Page 7 of The Laird's Masked Desire
Eleonor was waiting. That mattered more than gold, more than reputation, more than anything she might have dropped along the way.
Margaret slipped through the narrow door and pressed it shut behind her with a careful hand. The room was scarcely more than a broom closet, stone walls close enough to steal the air and a single taper burning low on a crate.
Eleonor turned at once. “Ye’re late.”
“I ken.” Margaret crossed the space in two quick steps and caught her sister’s hands. They were cold. “We must hurry.”
Her sister was the softer of them, always had been. Where Margaret’s beauty lay in control and restraint, Eleonor’s lived in openness. Her hair, a lighter shade of chestnut, escaped its pins too easily, catching the candlelight in warm, errant strands. Her eyes were wide and blue, expressive to a fault, betraying fear, hope, and longing with equal honesty. There was a luminosity to her that no discipline had ever managed to dull.
Yet beneath the softness was courage of a different kind. It showed in the way she dared to love a man her father had never approved of. She was not weak, only unguarded.
Tonight, dressed in silk meant to barter her future, Eleonor looked heartbreakingly young.
“Ye’re shaking,” Eleonor whispered. “What happened?”
Margaret reached for the ties of her borrowed bodice. Her fingers were clumsy now that the danger had followed her inside.
“Help me,” she said, and then, because there was no time for gentleness, she had to explain. “I nearly ruined everything.”
Eleonor stilled. “Margaret…”
“I ran intaehim, of all people,” she said, tugging the plain gown loose. “Nae ranintae… I was stopped and cornered.”
Eleanor went pale. “By Kenneth MacGregor?”
“Aye.” Margaret swallowed, forcing her voice steady. “He was close enough tae touch me. Close enough tae recognize me, if I had spoken a moment longer moment.”
“Oh God.” Eleonor’s hands tightened in Margaret’s sleeves. “Did he… did he see?—”
“Nae me face.” Margaret exhaled shakily as Eleonor helped pull the gown over her head. “Another man intervened. A masked stranger. He sent them away.”
Eleonor pressed a hand to her mouth. “If Faither kent?—”
“He cannae,” Margaret said sharply. “He must nae.”
They worked quickly now, trading garments in the cramped space, with Eleonor shedding silk and jewels, and Margaret stepping into them with practiced efficiency. Years at court had taught her how to dress without a maid, how to lace and fasten with speed and silence.
Eleonor’s eyes shone in the candlelight. “I never wanted this,” she whispered. “Ye ken that.”
“I ken,” Margaret said softly. “Which is why we are daein’ it this way.”
Eleonor hesitated. “He will never fergive ye.”
Margaret gave a short, humorless breath that had to serve instead of a laugh. “Faither’s forgiveness is a currency he never spends freely.”
She fastened the necklace at her throat, then met Eleonor’s gaze. “Ye remember the letter.”
Eleonor nodded. “The one with nay seal.”
“Aye, nay seal and nay signature,” Margaret echoed. “But clear enough all the same. It names nay crime, only reminds Faither that treason and treasonous correspondence, real or whispered, are words the Crown daesnae use lightly.” Her fingers curled briefly at her side. “They promised silence and protection, an end tae the rumors. In return, House Drummond was tae offer a daughter tae the Masquerade. Attendance was nae a request.”
The Masquerade.
It was an event that took place once a year for lairds and ladies of marriageable age. There, lairds could express interest and arrange and very quick marriage beneficial for both sides. The participants wore masks and no names were uttered or revealed until a union was being officially discussed.
The Crown did not host the Masquerade but allowed it because it understood it was a way to settle dangerous conflicts without open war, trials, or scandal. The King occasionally forced lairds to claim a bride when it considered beneficial for the country and clans, it was whispered.
The event could be attended only with a special invitation, to ensures absolute secrecy. If a laird received such an invitation from the Crown itself, he had to attend. Refusal would mean confiscated lands, revoked charters, declared rebellion. So he came knowing he would be forced to claim a wife that night.
