Page 59 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“Yes, my lady.”
Dropping the sheets to the floor, Charlotte went to find some of her things.“Sròin,”she said experimentally, touching her nose.
Somewhere in the past fortnight her life had become interesting, unexpected, and even exciting. She knew precisely whom to thank for that, and with all her heart she hoped it would continue. Whatever it was she and Ranulf had—a mutual attraction, a sense of incompatibility that had, at least on her part, begun to weaken—she looked forward to discovering what came next. And she wondered if, and hoped that, Ranulf felt the same way.
***
“Aren’t ye going to ask me about Lachlan?” Arran asked, as he and Rowena and Jane sat in the Hanover House garden.
She shook her head. “No. I’ve given him a chance to miss me, or to come after me. If he hasn’t done either, well, I want nothing more to do with him.” It sounded like something she should say, anyway, and beside her Jane was emphatically nodding her head.
Her brother didn’t look nearly as convinced. “A month ago ye swore to me that ye loved him and meant to marry him. And so ye’ve been saying, since ye could talk.”
“I was a little bairn—baby—and I was wrong.”
“I’m glad yer heart can mend so quickly then, Winnie,” he returned, “though ye should know that Lachlan volunteered at least twice to ride down to London and help Ran fetch ye back.”
Rowena shrugged. “Two English lads have already proposed to me, you know. After three or four dances. Lachlan’s had eighteen years.”
With a nod her brother reached out to pull a petal from a rose and roll the delicate white thing in his fingers. “If ye can forget him so easily, it makes me wonder how much of yer heart he truly had in the first place.”
She held his gaze. “No more than I had of his heart.”
Rowena had lately begun to realize that making Lachlan MacTier jealous—when he remained hundreds of miles away surrounded by pretty, fawning lasses all fluttering their eyelashes and admiring his property and not telling him he was an idiot—was a hopeless proposition. It cut her deeply that he hadn’t bothered to so much as send her a letter.
After last night, though, she’d begun to think that perhaps something more pressing was afoot. She could hardly believe that her oldest brother, always so concerned with the rest of the family’s safety and the entire clan’s well-being and happiness, might have found a lass who kept his attention for longer than a day. But something had convinced him to purchase a house in London. And something had sent him out sightseeing, unexpected as that was. And she was fairly certain it wasn’t anything she’d done. And the fact that the lass was a propriety-minded English lady of all things… She didn’t have any idea what to make of that.
All the same, it felt important that she at least discover the truth. And that, after everything he’d done for her since her earliest memory, she do whatever she could to determine whether his heart was truly involved, and if the woman he’d perhaps selected was the right one to become a part of Clan MacLawry, to become the Marchioness of Glengask, and to make Ranulf finally and forever happy.
A few minutes later Rowena heard a carriage clatter up the front drive and stop. She pushed to her feet. “Ran and Charlotte are back, I think.”
The three of them made their way in through the back of the house, until Arran caught her arm and slowed her down. “Is Ran courting Lady Charlotte?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“I’m not certain,” she answered truthfully. “I mean to find out, though.”
He nodded. “That’s why I’m here, as well. He sent me a letter about buying that house. I couldnae figure out why in God’s name he would do such a thing. What Ididsee was the way he kept mentioning a lass called Charlotte.”
“That’s why you came to London?”
“Aye.”
Oh, dear.Rowena took a quick breath. She loved all her brothers, and she well knew that her second-oldest brother was the most logical of the lot of them. Ranulf listened to Arran’s advice more than he did to anyone else’s. And she couldn’t imagine that Arran would ever suggest that Ranulf bring an Englishwoman back to Scotland.
She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You just keep your opinions to yourself, Arran.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “My opinions aboot what?”
“About everything. You don’t know what’s going on here.”
“And ye do?”
“Not yet. But at least I mean to figure it out before I step in the middle of it. This isn’t about who they are or where they’re from. It’s about how they feel about each other. I like her, and I don’t care that she’s English. And you’re not permitted to give Ranulf your opinion until you exchange more than half a dozen words with her.”
For a long moment he looked at her. “So says the lass who tries to woo her man by leaving the country and swearing never to return.”
She drew herself up as tall as she could, which was still only to Arran’s shoulder. “Perhaps I came because I wanted to know what—who—else was out there. And as it turns out, Lachlan MacTier isn’t the only man in the world.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So what do you think of that?”
“I think I’ll keep yer advice in mind, Winnie, and hold on to my opinion where both ye and Ran are concerned. I’ll nae promise more than that.”
