by Amy Jarecki
Such galling talk made Geordie shudder. “Didn’t you rightfully inherit the land?”
“I did—built onto Da’s house—but as you ken, our forefathers fought over the land, and it has changed hands many a time since the years when the MacDonalds ruled as Lords of the Isles.”
Geordie bent down and inspected the leaves of a weed. Not avens. “So they’re trying to make a case for ancestral rights?”
“Aye.”
He brushed off his hands. “I’ll see what I can do from my end once I return to Huntly.”
“My thanks.” The chieftain dragged his fingers through his mop of ginger hair.
“’Tis the least I can do after you’ve given me a place to recover.”
Coll kicked a rock into the burn. “And when do you think you’ll be well enough to start your journey home?”
Geordie didn’t want to think about it—home he’d welcome, but leaving Akira was a different matter altogether. “A day, mayhap two.”
“You don’t have to be so hasty about it on account of me.”
“I ken, but my clan and kin will be carving my effigy if I do not soon darken Huntly Castle’s halls.”
“All right,” Coll agreed. “And the lass? Do you still need my men to accompany her back to Dunkeld?”
“Aye. ’Tis her home.” Ambling along the pathway, Geordie plucked a leaf and twirled it in his fingers. Akira would be able to tell me what plant this is from. He paused, letting the leaf twirl to the ground. “Do you think someone might be able to fit Miss Akira with a new gown for the gathering?”
Coll scratched his growth of ginger beard. “Not certain—we haven’t much time.”
“I’d like to do something for the lass.”
“Perhaps if I spoke to the tailor, he’d be able to alter one of my mother’s gowns. They’ve been packed away for years.”
“That’s a marvelous idea. I’ll pay him handsomely, of course.”
Coll turned on his heel. “Let’s see it done. Even I would like to see the look on Miss Akira’s face when she peers into the looking glass dressed in red silk.”
“Red?”
“I think red would suit her.”
“Pink or blue.” Akira might look like a goddess from the sun in red, but Geordie sure as hell didn’t want Coll MacDonell gaping at the woman in a red frock. He didn’t want anyone except him feasting his gaze upon her this eve.
Chapter Fifteen
Her hair wrapped in rags to make ringlets, Akira stood with one arm held out while the tailor tied a bow and stitched it in place just above her forearm. The gown Sir Coll had sent to her chamber was the most gorgeous work of art she’d ever seen. Simply the sleeves possessed a multitude of intricate detail—capped slashed sleeves in brocade, showing the ivory satin underdress beneath, and from her forearm, lace cuffs loosely draped from the narrow blue ribbon he so fastidiously secured in place.
“I think this was my favorite of Her Ladyship’s gowns,” said the tailor’s wife from her perch across the chamber.
“I can see why.” Akira glanced down at the brocade stomacher and bodice that gave way to billowing light-blue skirts. “I doubt I’ve seen such fine workmanship.”
The tailor looked up from beneath his spectacles and grinned. “I thank you.”
“Hurry along, Hamish.” Mrs. Tailor rose, picking up the brush from the chest and shaking it. “’Tis time to take the rags out, else the lassie will not be down in time for the gathering.”
“A moment longer,” mumbled the man with pins hanging out the side of his mouth.
Akira didn’t know what to think. They’d brought the gown in hours ago, telling her the laird had ordered them to alter it for her, and she’d been poked and probed ever since. Sir Coll didn’t fancy her, did he?
Of course not. He was there when I said I couldn’t do anything with my ratty old kirtle. Lord kens I need a new kirtle and arisaid, not some impractical gown like this with taffeta skirts. Why, if I dare spill anything on it, I’ll simply die.
By the time her hair was done and Mrs. Tailor had padded the satin shoes with a bit of wool so they wouldn’t fall off her feet, Akira stood in front of the mirror and didn’t even recognize herself. She turned full circle staring at the woman in the looking glass. “’Tis a miracle.”
Mrs. Tailor moved in behind Akira and regarded her reflection. “You are as bonny as a picture. No wonder Sir Coll wanted to see you dressed to the teeth.”
Akira emitted a nervous laugh. “Most likely he felt sorry for me.”
The woman smiled. “With a face and figure as bonny as yours, no one has any business feeling sorry for you.”
“You are very kind.”
Mr. Tailor picked up his sewing kit. “My wife and I are simply speaking the truth.”
When Akira opened the door to show them out, Geordie almost fell into her. He quickly straightened up and tugged on his doublet sleeves. “Ho-ly hell-fire!” he said, exaggerating each syllable while his eyes grew wide.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Mrs. Tailor.
Taking in a deep inhale, Geordie didn’t even acknowledge the woman. He grasped Akira’s hands and held them wide, his gaze drifting from the top of her head down to her shoes and back up again. “You look more radiant than a queen.”
“Aye, she does, and ’tis a good thing you appreciate it,” said Mr. Tailor. “Else I’d have words with Sir Coll.”
“That shan’t be necessary.” Geordie offered his elbow. “Shall we, miss?”
“Thank you.” Goodness, the nobleman looked as dapper as the Marquis of Atholl when he paraded through the town square. Mayhap even more so. Geordie’s kilt had been pressed, and he wore a new starched shirt and cravat beneath a doublet made of fine quilted silk. “You clean up nicely as well, sir.”
He gave her a sly wink and bade the Tailors good day. Akira could have floated as Geordie escorted her all the way to the fence-lined paddock where the clan had gathered around an enormous bonfire. She stopped in the shadow of a trellis of grapevines that spanned the walkway. Beyond, the clansmen and clanswomen wore common garb of kilts and kirtles. Not a single lass had donned a gown as fine as hers. “Goodness, I would have fit in better wearing my old kirtle and arisaid.”
He faced her, flicking one of her ringlets. “Nonsense. You are my guest, and as such, you should be dressed in finery whether we are in a castle built by man or one provided by God.”
“What did you mean by ‘as such’? Do you admit to being a nobleman?”
“Och, ye ken it to be so. You’ve been calling me m’lord since I roused from my fever. I reckon Sir Coll let something out of the bag.”
“And why can you not trust me with your true identity?”
“Because when you return home, they’ll try to question you about it, and if you do not ken my clan name, it will be for the better.”
“It just isn’t right. I-I-I care for you, yet these secrets between us are keeping me from…” She couldn’t say “trusting you,” but that’s how she felt. How could she allow herself deep feelings for a man who preferred to keep his identity anonymous?
He took her hand and pressed his warm lips to it, lingering and inhaling as if he wanted to commit her scent to memory. “Och, lass, I think it is for the best that our emotions do not run too deep.” Meeting her gaze with a hungry, almost predatory stare, he took a step closer. “A man could lose himself in those eyes of yours.”
“Sir Geordie,” Coll called from across the bonfire. “Come and share my plaid.”
Her mysterious Highland lord brushed his finger along Akira’s chin, sending gooseflesh down the length of her neck. “Let us enjoy the gathering this evening and forget our worries about things to come. For tonight you are a queen and I am a king. The world is ours.”
She squared her shoulders. “You are right. I’ve never even seen a gown this grand, let alone worn one. I shall put my doubts on the shelf and enjoy the fun.”
“Now that’s a good lass,” he said with a
wink.
Akira smacked his arm. “Queen.”
He grinned, white teeth reflecting the flickering of the fire. “Och aye.”
Ahead, dozens of families were gathered, sitting on plaids, talking loudly, and laughing even more loudly. Parents and elders watched wee children run and tumble, while a group of lads competed in a game of shinty.
As they neared, the aroma of the meat cooking on the spit grew stronger. “Are you hungry?” Geordie asked.
She smoothed her hand down her stomacher. “I’m laced so tight I do not think I can eat a thing.”
He slipped his hand to her back and tugged on her laces. “That can be remedied.”
“You wouldn’t dare?”
“Mayhap not until I enjoy a few drams of whisky.”
Akira laughed, covering her mouth and glancing away. Then her stomach squeezed as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at them. Geordie didn’t miss a step. He acted like they were alone in a dining hall and led her straight to Sir Coll.
The big chieftain raised his tankard. “I was wondering if you would arrive afore the food. You’ve missed the games.”
“Apologies.” Akira sat, tucked her legs under, and smoothed her skirts. “I was trapped above stairs for hours.”
Waggling his brows, Sir Coll grinned like a devious lad. “It looks as if Mr. Tailor did you well, miss.”
Akira felt both thrilled by and out of sorts with all the attention. “He did, and Mrs. Tailor styled my hair and took care of so many things.”
The chieftain poured a tot of whisky into Geordie’s tankard. “’Tis good to hear.”
“Well, I thank you for your hospitality.” She bowed her head. “’Tisn’t often my kind are treated graciously.”
“And what kind might that be?” asked Sir Coll as a servant placed a trencher of meat and bread in front of him.
“Did Sir Geordie not tell you?” She looked between the men.
Geordie spread his palms and shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.” He leaned to Coll and whispered something in his ear.
“Well, that just goes to show all tinkers are not bad—though I’d wager my father just rolled over in his grave for that remark.”
Laughing, the two men clanked their pewter tankards and drank heartily. Then Coll stood and spread his arms wide. “Clan MacDonell, join me in welcoming my friends from the north and east. Let us extend to them our Highland hospitality and share in this grand feast. May God look kindly upon our kin and give us great bounty, amen.”
The crowd responded with a boisterous amen and everyone turned their attention to the food before them. Everyone but Akira. Too many stimulating things were going on around her. Because of that—and her stays being bound almost to the point of making her swoon—she nibbled politely while trying to take it all in.
Such a happy crowd of clansmen and clanswomen gathered around the bonfire. And who wouldn’t be cheerful with so much abundance and children running about, laughing and chattering? Geordie was right when he said they should enjoy the evening. The sun would rise on the morrow and her destiny would unfold whether she worried about it or not. For once in her life, she would focus on the present.
A fiddler tuned his instrument while a drummer and piper joined him, and within two blinks of an eye, lads and lassies were making room for a reel.
“Do you fancy a dance, Miss Akira?” asked Sir Coll.
She clapped her hands. “I’d love to dance.”
When Geordie cleared his throat, she bit her lip. “That is, if it meets with your approval, m’lord? After all, you are still my employer.”
He flicked his wrist toward the merriment, though he was scowling. “Go on with you.”
Dancing a Highland reel made her throw her head back and laugh as Sir Coll swung her about the elbow to the whoops and hollers of the crowd. And the fiddler seemed to increase the tempo with every verse. At each opportunity, Akira stole a glance at Geordie. He watched her, sipping his whisky—his dark stare looking as dangerous as the devil.
The most disturbing part? Akira liked the wickedness of it, liked that he raked his gaze over her, stopping at the swells just above her bodice. Her skin sizzled with the heat from his look. It was as if a fire burned behind his eyes.
“Miss Akira?”
She startled and looked to her dance partner. “Aye?”
Sir Coll bowed and then offered his elbow. “I thank you for the dance.”
“It is I who should be thanking you, especially for lending me this gown. ’Tis absolutely stunning.”
“’Tisn’t a lend. ’Tis a gift.”
“But, sir, ’tis too much—”
Stopping, Sir Coll held up his palm. “You’ll have to take that up with Sir George over there. He’s the responsible party—he just asked me to do his footwork.” He leaned closer to her ear. “He’s trying to remain anonymous, ye ken.”
“Aye, I do ken, and the ruse is growing ever so annoying.”
Coll chuckled. “I have to admit I’m enjoying the green looks of envy from the du—I mean His Lordship—this eve.”
“Envy?”
The ruddy chieftain snorted. “You’ve not noticed? I reckon he’s as smitten as a bull in a paddock of heifers in spring.”
Drawing her hand to her chest, Akira couldn’t help but look Sir Geordie’s way. “He’s staring at us.”
“He’s staring at you, miss. Hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you arrived in Glen Spean.”
She giggled. “Except when he was unconscious.”
“Aye, well, I suppose you can forgive him for that.”
She thumped the big jester on the arm. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’m honest is all…Let’s have a bit of sport, shall we?” He gave her a wink and accompanied her to the plaid. “I hope that leg of yours will hold up, sir, else every young buck in my clan will be asking for a turn with this bonny lassie.”
Geordie scowled. “You’d best bloody bet your life my leg can hold up to an entire night of dancing.”
“Is that so?” Coll crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “What say you to a sword dance?”
His Lordship’s gaze narrowed and then shifted to Akira. Thinning his lips, Geordie lumbered to his feet. “I can outleap you even with a hole in my bloody thigh, ye mongrel.”
Akira grasped his arm. “Are you certain? I wouldn’t want you to have a relapse now you’ve come so far.”
He jerked his arm away, but then caught her chin in the crook of his finger. “’Tis but a display of brawn, lass. When ’tis over, you’ll save the rest of your dances for me.” Before she could object, he sealed his command with a kiss on her lips right in front of everyone. “Come, young MacDonell, let us see how high you can leap.”
Mm—wood smoke and whisky. I wouldn’t mind another wee taste with a kiss as potent as the last.
Akira licked her lips as she watched the men each place two swords on the ground, making square X’s.
The music began and the two combatants bowed to each other to cheers from the crowd. Of course, everyone cheered for Coll. Akira clutched her hands to her lips and prayed Geordie would survive. For heaven’s sake, he still had a pronounced limp to his gait. Not that they were going to pick up their swords and duel, but his leg might give out, or he might have a sharp pain.
Together the Highlanders leapt from side to side, dancing in a square around their swords, never once touching them. With every leap, they jumped higher, their kilts swishing in tune to the music, revealing enticing flashes of muscular legs.
The contest was too close to call—Sir Coll’s toe nudged his sword, though the younger, uninjured man jumped a bit higher. When the music ended, the crowd overwhelmingly chose their leader. The big redhead strutted around the circle, puffing out his chest.
“What must he do?” asked a woman, clapping her hands.
“Make him swim the river,” a clansman bellowed.
Sir Coll shook his head and his hands together
. “Nay, nay, nay. Sir Geordie is my guest, and therefore I shall offer him a dram of Speyside whisky. Bring me a bottle of the 1672.”
Geordie bowed. “My thanks to the host.”
A man dashed into the circle with a bottle and cup. “’Tis our finest.”
Coll poured and handed Geordie the cup. “Drink it down—one tilt of the cup and not a drop to be spilled.”
Akira applauded with the others while Geordie swigged the whisky. Taking a breath of air, he turned the cup over to prove he’d accomplished the task, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
He beckoned Akira with a flick of his fingers. “Come here, bonny lass, and do me the pleasure of a dance.”
The fiddler blessed them with a slower strathspey, and Akira took up her place in line across from Geordie. If anything, his exertion, combined with the whisky, made him appear even more dangerous. A pressure deep within her churned—some deep, feral impulse that made her movements more pronounced, perhaps even more seductive. Was it the Gypsy in her blood boiling to the surface? Was it the music stirring her soul?
While she danced, her cheeks burned, but she was having too much fun to stop. Though every eye watched, the attention made Akira accentuate every step all the more. The man dancing forward and touching his palm to hers commanded her attention as if they were the only two people at the gathering, serenaded by music that could send her to heaven.
Ending in a curtsy, Akira smiled as Geordie stepped forward and took her hand. “I hope you’re not tired, because I intend to keep you on my arm until the music stops.”
Chapter Sixteen
As the evening progressed, Geordie’s restraint waned. From the moment he’d stepped into Akira’s chamber, he’d been completely and utterly enchanted. Dear God in heaven, since the day he opened his eyes to her bonny face, he’d been under her spell, but now he had no chance. And it had been his bloody idea to outfit her with a gown.
If only he’d known how rapturous she’d look.
Placing his hand in the small of Akira’s back as he escorted her to her chamber, he chuckled to himself. He had to admit he’d wanted to see her dressed as a queen. Akira should be dressed in finery every day, with her own keep to command. Aye, she was uneducated, yet she had common sense no man could learn from a book. And she’d learned the healing arts far better than some physicians Geordie had met.