by Willa Blair
“Besides hunting now and again?”
She smiled, but Iain noticed a crease between her eyebrows. What about his question worried her? He held his tongue, waiting for her to elaborate.
“All the usual things, I suppose,” she continued, her gaze on the tree line they rode along. “Surely ye’ve been aware of the chatelaine’s duties at Brodie. Ours canna be so different.”
“Enlighten me,” he urged.
“Well, let me see. I keep track of the food stores, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And hold the keys to the larder, the alehouse, and so forth. Keep the tally of the crofters, what they produce, and what they owe their laird.”
“That’s a heavy responsibility. Yer father has made it plain he depends upon ye.”
“Thank ye. He does.”
“And do ye never wish to marry?”
She stayed silent a long time. They passed through the Rose keep’s gate before she answered, “Perhaps. Someday.” She glanced aside at him and pursed her lips. “I dinna wish to make ye think ye are no’ an attractive suitor. Ye are.”
Iain smiled. If she thought him attractive, he’d already won half his battle.
“But,” she continued, “’tis no’ a good time for me to leave my father’s house. Ye understand, of course.”
The hell he did. James Rose would be well served to find his own wife to run his keep. If Iain must take a wife—and he must if he hoped to succeed his father—Iain wanted James’s daughter. This daughter. “Of course.” Aye, she found him attractive. But. She was loyal to her father. He could not gainsay her loyalty. Only now he needed to figure out how to sway it to him. And soon.
At the kitchen door, she dismounted and took the birds in hand. “Ye must excuse me. Cook is waiting for these.”
“I understand, and I thank ye. I enjoyed yer company.”
She hesitated a moment and turned back to him. “And I yers,” she answered with a shy smile.
Maybe he could hope, after all.
* * *
Iain had told Kenneth to meet him in the walled garden. They’d be able to talk there, and Iain would have enough sunlight to start a drawing he hoped would help him woo Mary. He’d sketched a rough outline in charcoal by the time Kenneth joined him.
“Nice,” Kenneth remarked, glancing over the page in the leather-bound book Iain had on his lap. “But no’ yer usual sort of subject.”
Iain nodded, acknowledging the truth of Kenneth’s observation. Structures fascinated Iain, whether part of the Brodie keep’s walls or the mathematical arrangement of a flower’s petals. He had a remarkable ability to recall every feature.
Only after a battle did his subject matter change. Then, while his blood still boiled and before exhaustion took him, he drew the bare body of his latest romantic conquest, reclined and beckoning or reaching for him. Not that he needed help remembering his lovers. Immersing himself in depicting a lass’s lush curves took his mind from the blood and gore of battle. He sometimes found visions of the men he’d had to kill faded away and did not taint his sleep.
Iain kept his more intimate studies private, though none showed a woman’s face. He could think of no one who would understand why he drew them.
Kenneth referred to his sketches of the keep and its gardens. Even those irritated his father, who, despite respecting Iain’s prowess with a sword, saw drawing buildings and flowers as a woman’s pastime, not a warriors—or a laird’s.
This garden full of blossoms called to him, especially the roses. They were planted in groups by shades and colors, and climbed the walls, the roses interspersed with other flowers Iain could not name. A few would be perfect subjects for the colored chalks he’d recently received from Brussels. But he hadn’t invited Kenneth here to discuss his pastime.
“I’ve a problem,” he said as Kenneth settled on the ground beside him and placed a cup of ale at his knee. “I’ve met the oldest daughter, Mary, and she’s the one I want. She was the one with the puppy—“
“Aye, I saw her. A lovely lass. Sharp tongue, though,” Kenneth added with a sidelong glance at Iain.
Iain ignored the barb. “I can’t get her out of my mind.” He closed his sketchbook and shifted to face Kenneth. “I dinna need to meet her sisters.”
“How can ye say that? Ye only saw her from a distance.”
“Nay. I also saw her on the stair yesterday. And this morning, she was already in the stable when I arrived. We went riding. Alone. Nothing she said or did has dissuaded me.”
“Alone? Ye risk much. Do you think to force her father to agree to the match?”
Iain gripped his charcoal stick tighter. “Nay. But maybe I can change his mind. After he tried to drown us in whisky last night, I seem to recall we left on good terms.”
“He invited ye to call him James, so I’d say so.”
“Aye, he did.”
“I hope yer wits are sharper than they were last eve.” Kenneth gestured toward the garden’s gate. “You can start to persuade him now. Here he comes, with a lass—another of the daughters, or I miss my guess.”
Iain winced and nodded, then tucked the charcoal out of sight in his shirt. “Indeed.”
James Rose approached with a younger, fairer-haired version of her oldest sister. He paused long enough to allow the Brodies to gain their feet and incline their heads in greeting, then spoke. “Well met, though I didna expect to see ye in here as we passed by the gate. I’d like to introduce to ye my youngest daughter, Catherine.”
“I’m pleased to meet ye,” she said and followed her words with a girlish giggle.
Iain kept his gaze away from Kenneth, who would read his dismay, and bowed over her hand. “I am delighted to meet ye,” he answered, then forced a smile. Mary had been wrong. Her sister did not approach Mary’s beauty, much less exceed it. Iain judged, even before she giggled, this daughter was too young to interest him. The giggle sealed his opinion against her. He turned his attention to James. “Ye have an exceptional garden. We are fortunate to be able to spend a few minutes enjoying it.”
“Indeed. Please stay, then. Catherine and I are expected elsewhere. Ye will have a chance to speak at dinner,” James told her as she shifted beside him. “Until then, come along, lass.”
Iain inclined his head in acceptance.
James led his youngest out of the garden toward the stables.
Iain traded a frown with Kenneth and sat back down. “Certainly no’ that one.”
“How can ye ken? Ye just met her two minutes ago.”
“Ye saw her. She’s barely out of…whatever lassie bairns wear. And that giggle.”
“I found her charming.”
“How? Ye just met her.”
“Exactly. She’s had nay chance to dissuade me of my good opinion.”
Iain stood and shook his head at Kenneth’s grin. “And by that, ye mean the same of her eldest sister. Bollocks.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I’m going to find the middle daughter, Anne. ’Tis past time I met her. Once that’s done, I’ll have accomplished the task her father set me. Then I can figure out how to convince him to my way of thinking.”
“Go on with ye, then,” Kenneth told him and waved his hand, palm down, in a shooing gesture. “Since I’m no’ in the market for a bride, I’ll stay here and finish my ale. Good luck completing yer quest.”
Iain shook his head again and left him. Kenneth’s chuckles followed him across the garden and out the gate.
Outside, he stopped the first woman he came across. “I’m looking for Lady Anne. Do ye ken where she might be?”
“Nay, sorry, milord.” She looked him up and down, then tilted her head and met his gaze through lowered lashes. “Is there aught I can help ye with?”
Iain couldn’t miss her suggestive smile, or the way she leaned her upper body toward him, giving him a view of her ample cleavage. She was a comely enough lass. In the past, he might have taken her up on her offer and had her on her back with two or t
hree well-chosen words. But she held no appeal, and that worried him. What had happened to him since arriving at Clan Rose? He’d never been so besotted with a lass, and certainly not so quickly. Aroused by them, aye, but never fascinated to the point of having no interest in the next lass, and the next. He shook his head and left her without another word, making his way toward the tannery. Near the entrance, he encountered a young serving girl and asked her the same question.
“Nay, milord,” she answered. “No’ since she got back from riding with ye this morning.”
Iain frowned. Surely he had misheard. “With me?”
“Aye. I saw ye both ride in, and again at the kitchen door. Annie gave some birds to Cook and went on her way. I have no’ seen her since.”
“Ye mean Lady Mary…”
“Aye, Lady Annie,” the lass replied, emphasizing the title.
The lass thought he’d chastised her for being overly familiar. But she definitely meant the lass with him, and insisted she was Anne. So his Mary thought to play with him? Iain thanked the lass and turned around, surveying the busy bailey. Several lads were training with wooden swords near the alehouse. A little past them, smoke rose from the blacksmith’s shed. Further along the way, the stable door stood open. People moved to and fro across his line of vision, but none of them were Mary. Or rather, Anne.
She thought to escape his notice by impersonating her sister? She had to know by supper, with her father making introductions at the table, her ruse would fail. So what had been her purpose? He fisted his hands as the reason came to him. Of course, to get him off guard and learn what she could about her prospective husband and laird. His offer to accompany her on her ride must have seemed like a gift from Providence. He did not like being lied to, but he could understand why she’d done it. In addition to her beauty, kindness, and skill with a bow, the lass was more clever than he’d given her credit for. He’d even the score with her later. His way.
In the meantime, he wondered about the real Mary and stopped another person to ask about her.
“Ach, the lass has gone to Inverness and won’t be back for a few more days,” the woman told him.
That nailed it. His Mary was really Anne, the middle daughter. According to her father’s wishes, she could be married. To him. His lips twitched into a brief smile of grim satisfaction. If he must marry, at least he’d found a lass very much to his liking. Now to make it happen.
Chapter 3
Annie sat next to her father at the high table, Catherine on his other side in Mary’s usual place. Normally, Cat sat on Annie’s other side, but tonight, her seat would be taken by one of their Brodie visitors. And Annie knew who would claim it, if he had the chance.
Iain Brodie.
Why oh why had she tried that stupid deception? She drummed her fingertips on the table top, then curled her fingers into a fist when Iain and Kenneth appeared at the entrance to the hall. She would not give Iain the satisfaction of appearing nervous. She should have known father would bring them all together at dinner. And what was taking them so long? They’d paused, looking around the room. As soon as father introduced her, she’d be doomed. Iain wanted her—or he did before he found out she’d lied to him. He knew her father considered her available. How would Iain react? Would he expose what she’d done? That question made her pulse race and her palms sweat. Her father would be furious, not only for the deception, but because she’d left the keep alone with a Iain Brodie—unless that played into her father’s plans. The thought made a chill skitter down her spine. She straightened against it and pasted a small smile on her lips when Iain and Kenneth started across the hall. Her father stood and waved them forward, indicating the seats on either side of his daughters. They made their way past the last row of tables and mounted the steps to the raised platform.
Iain came up ahead of Kenneth.
Annie cleared her throat and kept her gaze on the people in the hall and off of Iain Brodie. Despite the murmur of voices in the hall and his ability to move soundlessly, she felt every step he took.
Instead of claiming the seat next to her, as she’d expected, he leaned down to her.
“Good evening, Lady Anne,” he whispered in her ear, then straightened, greeted her father and moved to stand behind the seat next to Catherine. Annie watched him, open-mouthed, barely aware of the other Brodie, Kenneth taking up a position behind the chair next to her.
Her father turned his head from one to the other, gathering them into his presence. “Iain and Kenneth Brodie, ye met my youngest, Catherine, earlier today. Now I present to ye my middle daughter, Anne.”
Iain bowed to Catherine, then to her, utterly polite on the surface, but she could see the glint in his eyes as he gazed at her. Was he angry about her deception? Did that glint promise retribution?
Damn.
Kenneth sat down, jostling the adjacent chair. “Good evening,” he greeted her.
She whipped around to face him, so focused on Iain, the sound of his voice made her jump. She cleared her throat and answered with as polite a smile as she could manage. “And the same to ye.”
The servers arrived with trenchers and platters of food, saving Annie the effort of forming coherent words to make small talk. On her father’s other side, she could hear Iain charming Cat, and hear her sister’s giggle. She hoped for Catherine’s sake she grew out of that soon.
Despite Iain’s attentions, Cat’s gaze often travelled past their father and her sister to settle on Kenneth. And from the corner of her eye, Annie could tell Kenneth looked back at Cat, a wistful hint of a smile lifting his lips whenever their gazes met. When had the two of them had a chance to form an attachment?
* * *
Annie paced the laird’s solar, cringing at the laughter echoing from the great hall. Waiting for her father to return was driving her mad. He’d stayed by the hearth after the meal, sharing tall tales and several after-dinner drams with the Brodies and his inner circle. She wished she could have overheard what they discussed, but father had ordered her and Catherine to their chambers. Chastened by the uncomfortable dinner, Annie had obeyed without question. But the walls kept closing in and the only relief she could imagine involved convincing, even begging if all else failed, her father not to marry her or Cat to Iain Brodie. She knew he’d come here once they were done drinking and talking. Would he be sober enough to hear her out?
Men’s voices got louder. She turned to face the door. Her father came in, followed by Iain. Annie quailed, suddenly wishing she’d stayed in her chamber. This was bad. Very bad. She would not beg in front of Iain.
“Anne, what are ye doing here? I told ye to go upstairs.”
“I did, Da. But I need to speak with ye.” She spared a glance for Iain, who studied her from behind her father’s back. “It canna wait,” she added, hoping to keep him from ordering her out. She didn’t want Iain to be able to speak to him privately, not until after she’d had her say. She might not be Mary, whom he would indulge without question, but she counted on her father’s affection to get him to at least listen, if not to agree as soon as she finished speaking.
He turned to Iain, and Annie’s pulse kicked up.
“It appears my daughter has important business to discuss. We will continue our conversation tomorrow.”
Iain glanced from her father to her. If he guessed what she intended, he might refuse, impolite though that might be. But he cut his gaze back to her father and nodded. “Of course. At your convenience,” he added, inclined his head and left the room.
Father turned his attention back to her. Suddenly, Annie had no idea what to say. “Well, daughter? What’s so urgent ye disobeyed me and interrupted my business?”
“I need to make sure ye understand why I dinna wish to marry Iain Brodie or any other man, no’ yet.”
He moved behind his work table and shifted a stack of correspondence aside, his gaze on the documents. “Yer reason doesna matter. I’m sorry, but ye ken what this alliance with Brodie could mean.”
She pressed her lips together, struggling to come up with the right words to convince him to pay attention to her concerns. If she angered him too much, he’d refuse to consider anything she said. “I do. But Rose needs my skill with the bow—ye ken there’s none better, even among the men. And Mary will miss me. Catherine, too.”
Rose leaned forward and planted his hands on the tabletop. “None of ye will bide here together forever, even Mary. Ye ken that, do ye no’, lass?”
Annie held out a beseeching hand. “Cat is interested in Kenneth. I’ve seen the way they look at each other, already. I ken she’s young, I do, but he is, too. If ye betrothed Cat to him, ye’d have yer alliance, even if they dinna wed for several years. All would be well.”
“I’m afraid that will no’ settle anything, except possibly to please yer sister,” Rose said. He straightened. “Iain must wed to inherit. If he’s to become chief when Thomas dies, he must take a wife. He’ll owe me…and Clan Rose…for putting him in the position to lead Brodie.” He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Thomas is very ill. Sad to say, he won’t last much longer.” He pinned her with his gaze. “Iain seems quite taken with ye.”
Annie felt her freedom slipping away with every pronouncement her father made. But she had one more argument he must, in fairness, consider. “Mary is eldest and should wed first. If he’s to be a laird…”
“I have need of yer sister here,” her father declared.
“And ye dinna have a need of me.” A pit opened up in Annie’s belly. She didn’t want to hear him agree, but given the way he relied on Mary, he might.
He frowned. “That isna true, daughter, and well ye ken it.” He came around the desk and took her hand.
She grasped his and nodded, relieved, yet still determined.
But he gave her no chance to speak. “Ye lasses have always kenned yer value to the clan lies in the alliance ye’ll make through marriage,” he continued, dropping her hand and taking a step back. “No’ in what ye can do with yer bow, or anything else ye or yer sisters excel at.” He shook his head. “Iain will treat ye well, and soon enough, ye’ll be the Brodie lady. ’Tis a fine and honorable position for ye to assume. The Brodies will be strong allies.”