Page 9 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

Similar greetings were exchanged between Margaret and Rob, which gave Alexander the opportunity to discreetly admire her figure, even if he was having trouble distinguishing between what was her and what was several pounds of silk, ribbon, and lace. From what he could tell, she was rather thin, though it was the sort of thinness that came to some women naturally, rather than thinness that was earned through starvation. Her chest was not terribly full, but a crevice of cleavage still managed to poke through the squared neckline of her dress in a manner that threatened to overpower his will to look elsewhere ever again.

Thankfully, though, his nerves had kept him sharp, and he looked away just as she and Rob ended their exchange, before she could catch him in his act of voyeurism.

“Laird Gunn, if it would be alright, I should like to see my wife and son inside,” Rob said.

“Aye, of course,” Laird Gunn replied, clapping his hands to call forth some servants to assist the party in unloading. “Laird Mackay, perhaps I could offer you a tour of the house? My daughter would be happy to provide one.”

“Aye, yes!” Alexander said, rushing to agree far more quickly than any sane man would have. Margaret, whose eyes had turned to slits while she stared at him in suspicion, looked as if she would rather unload the cart than go anywhere with him, but that did not keep Alexander from feeling thrilled at the prospect of being beside her.

Beside him, he noticed Rob shake ever a little with contained laughter before he leaned over to whisper, “The claws of some women are sharp, aye?”

Alexander wanted to swing at him, but settled for a quick jab with his elbow, grateful that the Laird and Lady of Clan Gunn were busy with their own hushed whispers to notice.

When Rob went one way and Laird Gunn following him in order to give his greetings to the Lady Fraser, Alexander found himself alone with her. Or, at least, as alone as they could be in a crowded yard. He found himself suddenly conscious of every part of himself, and he kept shifting his posture and moving his hands from his hips to his side to crossed in front of his chest. Though her eyes had become dull and expressionless, he could see them flick to follow every motion he made.

Finally, she sighed, as if the torture of watching him suffer before her had gone from pathetic to completely intolerable. Then she said, “Well, shall we go in?”

“Aye,” Alexander replied, not trusting his tongue with any additional syllables.

Alexander followed her closely as she led him silently up to the house, though she stopped just shy of the doorway, where the woman she had been conversing with still stood, her head bowed politely. Now that they were closer, Alexander could see that this woman was not nobility, for her simple brown dress was permanently stained with sprinkles of flour. Margaret confirmed this when she said, “This is my maid, Ann. I believe my un—my understanding is that father wrote to you with my request to bring her back to Dirlot? I am rather partial to her, especially since she is one of the finest bakers in the region.”

“Aye,” Alexander said, appraising Ann and noting, with appreciation, the sternness in her gaze. “Twould be a pleasure to employ someone so highly recommended. I look forward to learning how a personal lady’s maid came to discover her talents for baking.”

Beside him, Margaret reached up and twisted a coppery lock that had slipped from the pins around her finger. “Tis a short story. Ann’s mother worked in the kitchen, but I preferred her company at my side. Now, come on, I must show you around the house.”

Ann stepped to the side and Alexander turned to nod his thanks, though he wished he hadn’t. Over Ann’s shoulder, glaring at him from his place beside the fire, was Gavin. Alexander was tempted to shrink back, to cower before the gaze that was more dangerously sharp than a new blade, but he did not allow himself. He would not allow himself. Instead, he let their eyes meet, forging their gazes together for a moment, before he turned away and followed Margaret inside.

Margaret was already a few steps into the house, and she had turned so abruptly into a sitting room that Alexander might have missed her if he had held Gavin’s stare for another heartbeat. The room was large and filled with chairs wrapped in leather and tables carved to depict birds and flowers and other shapes that meant nothing more than “this was costly.” In other words, a typical nobleman’s sitting room.

For all his bravado, a moment before whilst staring down an enemy, he now found that the act of being alone in a room with Margaret had set his nerves raging and thrashing, like the waves of the loch when trapped under a storm. She, however, was as calm as the creek wrapping around the property as she pointed out old and deceased relatives memorialized in the paintings that cluttered the wall. Wasn’t she supposed to be the maid and he the seasoned warrior?

As she continued to lead him through the house, Alexander wondered what it was that he had possibly been worried about. The lass that was before him now was not who he would have chosen for himself, but he at least saw promise there behind her cool demeanor. Maybe, with time, he would even see her smile as brightly at him as she had smiled at Ann.

“Your family seems to favor leather in your decor,” Alexander said, hoping to impress her with his observation when they entered a third room with leather furniture, while also hoping to ascertain whether or not the style pleased her so that he could either adopt or strike the material from his own décor.

Margaret reached out her hand and ran it along the top of a leather chaise. “Aye. Twas a fashion born of convenience. My aunt on my father’s side was married to a leather merchant,” she finally said after her hand had run along its length, her voice soft and melancholic. Then, as if she was ridding herself of a disease, she straightened and continued, “They say he was prominent, but he was still just a merchant without a drop of superior blood. I do not ken why my aunt thought it wise to wed such a man.”

Alexander may not have stumbled under Gavin’s glare, but this statement forced him back a step. Ah yes, he reminded himself while she spun away to continue her march through the house, you were worried because she came off as haughty and arrogant in her letter.

A few rooms later, Alexander finally calm after receiving the stern reminder that a bonny appearance did not a bonny wife make, his stomach unleashed a growl so loud and commanding that Margaret stopped and stared at him with an expression of curiosity mixed with distaste. “Apologies, Laird Mackay. I should have assumed that you would be hungry after a day of travel. Shall we go see you fed?”

“Twould be greatly appreciated,” Alexander replied, his hand resting on his stomach as if it could muffle any further noise.

Margaret nodded and then glanced at the two doors that would have led them from the room, pursing her lips. After a second of hesitation, she led them through one, and then back through a maze of rooms before they finally arrived back in the same room from where they had just left.

She scratched her head and grabbed a lock of hair to twist it around her finger. “Well, how about that? Not a single servant to be seen.”

“Then,” Alexander said, hesitant, “canna we just go straight to the kitchens?”

Her gaze rolled over to his. Her mouth was taut with impatience, but her eyes were searching his face wildly. It was nerves in her eyes, nerves that he had been hoping to see from her since the moment they had met. But why now of all times?

“Dinna you ken where it is?” Alexander asked, his eyes narrowing, hoping that was not the reason.

“Why should I?” Margaret replied. “Tis not as if I bake the bread.”

“Then why did you offer to take me to the kitchens?”

“I offered to see you fed, Laird Mackay. Do they not have servants in your castle? Good thing I’ll be bringing one of my own,” Margaret said, twirling on her heels with such speed that her heavy skirt actually billowed slightly around her.