“You n—”
“But what ye do doesnae matter, Winnie,” he continued over her interruption. “I’ll always see ye as ye are, and that’s the bairn with the scraped knees I taught to fish. What I mean to say is, I’ll nae—never—marry ye, Winnie, so whatever ye have planned in that head of yers, dunnae trouble yerself. Have yer fun with yer friends, help Lady Charlotte with her Highlands wedding, but dunnae expect anything to come of us. Do ye understand?”
For a long moment she gazed at him while he waited for her pretty blue eyes to overflow with tears. Bear would likely attempt to bloody him, but Ranulf had practically ordered him to do this. It wasn’t as if he wanted to see her cry.
Winnie smiled. Then a chuckle burst from her chest. “Oh, dear,” she managed.
That did not sound like heartbreak. Lachlan frowned before he could remember that that was a good thing. “What’s so damned amusing?”
“You looked so serious. I’m so sorry,” she returned. “Poor Lachlan. You must’ve been terrified every time you saw me appear.”
“Nae. I wasnae terrified. And I’m nae afraid of ye now. I just want ye to ken that there’ll be no marriage between us.”
“Of course I understand that. You were a childhood infatuation. I’m certainly not a child any longer.”
This was not what he’d expected. “It’s been three months. Ye’ve changed yer accent right enough, but yer heart? That’s nae so simple, I think.”
“Now you’re confusing me. Are you jealous that I’ve realized what I want, and that it isn’t you?”
“I’m just doubting the truth of yer words, lass.”
“Oh, pish. Until three months ago, I’d barely spoken with a man who wasn’t my brother. I’d never waltzed with anyone but the four of you, and no one had ever complimented me without me first having to ask them to. And so I’m sorry I was so relentless in my pursuit, but you can hardly blame me for it.”
“I dunnae blame ye fer anything. I just want to have an understanding between us.”
“There is one. But this conversation is unnecessary. My time in London allowed me to open my eyes,” she returned, still cool and composed. “I wrote you letters and you never responded. Since my first memory I’ve been asking you for flowers and dances and poetry, and you couldn’t be bothered. Not once.” Stepping forward, she put a hand on his arm. “I don’t want you any longer. You’re not worth my time.”
Then she leaned up and kissed him, sisterlike, on the cheek. “But I do thank you, for showing me precisely the sort of man I do not want in my arms. It’s a lesson I’ve learned quite well.” With that, her fingers walking up his shoulder, she strolled past him, humming, out the door again.
Lachlan stood where he was for a long moment as he tried to keep his head from spinning. What the devil? Nearly eighteen years of her pursuing him, and suddenly he wasn’t worth her time? Ha. The day he couldn’t please a woman—any woman he chose—was the day he would strap stones to his waist and jump into Loch Shinaig.
Of course he hadn’t been pursuing Winnie MacLawry, so what did she expect? It was ridiculous. She’d been after him, changed her mind, and then decided she could insult him because of it? He’d done nothing wrong. Hell, he’d done nothing at all. On purpose. If he had wanted her, he would have had her, and that was that.
But to say he wasn’t the sort of man she wanted—that was insulting. He was as fine and charming as any of those scalawags in the other room drinking tea with their pinkies stuck in the air. He might not be an earl, but he was a damned viscount. And he’d wager any number of her pretty, delicate Sassenach lasses would be pleased to receive his attentions. That would show her.
All this from a child with burrs in her hair. She could play the adult if she chose, but he might just decide to show her that this was not a game for children. “Ye’ve done it now, lass,” he muttered. “Dunnae throw down yer wee glove unless ye’re ready fer someone to take up the challenge. We’ll see who’s worth wanting. And having.” It wouldn’t be her, but she could damned well watch.
Chapter Two
“Ye truly should be wearing a bonnet or one of yer brothers’ warm hats today, m’lady,” Mitchell said, as the maid tucked a hairbrush and extra hairpins into a drawer of the dressing table. “This isnae London. A brisk wind could freeze yer ears off.”
“I grew up here, Mitchell,” Rowena returned, taking a last turn in front of the full-length dressing mirror to admire her red and black riding habit and the rakish red beaver hat perched atop her black coils of hair. “I haven’t forgotten the weather, for goodness’ sake.” She picked up her riding gloves and headed for the door. “But I cannot wear a bonnet with this outfit, or all the English will laugh at me. If I wore one of Bear’s floppy hats…” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “If I did that, I might as well save everyone some trouble and join a nunnery.”
“No one’s marriage prospects have ever been ruined by a hat,” the lady’s maid insisted stoutly.
“Not yet, perhaps. But I will not be the first.”
“Saint Bridget protect us all, then.”
Rowena left her bedchamber and descended to the first floor. Around her the house was already well awake, and she smiled at the sound of one of the upstairs maids humming as she opened curtains and cleaned out rooms abandoned for the morning. Glengask had always been a loud, lively place, filled with visiting chieftains and allies and cotters and pipers and multiple men she’d thought were footmen until she’d eventually realized they were Highlands warriors, members of clan MacLawry brought in by Ranulf to help watch over the family. To protect them.
Today the old, fortified sprawl boomed and shook with the noise of an additional two dozen Englishmen and women and servants—Sassenachs, all of them. She’d arranged that, and however put out her brothers might feel, making English friends could only benefit them. Even better, they might decide they approved of whichever man she decided to marry. At the least her brothers couldn’t be supporting Lachlan any longer—and if they were, she needed to set them straight. Why he’d felt the need to inform her they wouldn’t suit she had no idea, since she’d realized it months ago. And he’d clearly never thought of her romantically at all.
She’d made it halfway through the long portrait-lined gallery upstairs when a strong hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her sideways into the armory. “What the—”
“Ye’ve ambushed us, ye know,” Bear rumbled, releasing her. In his left hand a claymore swung loosely, and from the look of the tree stump they’d somehow dragged into the room while she’d been away, he was annoyed at something. Her, apparently.
“Ranulf got here three days before we did,” she returned, smoothing the sleeve of her new riding habit. “And since he ordered us to pack up and follow him north, you can blame him.” She narrowed one eye. “Or blame Arran, since he’s the one who headed north when we still had three weeks before the end of the Season.”
“Dunnae ye try to fancy up the tale, piuthar. Ran didnae invite half the Mayfair fancies to join him at Glengask. That was yer doing.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Ha! Ye admit to it.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Do you know what they call women your age who haven’t married?”
He cocked his head at her, a lock of his too long black hair falling across one gray-green eye. “Desperate?” he suggested.
“That, too. They call them ‘spinsters,’ and say they’re ‘on the shelf.’ You’re only six years older than I am, Munro.”
“Dunnae ye worry, Winnie. Lachlan’ll get through his h—”
“Lachlan MacTier is not going to marry me,” she cut in, ignoring his frown. “Yes, I know we all assumed it would happen, but Lachlan didn’t. And I was stupid to think my wishing for it would make it so.”
“I’ll talk to him, then.”
That would be a disaster. “I already did. Or he came and found me, rather, to tell me I’ve been wasting my time and that we would never be a match.” Sh
e shrugged, a part of her still surprised that it had hurt as little as it had. Evidently a lifelong dream could be set aside as if it were nothing. Because it had been. She’d done it. “And don’t go punching him for being honest.”
“Ye seem to be taking this bit of news fairly well,” the brother closest to her in age mused, studying her face.
“I gave him up a week after I left here,” she returned. “I’m a fine lass, Bear, and I have better things to do than pine after a man too … thick to appreciate me.” She gave a twirl in her fashionable habit. “He had his chance, and given his complete lack of passion and romance, I’m glad nobody means to hold me to something I thought made sense when I still believed in unicorns.”
She’d told just that to herself multiple times, and the more she repeated it, the more she remembered just how little regard Lachlan had ever had for her, the more sense it made. And saying it aloud now only served to put an official end to the story of Lachlan and Rowena, the fairy tale of a naïve young girl who’d finally grown up to see that her prince was a stupid block of wood.
Bear regarded her for a long moment. “So these fancy lads are here fer ye to assess?” he finally asked. “Ye’d marry a Sassenach who’d take ye away from the Highlands?”
That was the one thing that troubled her. As much as she’d wanted to escape Glengask three months ago, as tired as she was of how set in their ways everyone was, how sophisticated she felt with her careful accent and clothes from Paris, she would miss her brothers. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “For love, I think I would.”
He cursed in Gaelic. “I dunnae like that,” he said unnecessarily. “Are ye certain ye didnae invite those pretty lads here just to make Lachlan notice ye?”
“Oh, for Saint Bridget’s sake. Don’t be absurd, Bear.” Perhaps she wasn’t above demonstrating to Lord Gray that other men found her intriguing, but that was just pride. “These people are all potential allies for Ranulf. You don’t drag an aristocrat a thousand miles to make someone jealous; there would be repercussions. And why would I invite female friends if I were looking to make a man notice me?”
“I suppose we’ll see aboot that.” He glanced past her shoulder, toward the depths of the house. “So that means the lasses are fair game, nae?”
That made her frown. “They’re my friends. I tried to match Jane Hanover with Arran, and that didn’t turn out well. And don’t you go breaking her heart, too.” She eyed him, suspicion tightening her shoulders. “I thought you were wooing Bethia Peterkin.”
He shrugged, a grin touching his mouth. “Wooed and won, Winnie. A man needs new lands to conquer.”
“Conquer away, then. Try not to begin any new wars, though; Ranulf just ended the last one.”
“Aye, and left us with Arran wed to a Campbell.” He shook his shaggy head. “A Campbell, living at Glengask. And she’s a fine lass. Odd times we’re in, and that’s fer damned certain.”
She definitely agreed with that. “If you’re finished with chewing on my ear, then, I’m going riding with my friends.”
Bear snorted. “Those English ponies they brought up will be dead by the end of the day if ye dunnae keep to a walk. At least we’ll have fresh meat for dinner.”
Rowena laughed before she could stop herself. “That’s enough, Bear. Most Sassenach already think we’re devils and barbarians. If they hear you talking about eating their mounts, they’ll flee into the wilds.”
As she turned around, he caught her hand, turning her to face him again. “Ye’re still a Highlands lass, then. I’m glad to know it.”
Before that could begin a whole other conversation and argument, she left the armory and its rather impressive array of weapons behind. She had been born a Highlands lass, but she’d learned better. She didn’t have to be crass or naïve or go about with burrs in her hair. Rowena scowled. She really needed to stop conjuring that conversation. It had been three months ago for one thing, and for another it only reminded her of how foolish she’d been until such a short time ago.
She couldn’t be surprised that Bear—and likely Ranulf and Arran, as well—thought she’d invited handsome young men to Glengask in order to antagonize or lure Lachlan. A few months ago she might have done such a thing. The idea of him being jealous had so often entered her daydreams that there were moments she’d almost thought it real.
But it wasn’t real. Nothing she’d imagined between them was real. These men here were real, and they said flattering things to her and complimented her eyes and her wit and her dress and certainly didn’t see her as a nuisance. They made her heart beat faster. In fact, all she could do at this point was be thankful she’d realized how very uninterested Lachlan was in her before she’d somehow forced herself into a match with him. She would have spent the rest of her life in misery.
“You, Lady Rowena,” a low, cultured voice drawled as she entered the foyer, “are a vision. Diana the huntress brought to life.”
No, her only regret where Lachlan was concerned was that she hadn’t realized earlier how hopeless her pursuit had been. She smiled as Adam James, Lord Samston, doffed his hat and then offered his arm. “If you begin the day with such flattery,” she returned in her practiced tones, “by afternoon you’ll have nothing kind left to say.”
The earl chuckled. “Nonsense. I have two directions in which I may proceed. Loftier, or … more intimate.”
Cooper the butler pulled open the front door, somehow nearly cracking Lord Samston’s head against the solid oak as he did so. “I beg yer pardon, m’laird,” the old Scotsman intoned. “I didnae realize yer melon was so grand.”
Adam frowned. “I do hope they don’t allow you about sharp objects,” he said crisply, gesturing for Rowena to precede him out the door.
“Nae, m’laird. I favor the musket, or a good, solid club.”
“Don’t mind Cooper, Lord Samston,” Rowena broke in, half pulling the earl over the threshold and out to the drive where a dozen horses waited, their breath fogging in the crisp morning air. “He’s overly dramatic.”
“My brother-in-law has an estate just outside Edinburgh, you know,” he commented as he put his hands around her waist, smiled down at her, and lifted her into the sidesaddle of her white mare, Black Agnes. “He brought in servants from London just so he could understand what they were saying.”
“Cooper’s been with the family for ages,” she returned, noting that Jane was already outside, along with Lady Edith Simms and her brother Lord Victor. “Ranulf would never replace him—or any of them—if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Well, I’m not going to admit to any such thing now, am I?” The smile still on his face, he swung up onto his chestnut gelding, King.
The Edinburgh connection was one of the things she favored about Adam James, actually. Even if it was only through marriage, the earl had Highlands acquaintances. Highlands geographically, anyway; from what she’d been able to discover, his brother-in-law Lord Lewis had barely an ounce of Scottish blood—but he had had the good fortune to be the sole surviving heir of the old Lord Lewis.
“Ah, more rivals,” Adam mused, and she looked up as Arnold and William Peabody left the house, followed by John, Lord Bask, and his cousins Sarah and Susan Parker.
“We’re all friends here,” she commented, though if Lord Samston saw her as a desirable prize she certainly had no objection.
“Are we?”
When Rowena glanced over at him, seated comfortably on King, his gaze was directed at the low hill beyond the drive. A big bay stallion came into view, the man riding him hatless and bent low over the beast’s neck as it galloped toward them. Even with the sun behind him painting him into silhouette, she recognized Lachlan MacTier, his longish brown hair flying about his lean face and Beowulf blowing beneath him. However finished she was with him, she did enjoy watching him ride. Anyone would admire a skilled horseman, she supposed.
He galloped up the drive and stopped neatly beside her. “Is there trouble?” she aske
d, drawing Black Agnes in when the mare began to fidget.
“Nae,” Lachlan returned, sending Beowulf in a tight circle around her. “Heard ye were going fer a ride this fine morning. Thought I’d join ye.”
She eyed him. He seemed very chipper for a fellow who’d thought he’d broken her heart. “Why?”
He grinned. “Because ye’ve some lovely lasses with ye, and it wouldnae be a true holiday in the Highlands if they didnae meet a Highlander.”
If she’d needed any further proof that this man did not carry some hidden infatuation with her, that provided it. But she had known him for eighteen years, and he could be charming when he wanted to. So, rather than point out that with three MacLawry males in the house and a bevy of Glengask and Gray servants about, her friends were literally surrounded by Highlanders, she nodded. “Do as you will.”
“I’m glad we can still be friends, Winnie, even after your—the—misunderstanding.”
She beckoned him closer, and he obliged, sidling up so they were only a foot apart. “We all make mistakes,” she muttered. “All I ask is that you not begin something with Jane Hanover if you’re only playing. She’s very romantic. And very … young.”
Lachlan lifted an eyebrow. “Are ye nae the same age?”
Back when she’d arrived in London she would have said yes. But she’d seen their London house set on fire, seen Ranulf and Arran antagonized and challenged simply for being Highlanders. She’d been shielded by Arran when George Gerdens-Daily drew a pistol on them. “Not any longer,” she said with a short smile, then turned Black Agnes to greet the latest arrivals.
The shiny fellow, Lord Samston, trotted beside Winnie as the group set off toward the gorge that carried the runoff from Loch Shinaig. Lachlan watched them from his place toward the back; it would never do if one of the Sassenach got lost among the cairns, never to be seen again.
Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid Page 3