The Lass Who Lost a Shoe (Highlander Ever After Book 1)

by Caroline Lee

  They had, and they were prepared. Her sister’s blue eyes cut to the wardrobe, where a simple tangerine-colored gown hung. Vanessa had worn it during her trip to Edinburgh last season, and Ember knew it would fit her, thanks to the slight adjustments she and her stepsisters had made.

  But, as if guessing her mother would expect a fight, quiet Bonnie spoke up. “Mother, Ember has been working hard and deserves an evening to enjoy herself like the rest of the clan.”

  “And leave the inn unstaffed?” Machara sniffed. “I think no’. Hand me those pins, darling,” she commanded, using her chin to gesture to the pearl-tipped hair accessories on the table before Bonnie, as she held the younger woman’s dark blonde locks in both hands.

  “Mother, Auld Ben will be behind the bar,” Vanessa reminded her flippantly. “And most of the guests will be at the ball, will they no’? Ember can—”

  “Girls!” It was as if her own shriek startled Machara as much as the three younger women, because she dropped Bonnie’s hair as her hands fluttered, and then clucked her tongue in frustration. “Now look what ye’ve made me do!”

  Pressing a shaking hand to her forehead, Ember’s stepmother sucked in a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. Ember ducked her head and made short work of hanging up the discarded clothing, wanting to do nothing which would hint at her plans for the evening.

  “Girls,” Machara began again, speaking slowly but loudly, as if they were all hard of understanding, “this is really quite simple. The Princes are throwing this ball for Mr. DeVille, aye? Mr. DeVille is a grand man, the personal guest of Laird Oliphant and his sons, and is about to become a verra important man in this part of the Highlands.”

  “I ken ye want us to impress Mr. DeVille, Mother, but—”

  “I want ye to catch the eye of one of the Princes,” the older woman snapped, interrupting Vanessa. “I want ye to be the next Lady Oliphant, no’ just married to a baron as I was to yer father, but married to a laird.”

  Ember could tell from the way Vanessa’s gaze dropped to the powders and cosmetics in front of her that her stepsister didn’t completely love the idea.

  Perhaps because of who the next Laird Oliphant was.

  “Oh, my darling,” Machara suddenly crooned, stepping away from Bonnie to place her hands on Vanessa’s shoulders. She nudged her oldest daughter’s chin up, forcing her shoulders to straighten proudly, as she stood behind her and met Vanessa’s gaze in the mirror. “There’s my beauty, my pride.” The older woman ran a finger down her daughter’s carefully lotioned cheek. “I look at ye and I see myself: the lady our next laird deserves. Ye are the most beautiful woman the Oliphants have seen in a generation, Vanessa, and I’ll no’ allow ye to waste it.”

  Ember knew “waste it” meant “marrying a man with an income of less than five thousand pounds yearly.”.

  When Vanessa’s eyes began to gleam with pride, Ember turned away. Over the years, she’d seen the way her stepmother’s words could influence Vanessa. Her stepsister had gone from a pretty, cheerful, caring girl of Ember’s own age, to a vain and prideful young woman—one who was, admittedly, the most beautiful creature in the clan.

  Sometimes, Ember wondered if the girl she used to know was still in there somewhere.

  Dinnae be stupid. She and Bonnie loaned ye the gown and undergarments, did they no’?

  Aye, they had. They were still her sisters after all, and she knew they both cared for her. The three of them had known Machara would object to Ember attending the ball; not because of the reasons she’d screeched, because the inn could survive without them for the evening, but because she didn’t want her own entrance—and that of Vanessa—marred by Ember’s presence.

  Sometimes it seemed everyone on Oliphant Land knew just how little the baroness thought of her stepdaughter. Ember used to be important, back when her father was alive. But with him gone, the rest of the clan seemed to have forgotten she was once considered the best young engraver around and had now relegated her to drudge.

  Just as her stepmother did so often.

  Only, whereas Machara had done it on purpose, Ember was certain her clan hadn’t intended to be cruel.

  And that was one thing which kept her going.

  As she was preparing to slip out the door—she knew it was best to allow her stepmother to believe she’d accepted the no-ball edict—the older woman suddenly snapped around. “Ember! The shoes!”

  “Pardon?” Ember asked, turning halfway out the door.

  Her stepmother huffed and rolled her eyes as she patted Vanessa’s cheek once more, then crossed back to reconstruct Bonnie’s coiffure. “The shoes, the shoes, ye dolt! My daughters’ shoes. The things they wear on their feet.”

  “I ken what shoes are, Stepmother,” Ember managed coldly.

  Machara narrowed her eyes at her. “Then fetch them. Ye’ve been tinkering with them in yer da’s workshop, have ye no’? My Vanessa told me she and Bonnie wanted to wear some of yer creations or none at all, so I graciously agreed. At least they’ll be unique.”

  The last was muttered as she swept Bonnie’s hair atop her head once more.

  Ember, knowing her stepmother couldn’t see her, stuck her tongue out at the woman’s back.

  But all she said was, “Aye, I polished the shoes this morning.” Along with her own, the ones she was planning on wearing that evening.

  To the ball.

  Which her stepmother didn’t realize she planned to attend, with or without her permission.

  “Good, good,” Machara snapped impatiently, not so much as sparing a glance at Ember. “Go and fetch them. And check if Auld Ben needs help with the supper guests while ye’re down there. We’ll likely be ready by the time ye return.”

  Bobbing a sarcastic curtsey, Ember glanced at Vanessa in the mirror, wondering if her sister would have to stifle her giggle at her show of defiance. The two of them used to laugh at Machara’s imperious ways, and though it was a small thing, it was another small thing which had kept Ember going through all these hard years after Da’s death.

  But Vanessa was staring at her own reflection, stroking the skin of her neck with the back of her fingers, likely admiring the beauty her mother so often praised.

  Apparently, she was practicing how to be imperious herself.

  Stifling a sigh, Ember slipped from the room, knowing the sooner she complied with her stepmother’s orders, the sooner they’d all depart for Newfincy Castle, leaving her to prepare for her own evening at the ball.

  She was humming quietly in excitement as she hurried down the back stairs towards her father’s small workshop behind the kitchens. All of Oliphant Lands—and a good portion of their section of the Highlands—had been buzzing with news of the ball. Mr. DeVille had been raised to a level of aristocracy, despite being American, because of his close association with the Princes, the Lairds of Oliphant. He must be a wealthy, sophisticated man indeed, to be given such responsibility and honor.

  Tonight’s ball might be to welcome him officially to the clan, but as far as Ember was concerned, it was a chance for her to have some much-needed fun. A chance to smile and dance and enjoy herself for once.

  She patted her hair tucked under the unsightly cap the baroness insisted she wear to cover the “scandalous” hair she’d been named for. Tonight, at the ball, Ember planned to wear her deep red curls down, flowing around her shoulders, certain in the knowledge no one would recognize her. She could be someone else, even if only but a few hours.

  She’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

  But when she stepped into the workshop, she took a moment to simply inhale the sharp scents of oiled metal and old leather and forget the demands on her time. For just a moment, here in her—and her father’s former—sanctuary, she was at peace. Exhaling, she rolled her shoulders and smiled.

  This room used to be part of the old kitchens before her stepmother’s first husband expanded the inn. It was used as storage before Da married Machara, but he was happy to clean
it out and convert it into his own private space. He’d spent his days at Oliphant Engraving overseeing the process by which metal was poured and shaped and filed into firearm components, then engraved with delicate commissioned designs sent all the way from the Prince Armory in America. But in the evenings, Da would settle in here to tinker with his latest machine.

  And Ember would join him, engraving her artwork into metal trinkets to be sold at market or special commissions from Oliphant Engraving. She still visited there frequently—they knew her as their old boss’s daughter—but here was where she hid whenever she had a break from the demands of the inn…and her stepmother.

  This was where she’d worked on “The Shoes.”

  She’d been a young girl when she’d had the idea of engraving footwear. After all, Oliphants had been wearing engraved jewelry for generations, had they not? So why couldn’t they find a way to incorporate the art into the rest of their fashion? She’d engraved her share of buckles over the years, but why not the heels of boots?

  Because it was damned impractical, as it turned out.

  Men couldn’t wear boots with metal heels because the noise was outrageous and the sparks alarming.

  But…everyone knew women’s fashion trended toward the impractical, aye? That was when Ember began experimenting with engraving the heels of women’s fancy dress slippers. Many had been discarded before she’d settled into a design which worked well.

  Tonight would be their debut.

  She, Vanessa, and Bonnie would be wearing engraved heeled shoes she’d created in this very workshop, and she hoped they’d draw notice. If they did, she might be able to convince Mr. DeVille to begin taking commissions for them.

  And she’d be able to leave the inn and go back to Oliphant Engraving full time, doing what she loved to do: creating art with her hands.

  But for now, she had work to do.

  With a slight sigh, she crossed to the cabinet where the shoes were stacked, grabbing a satchel along the way. When she opened the door, the three sets of shoes glinted merrily in the light of the lantern.

  First into the satchel went her shoes: a perfect pair of dark red slippers. The heels were bronze, engraved with gears, reminding her of what she loved. The geometric patterns had always been soothing to her, and after she’d burnished the heels to a bright shine, she’d covered the rest of the shoe in silk to match.

  Next were Bonnie’s shoes, the gold of the brass in the heel was engraved with an image of a single open book. At the top of the satchel, Ember slid in Vanessa’s slippers, a pair of stunningly bright silver shoes. The heels were steel, engraved with twining flowering vines, and Ember’s stepsister had chosen the shining silk which covered the rest of the shoe herself.

  They would certainly attract plenty of attention.

  She needed to get them upstairs to her sisters, but first, she’d do as her stepmother had suggested—ordered actually—and ensure the supper guests were provided for.

  With the bag slung over her shoulder, she slipped into the kitchens. Mrs. Oliphant, the cook, was a large, implacable sort of woman who didn’t allow anything to frazzle her. This evening, she was sweating as she lifted a big pot from the modern stove and plopped it on the counter with a grunt.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Oliphant. I’m on my way upstairs, but thought I’d check to see if ye needed any help?”

  The round woman knew, as well as the rest of the inn’s servants—of which there certainly weren’t enough—the only difference between them and Ember was that Ember wasn’t paid a wage. So she wasn’t surprised when the cook shook her head immediately.

  “Och, nay, lassie. Ye best run to do her ladyship’s bidding, eh?”

  “It’ll do her well to have to wait an extra moment or two,” Ember pointed out with a smile. “Are ye certain I cannae help?”

  “Fine.” Mrs. Oliphant blew out a breath which caused her curls to flutter and gestured to a tray in the corner. “Both me girls are off getting ready for the big party tonight, and I’m certain there’s a mug or two which needs refilling in the dining room.”

  “Say nae more.” Ember bobbed a quick curtsey. “I live to serve,” she joked, as she reached for the pitcher of ale.

  She poured four mugs and plopped them on the tray as the cook snorted derisively.

  “Nae for long, lassie. Soon enough, some handsome man will scoop ye up and give ye the life ye deserve!”

  Ember’s burst of laughter caught even her by surprise, but she didn’t tamp it down. “A handsome man, eh, Mrs. Oliphant? Ye certain ye’re nae thinking of yer own daydream?”

  The cook waggled a finger at her. “I’m no’. Ye deserve happiness after what ye’ve put up with, and what better way to find it than with a man ye love?”

  “How about having the chance to do what I enjoy and kenning I’m making my own way in the world?” Ember teased as she lifted the tray to her shoulder, grinning at Mrs. Oliphant’s fantasy for her. “I dinnae need a man to be happy!”

  Just the chance to make my own choices about my future.

  “Just ye wait, lassie!” Mrs. Oliphant called after her as Ember sailed out of the kitchen. “When ye meet him, ye’ll change yer mind.”

  Still smiling at the foolish dream, Ember sailed into the dining room. There were only a few patrons—all older folks—eating supper, and it was simple to switch out empty mugs for full ones. She exchanged pleasantries, deferred their questions when they asked if she was going to the ball, and ensured they needed nothing else.

  With a shake of her head, she hurried out of the dining room with her tray of empty mugs. A man? Hah! What she needed was a night off from being an unpaid drudge. The chance to be herself and revel in her own power, just for a few hours. A chance to do what she wanted to do.

  And once Mr. DeVille noticed the shoes in her satchel, she had every confidence that would happen again. She’d be offered the opportunity to create designs for more women and be allowed to again engrave the designs the Prince Armory commissioned from the Oliphants.

  Now that was a dream she could—

  “Ooh!”

  She was so busy imagining her possible future, she forgot to look out for her immediate future, where the immediate future involved walking into a person. Her tray slammed into the man’s upper arm, teetered for a moment as they both lunged for it, then tipped so the empty mugs began to slide toward the floor.

  She thought she heard the man curse under his breath as he dropped to his knees the same time as she did.

  “I’m so sorry!” she cried out, her attention on gathering the dropped mugs. “I wasnae looking where I was going, and I…”

  Her words trailed off when the man grabbed the same mug she did. His hand closed around hers, and for a moment, they both froze. An odd sensation traveled up her arm, almost as if a spark had jumped from him to her in that moment, and she was torn between the urge to pull her hand from his or press closer.

  Holding her breath, Ember allowed her eyes to travel up his arm to his shoulder, then his neck, and finally, his face. He was wearing a simple suit, as one might quite often find on a traveler who stayed at the inn, but his face…?

  Oh my, but his features were—

  Ember was finding it difficult to suck in another breath. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  She knew he was a guest, one she’d seen from afar and admired a few times in the last weeks, but this was the first time she’d seen him up close.

  He was darkly handsome, his hair curly under his hat, and his eyes twin pools of the warmest brown. Each feature by itself was nothing particularly special—a slightly crooked nose, a set of dimples which emerged as he slowly smiled at her intense study of him—but together, they equaled a face which made her feel quite light-headed.

  Breathe, ye idiot.

  Och, aye. That maybe would help.

  Finally managing to suck in a breath, she blurted out, “Hullo!” And then winced.

  Great. Now he thinks ye’re clumsy and an idiot.


  Wait, why did it even matter what this stranger thought of her?

  Still grinning, and without dropping her gaze, the man made short work of collecting the mugs to stack on her tray. Then, with one hand, he lifted it and stood. But as he did, he offered her his other hand. So—holding her breath—she took it and allowed him to lift her to her feet as well.

  And that same sparky sort of sensation—tingly and warm, and oh-so-curious—traveled up her arm and settled in her chest. And…lower.

  She shivered and involuntarily tightened her hold on his hand for just a moment, which, since he wasn’t wearing gloves, she could tell his hand was callused.

  Delightful.

  Those dimples were on full display when he lowered his chin in a slight nod and released her hand. While she tried to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he offered her the tray.

  “Ma’am.”

  That was all he said, but the deep drawl resonated with the warmth in her stomach, and lower, and made her suck in a breath.

  And then, a call from the front foyer startled them both. “Are ye coming, man? We have to get ye into yer costume!”

  The stranger dipped his head once, as if taking his leave of her, then hurried off toward his companion’s call. After he disappeared, and only then, Ember’s gaze dropped to her hand, the hand he’d touched, which now gripped the tray’s edge.

  He’d touched her hand, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so aroused. Perhaps when she’d borrowed one of Bonnie’s books with the girl being captured by the ship of lusty pirates. But this man—this stranger—had merely smiled at her and touched her hand, and now she was pressing her thighs together like a mare in heat.

  Wait, did mares worry about that sort of thing?

  Lord in Heaven, I’m going mad, am I no’?

  He was just a man; a guest at the inn no less. She’d seen handsome men before, and he was no different.

  Trying to pretend she believed that, she hurried to return the tray of empty mugs, then lifted her serviceable gray skirts and took the back stairs two at a time to reach the family’s private sitting room.