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

by Caroline Lee

  “Aye,” Ember admitted with a sigh. She hadn’t had a chance to explain the shoes to him last night during their dance. “Maybe I could try to arrange a meeting with him.”

  “I dinnae think he noticed much of anything last night.” Bonnie finally lowered her book. “He was far too entranced by that lady in white.”

  Ember froze. “What?” she croaked.

  Vanessa waved her hand again. “If I’d had my sights set on him, I would’ve been quite put out. Once he saw her, Mr. DeVille had eyes for nae other.”

  “Her?” Ember whispered hopefully.

  “The lady in white,” Bonnie declared matter-of-factly. “She showed up late and danced only the one dance—with Mr. DeVille—but everyone was watching them. Her gown was so intricate, so different, and it was a perfect backdrop for her long red hair.”

  Self-consciously, Ember pulled her simple braid over her shoulder, as if she could hide it from her sisters. “She sounds…lovely.”

  “Mr. DeVille certainly seemed to think so.” Bonnie lifted her book once more. “She suddenly disappeared, and he went charging out the door after her. When he returned, he seemed quite dejected, and I saw him request brandy from a servant.” She shrugged, disappearing behind the open pages. “I assumed he was so distraught at the way she’d abandoned him, he went to get drunk.”

  Did he?

  How…delightful.

  Nay, horrible.

  Aye, delightfully horrible of course. To have a man get drunk over her! How delightfully horrible.

  But deep inside, a part of Ember gave a little shiver of excitement. A man had liked her company enough to drink when she was gone. How intriguing.

  “Of course, we couldnae stay long enough to confirm my hypothesis,” Bonnie murmured, lowering the book just enough to cut a glance at Vanessa.

  Ember turned to Vanessa. “Ye three were home earlier than I expected. What happened?”

  She’d ripped both her stockings, running home last night like a crazed fox— Mare? A crazed mare? What sort of animal ran pell-mell—Och, never mind.

  The point was, she’d made it home just before her stepmother and stepsisters and had jumped beneath the covers on her bed, just moments before Machara had unlocked the door to check on her.

  It had been hard enough pretending to be asleep, but it had been almost impossible to pretend when she was wheezing from all the exertion to get home first. Somehow though, her stepmother hadn’t noticed.

  Vanessa, however, didn’t know any of that and waved her hand dismissively as she languished against the well’s upright post. “Mother objected to the way I chose to spend my time.”

  “Ye were hiding behind a pillar with a knight, Vanessa,” Bonnie murmured from behind her book.

  “I was standing beside a tree with the most eligible bachelor in attendance,” her sister snapped in return.

  Ah, so the man dressed as a knight had been one of the Prince brothers.

  “Really?” Ember prompted, just to be polite.

  “It was Roland Prince; I just ken it.” Vanessa sighed. “He danced with me, twice, and I noticed how close he held me as well.”

  In armor? That must not have been very comfortable.

  “Well…congratulations,” Ember hazarded, “but I thought yer mother had her eye on the heir for ye.”

  “The Beast of the Oliphants?” Vanessa shuddered. “Have ye seen him? Like some sort of wounded beast with all those scars. He was there at the beginning, scowling at everyone, but no’ for long, thank the Lord. Roland is no’ only more handsome, but far more charming.”

  Ember grinned as she collected the rest of the washing accessories. “A real charming Prince, ye might say?”

  Behind her book, Bonnie snorted once, then twice, as if trying to hold in her laughter. Vanessa’s eyes widened before she too began to giggle.

  “Prince Charming!”

  Bonnie dropped her book and covered her cheeks with her palms. “Then Phineas would be Prince of Books!” she giggled.

  “And the heir would be Prince Beast!” Vanessa was laughing, and Ember allowed herself to join in.

  Tilting her head back to the sunshine, she shut her eyes and forgot about the fact she hadn’t had enough sleep last night, or that she’d missed her chance to sell Mr. DeVille her design, or that she’d lost a shoe.

  She just stood with her sisters and laughed.

  Chapter 4

  “We’re closer, dearies! This is the point in the story he finally tracks her down.”

  “Does he have the shoe, Grisel? He has to try the shoe on her, does he not?”

  “Hold on, let me check my notes. Hmm. Actually, nay, he’s got the shoe—the one she lost—wrapped up in a towel in his drawer.”

  “He doesnae have it with him?”

  “Dinnae fash, Willa. He’s likely just testing the waters now, eh? I’m sure the story will be right back on track before too long.”

  “Where is that girl? Ember! My pillows are no’ arranged correctly. Ember!”

  The screeching from the front hall brought Max to a stop. Cautiously, he tilted his head to one side and listened. Yep, that was Baroness Oliphant, the harpy who ran the inn. She must be searching for one of her servant girls, and Max had no interest in walking in on her in her current mood.

  Wasn’t there a back stairway? He’d use that to get up to his room instead.

  Decision made, he spun on his heel and hurried toward the back of the building where the corridor ran alongside the kitchens. But a surprisingly familiar sound distracted him, and he found himself frowning in confusion.

  It was the delicate sound of a graver chipping away at a piece of metal.

  He’d gotten used to it over the last few days at Oliphant Engraving, the sounds of the engravers in the warehouse almost omnipresent, but he hadn’t expected it here at the inn.

  He took a little detour and came across a small room beside the kitchen; the close stone walls causing the sounds to echo. Since the door was slightly ajar, he stepped in, and his brows rose in surprise. It was another workshop, though a much smaller version of the artists’ studio at Oliphant Engraving. The larger machines—the presses and the drills and lathes—were missing of course, but on one wall hung an assortment of gravers and scribes and mallets.

  “What’s all this?” he murmured.

  It wasn’t until the figure hunched over a workbench startled and began to straighten, that he’d realized he’d spoken out loud. He began to apologize, but when the person turned completely around, and he realized who it was, something else entirely escaped his lips.

  “You!” Of course, then he winced, realizing how accusatory it had sounded. “I’m sorry, I just hadn’t expected…”

  Max shook his head, knowing he was making a hash of things. The serving girl—because it most definitely was the pretty servant who’d run into him the day of the ball—stood gaping at him, her dark eyes wide, a graver in one hand and a curved piece of metal in the other.

  “I’m sorry for barging in.” He offered his most charming grin. “I was curious about the noise and couldn’t help but investigate.” He shrugged. “I guess I should learn to rein in my curiosity. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “What? Nay!” She shook her head, then spun back around and placed the metal piece in a little box, obviously full of half-completed projects. “Nay, there’s nae need to apologize.” As she crossed to the racks of tools to hang up the graver, she sent him a shy little smile. “As a guest of the inn, ye’re allowed to wander wherever ye like on the public floors. I was just surprised to see ye. Few guests realize this place is back here.”

  Well, if she was willing to talk to him, Max wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He crossed his arms and leaned a hip against one of the workbenches. “And I was surprised to find a metal engraver’s workshop in the inn.”

  “Ye ken what this place is?” Before the question was even complete, her expression cleared. “Och, ye’re an American, are ye no’?
”

  “I am.” He didn’t bother hiding the pleased grin.

  “Aye, I can tell by yer marvelous accent. Ye must’ve arrived with Mr. DeVille. Have ye spent time at Oliphant Engraving? Is that how ye ken about metal engraving?”

  Blinking, he tried to follow her jumps in logic. She thought he’d arrived with Mr. DeVille?

  But when he opened his mouth to set her straight, something entirely different came out. “You think my accent is marvelous?”

  She chuckled as she wiped her hands on a rag, cleaning off the engravers’ oil. “Aye, of course. It is a well-kenned fact the American accent is just heavenly to listen to. In comparison, Scottish men sound positively dull!”

  “Really? I think your accent is charming.”

  Was he flirting with her? He was, wasn’t he?

  “Dinnae be silly. Yer voice is much more appealing.”

  When she smiled at him, his body’s reaction was visceral: something reached down into his stomach and tugged, and he felt his cock harden in response.

  Down, cowboy.

  Clearing his throat, he shifted his stance, hoping to hide his arousal. “Yeah, well, we might have to agree to disagree on that one.” Hurrying to distract her, he asked, “But what is this place? Is it a part of Oliphant Engraving?”

  And why didn’t I know about it?

  She waved her hand dismissively, then reached behind her back to untie the heavy leather apron the engravers and machinists all wore. On her it looked big, as if it had been sized for a man.

  “This was my—” She hid her stumble by pulling the apron over her head, knocking her old-fashioned mop cap askew. “This workshop belonged to Baroness Oliphant’s second husband. He was the manager of Oliphant Engraving—the best engraver the Oliphants had seen in a generation! And when he married her, he set this place up for himself to tinker in.”

  As she spoke, she stretched up to hang the apron alongside the tools, and Max found himself studying her rear end. It was a nice rear end; one he wouldn’t mind getting close enough to feel.

  His palms were itching at the thought actually.

  Well, hell, what is it about this girl?

  She turned back to him, arranging her cap and tucking in a few strands of hair, before he could really see the color. Her smile was slight but lacked guile. He didn’t think she was flirting with him; as far as he could tell, she was treating him just like any other guest.

  And to his surprise, he was irritated by that. He wanted to treat her like someone special, and for her to do the same to him.

  Hmm.

  His brain, in an effort to rescue him from the silence threatening to stretch too long, prompted his mouth to blurt out, “Baroness Oliphant!”

  As her hands stilled their mop-cap-arrangements, one of her dark brows lifted. “Baroness Oliphant what?”

  “What?”

  “What about Baroness Oliphant? Or was that like a curse? Oh Baroness Oliphant, I just slammed my thumb in the drawer! Or By Baroness Oliphant, it was hot out there today! Or were ye just commenting on her general Baroness Oliphantness?”

  Chuckling, Max shook his head, his hands dropping to his hips. “None of those things, but now that you mention it, I could see using her name that way.”

  “Aye, but dinnae let her hear ye. She’s nasty, and I speak from experience.”

  Remembering the way he overheard the proprietress yelling for that poor girl, Max had to nod in agreement. “I can see that. But I guess what I was asking is, is she really a Baroness?”

  “Sometimes, I think if she were no’, she would’ve invented a way to be called Baroness anyhow. Maybe changing her name so it was legally her first name?” The girl shrugged and sent him another grin over her shoulder as she fetched a small dustpan and tiny brush. “But aye, she’s a lady, where the definition of lady is a little loose, I must say.”

  He watched her efficiently sweep the metal shavings from the worktable, as if she’d done it many times before. “I’m from America, where we don’t have lords and ladies.”

  “One of yer more charming characteristics,” she quipped, throwing him another grin over her shoulder, which had him shifting again as his trousers got tighter. “Although I ken some Americans can be raised to almost lord-like status.”

  The way she said it made it sound as if she had someone specific in mind, but he couldn’t imagine who it’d be. Instead, he continued. “Well, I just mean that I don’t know a lot about ladies, but I was surprised to see one running an inn.”

  As she dumped the shavings into the bin, the girl gasped so theatrically, it had to be in mock outrage. “Not just an inn, sir, but The Inn. With capital letters!” As she returned the pan to its place, she sent him a teasing smile. “The Oliphant Inn was originally a manor home, as ye can imagine, belonging to the Barons Oliphant. Baroness Oliphant’s first husband—Lord Oliphant, not to be confused with Laird Oliphant, whose wife was also Lady Oliphant, although that was a title and not a name, as Lady Oliphant’s— Wait, where was I?”

  He grinned. “Baroness Oliphant’s first husband.”

  “Right.”

  When she nodded and brushed her hands down her apron, his gaze followed and lingered on those hands. They were strong and callused—nothing like the lady’s gloved hands he’d touched at the ball—and looked capable.

  And the thought of them touching him, touching his skin, made Max shiver.

  When she launched into speech again, with that sing-song cadence familiar to anyone who’s had to explain something to someone else, he forced his attention back up to her lips.

  Which didn’t help the state of his trousers, frankly.

  “So, Machara—sorry, Baroness Oliphant’s—first husband was Baron Oliphant, the most recent one, I mean. Which makes sense, because it’s not as if she’d be married to one of the dead ones—” She cut herself off and shook her head at her own rambling words, before continuing. “Never mind. Her first husband’s father gambled most of the estate away, then turned the manor house into The Inn”—Max could hear the capital letters—“and it’s become a well-known establishment. Baroness Oliphant is quite proud of the fact.”

  Max had to chuckle. “It’s hard enough to keep everyone straight without throwing in titles too.”

  “I ken it! Everyone’s named Mrs. Oliphant, have ye noticed? The cook, the baker, and of course, the teacher’s wife.”

  “Exactly! And I can’t keep all the titles straight: lord this and laird that and everyone’s a lady! I mean, the ladies are at least, that is, the ones who aren’t a missus!”

  She was grinning right along with him as she scooped up a basket, looking as if she were preparing to leave the workshop. “I kenned I liked ye; an American without any interest in lords and ladies!”

  “Well, I’m sure they’re quite nice.” He realized he was feeling ten feet tall. Why? Because he was flirting with her, or because she’d just complimented him? “But it seems as though everyone’s got four titles, and they’re impossible to keep track of. And sometimes the gentlemen go by one title—like, their names—but their official title is something else!”

  Thank the Lord Roland had told him to call him by his given name, because Max couldn’t keep things straight otherwise.

  “I ken it!” She stepped closer to the door—and to him—with the basket on her hip. “Our laird is an earl, did ye ken? We dinnae stand on ceremony here in the Highlands, so he’s mostly kenned as Laird Oliphant. But there’s a number of other titles in there too. Besides, earls are as common as sheep here in Scotland.”

  Max had to chuckle again at that. “I hardly think that’s true.”

  “Och, well, maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration. We do have a lot of sheep.”

  “That you do.”

  As she slid past him—tantalizingly close, close enough he caught a whiff of her intriguing scent—he saw her basket was filled with rags soiled from oil. Was she taking them to be washed, or did she do the washing herself?

  “
I’ve enjoyed meeting ye, Mister…?”

  When she trailed off, he realized what she was asking. “Oh! No, not mister.” His father had always insisted on being called Mr. DeVille, and Max had hated how formal it sounded. “I’m Max. Just Max.”

  When he offered his hand instinctively, she seemed surprised. Was he supposed to bow or something? The rules here seemed different, but she wasn’t a lady, she was a serving girl. They were just two normal people, weren’t they?

  But then her lips curled up into a smile and she took his hand. He had to stop himself from sucking in a startled breath at the warmth, the spark, which jumped between them.

  It reminded him of their first touch, when he’d helped her pick up the spilled mugs.

  And another memory tugged at him, just out of reach. He wanted to know what else this touch reminded him of, but he couldn’t concentrate right now, not with her so close, and her hand still in his.

  “Well, Just Max, I’m Ember,” she said softly, peering up at him through her lashes, as her lips curled mischievously now. “And it’s verra nice to meet ye.”

  Ember.

  With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving him standing there with a tingling palm and a big grin on his face.

  Ember.

  His heart was singing her name, which sounded impossible, but was still true.

  Ember! Ember! Ember!

  Her touch and her smile made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t expected. Was this how Dmitri and Vincenzo, and Gordy and Ian, and all of his other friends back home had felt when they’d met the women they were going to marry?

  Because Max felt as though he’d been hit between the eyes by some kind of spell or something. And he just couldn’t stop repeating her name in his mind, couldn’t stop seeing the smiles she’d given him.

  Despite their conversation, he only knew two things about her, but they were enough: Her name was Ember, and that smile, right before she’d left, had definitely been her flirting with him.