular conversation,” Arran retorted.
“We did. Things have changed.”
Arran glared at him. “What things?”
Ranulf took a deep breath. “George Gerdens-Dailey is here tonight. I just wanted ye to know, so ye’d not be surprised if ye set eyes on him.”
“George… Damnation. I thought he kept to Aberdeen.”
“Evidently not.”
Ranulf recognized the look on his brother’s face. “Yer word,” he said, forcing Arran to meet his gaze. If his brother went after one of Berling’s cronies, Ranulf would have to support him. And that would ruin everything before he’d barely begun.
“Aye,” Arran grated. “My word. No trouble. I only hope to hell ye know what you’re aboot, Ran.”
Sending a glance at Charlotte prancing about the room with a mollified-looking Henning, Ranulf nodded. “I do,” he returned. He was keeping his word, in exchange for a lass. That was what he was doing. Trying to justify it any other way was just a useless complication.
Rowena was dancing now with a light-haired lad far too young and pretty for Ranulf’s peace of mind. His sister hadn’t so much as mentioned Lachlan MacTier in days—a far cry from a few weeks ago, when she could barely speak a sentence without uttering his name. If he hadn’t been so consumed with Charlotte, he would be concerned. After all, if he married an Englishwoman, they would—could—return to Glengask. If Rowena married a Sasannach, he’d likely never see her but at Christmas and if he came down to London again for the Season. That was unacceptable.
“I don’t mean to pry, lad,” Myles said after a moment. “But—”
“Aye, ye do mean to pry, Uncle,” Ranulf cut in. “I need ye to introduce me to a few likely… friends. English ones.”
“Why?”
So he could prove to a stubborn lass that he was civilized.“Because I clearly cannae trust my own kind here. How better to learn the lay of the land than by making the acquaintance of its people?”
“That sounds very reasonable.”
“I am very reasonable. Or I’m trying to be.”
