Of course Lachlan was no concern of hers, his moods no longer influenced her own, and his likes or dislikes were nothing she adopted for her own. But he still stood alone at the rear of the group, and he still looked like he wanted to pummel the Earl of Samston senseless. Adam James had disappointed her, but no one was to bash visitors who’d come north to attend a wedding.
“Did you swallow a bee?” she muttered, stopping beside Lachlan.
“Nae. But I’ve a mind to punch that smiling fop in the teeth,” he returned in the same tone.
Oh, no. Had Lachlan seen the kiss? No, that didn’t make sense; if he had, he would either have told Bear, or already begun a brawl with the earl. “And what prompted this urge to violence?” she asked anyway, just to be certain.
“He has a smug look aboot him. I dunnae like it.”
She glanced sideways at the object of her decades-long infatuation. “I could ask you what’s changed between this morning and now, but honestly, Lachlan, I don’t care. Leave him be. Leave all my guests be, and take your sour looks somewhere else.”
He faced her, the glint in his light green eyes sharp enough that she took an involuntary half step backward. “I think we already discussed that I’m nae yer dog, lass. Yer Lord Samston doesnae belong in the Highlands, and he doesnae belong with ye. If he doesnae take care, he may find he has enemies here.”
The Lachlan she knew didn’t threaten people for no good reason. But until the last five or six minutes one or the other of the two men had been in her sight all morning. What had she missed, then? “No, you’re not my dog, of course,” she retorted, still keeping her voice down. “And you’re not a fool, either. Whether you dislike Lord Samston or not, you know better than to make trouble. If you damage a Sassenach lord for no reason, you’ll cause a disaster that’ll make our feud with the Campbells look like a soiree.”
Lachlan gave a derisive snort. “‘A soiree’? Someone needs to remind ye that ye’re a Highlander, lass.”
She frowned. Whoever this man was, he felt … unpredictable. That was new, and she wasn’t certain she liked it. Not that that mattered, of course. “I don’t need to be reminded of anything.”
“Aye, ye do, if ye think any of these soft, fortune-hunting lads can make ye happy.”
Now he sounded jealous, and that made even less sense. “We’ve had the discussion where we established that you don’t need to be concerned about my happiness. If that’s why you’re glaring daggers at Adam, stop it. It’s none of your business.”
“Ye’re wrong aboot that, lass.”
She glared at him. “What makes you think he’s a fortune hunter, anyway?”
“Ye keep yer counsel, and I’ll keep mine.”
Well, that was enough of that. “I don’t know what you’re angry about,” she stated, planting her hands on her hips, “but since you seem to be growling about Samston and me, all I can say is that you’re too late. I have plans, and they dunnae involve ye. You.”
It felt oddly satisfying to say that, and to be able to let him know through her tone that she was angry. More than likely, he disliked the fact that she wasn’t agreeing with his every word or hanging on his every breath, and that had caused all this. If he felt neglected, though, well, he could just find someone else to fawn over him. Jane seemed a likely substitute. Because after three months of reminding herself daily, hourly, how much time and effort and pieces of her heart and her future she’d wasted on him, she wasn’t about to give him one more minute.
“Mayhap my plans do involve ye.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. Shut up.”
Lachlan didn’t look like he was finished with this conversation, so before he could say something that would destroy the one or two threads of friendship that remained between them, she stalked away, stepping off the street and onto the main floor of the pottery manufacturer. No one looked terribly interested in learning how the plates and teacups were made, but as far as she was concerned that meant they’d missed the point. Because Ranulf didn’t care overmuch about the how of it, either. It was far more impressive that he’d managed to build the business in the first place, and that two dozen cotters earned an income from working there.
“Ranulf?”
Her brother turned around, a pretty serving platter decorated wih thistles in his hands. “Aye, piuthar. Have ye shown yer friends the bakery?”
“Yes.” More or less, anyway. “Have you sent word to those … men you mentioned?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Ye havenae changed yer mind, I hope.”
“No, not at all.” Rowena took a breath. “I was just wondering when we might expect them.”
The marquis continued to eye her curiously. “Cairnsgrove may be here as early as tomorrow afternoon. The other two will take another day or so. Why do ye ask?” He glanced beyond her to where she knew Samston and a few of the others stood.
“No particular reason,” she said carefully, keeping her expression neutral. This wasn’t so much about Adam James, anyway, as it was about the past eighteen wasted years. The sooner she found someone, the sooner she could stop thinking altogether about Lachlan MacTier. “I’m anxious, I suppose, to get on with things. With my life.”
“Ah.” He handed the platter to a worker and took Rowena’s arm, guiding her a few steps away from the group. “And did someaught in particular prompt this anxiety of yers?”
She could tell Ranulf that Samston had kissed her as a ruse to get hold of her dowry, or she could say that Lachlan seemed to be much more angry and intense than she remembered him, but either answer could cause far more trouble than she wanted. And Lachlan was still Bear’s dearest friend, and the chieftain Ranulf trusted above all others. “We’re planning your wedding,” she improvised with a smile. “Shouldn’t a lass be thinking of her own?”
“Aye. I suppose so.”
Tomorrow afternoon. She would no longer be riding out to Madainn Srath with Samston in the morning, but surely she could avoid trouble until then. At that moment, though, Jane walked up beside her, as if one of the old gods had read her mind and was laughing at her.
“Lachlan asked me to go riding with him in the morning,” her friend said, handing one of two honey-dipped biscuits over to Rowena and grinning excitedly. “I didn’t even have to flirt with him first.”
“Oh. Splendid,” Rowena returned, keeping the smile on her own face. Either Lachlan’s last conversation had only been to try to make a fool of her, or he had asked Jane to go riding in order to aggravate her. “There are an abundance of picturesque trails about.”
“He mentioned Madainn Valley. Is that the one with all the bluebells?”
“I … Yes, it is. And an old castle ruin. Arran says it’s haunted.”
Jane shivered. “Goodness.”
“Don’t worry. I’m certain Lachlan will protect you.”
Oh, she sounded like a bitter old spinster, even to her own ears. She hadn’t meant it that way. It was only that her friend required very little urging to fall headlong in love, and Lachlan was a poor target for a young lady’s heart. And even worse—perhaps—he’d asked Jane to go riding. Did he mean to cause trouble? For Jane? For her? For the clan?
She frowned. Evidently she would be going for a ride herself in the morning. Lachlan wasn’t allowed to wound anyone else. Especially not her dearest friend.
* * *
“Is that the old castle?” Jane asked, her breath blossoming in the chill morning air. “The one Winnie says is haunted?”
Lachlan lowered his gaze from the tree line and reined in Beowulf. Where the devil was Winnie? Yesterday Jane had told him they would be in just this valley—her and Samston. And whatever the earl thought to attempt in this notoriously romantic setting, Lachlan meant to put a stop to it. Except that they didn’t seem to be there.
“Aye,” he said aloud, twisting in the saddle to look across the pond at the base of the high cliffs. “Teàrlag Castle. They say old Lord Teàrlag sent his wife away on a visit, but when snow
blocked the pass she returned, just in time to find his lordship … engaged with her own sister. In the master bedchamber. The rumor is that Lady Teàrlag was someaught of a witch, and anyway, that she burned the castle doon around them. The stories say she still walks the remains of the halls, making certain no other lass gets near her husband.”
“That’s terrible,” Jane exclaimed, sending the crumbled stone ruins an uneasy look.
“The lesson is nae to cross a Highlands lass. Ever. There’s nae a more fierce creature in the wide world.”
“Oh, I can believe that,” Jane said, chuckling. “And so does Lord Samston, I’ll wager.”
Now that was interesting. “Didnae ye say Winnie would be aboot here today? I thought the four of us might be oot riding together.”
“I think Winnie changed her plans. I know she changed the earl’s.”
Hm. In the MacLawry family Bear was known as the headstrong one and Arran the clever one, but he’d spent his life navigating successfully around them and Ranulf and an infatuated lass, not to mention floods, landslides, ruined crops, and well above two hundred cotters. Something had happened between Samston and Winnie yesterday, and while at first he’d thought Winnie might have been trying too hard to cover some happy secret, now it looked as though the earl had fallen out of favor—which was splendid—but he needed to know what, precisely, had transpired. And if he’d miscalculated and needled Rowena too hard in the village. Or if Samston required a bloody nose.
“A man should know better than to step beyond what he’s earned,” he ventured. That seemed vague enough to suffice.
Jane blinked her pretty brown eyes at him, clearly surprised. “She told you?”
“Well, she couldnae tell her brothers,” he decided.
“That’s true enough. She said if they knew Lord Samston had kissed her, they would murder him even if she dealt with the silly man herself. Imagine, thinking he could compromise her into a marriage by having me catch them kissing. He should have known I would never tell anyone.” Jane chuckled. “Honestly, I think Winnie dealt with him better even than Lord Glengask could have.”
Lachlan clenched his jaw. “Aye, I’ll agree with that,” he forced out.
The bastard had kissed her. And he himself had been lucky that the damned earl hadn’t gained her affection, or he might have lost this battle before he’d even begun it.
Whatever he was doing, he needed to stop fumbling about. Winnie—Rowena—was barely speaking to him, and however frustrated that made him, he couldn’t blame her for it. She thought he had no interest in her. Well, he would find a moment when she would listen to him and tell her that he did, and then …
Movement beneath the half-fallen entryway of the ruins caught his attention. In the past he would immediately have assumed the skulker was a Campbell or a Daily, looking to murder a MacLawry. It still could be, he supposed, but with the truce it was more likely a drover or someone unfamiliar with the place’s reputation.
A flash of green muslin caught the sunlight. Or it could be someone who knew better than to sneak off anywhere on her own, but who was either concerned about her impressionable, chatty friend, or jealous of her. God, he hoped it was the latter.
Lachlan swung down from Beowulf. “Let me look at that stirrup of yers, lass,” he drawled, approaching Jane and her mount from an angle that would let him look beyond her to the ruins. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself by ambushing a doe by mistake. “It looks a mite long fer ye.”
“Thank you, Lachlan. I have to say, I adore Winnie, and she generally seems very levelheaded, but she may have given up on you too soon.”
“She told ye she threw me aside, did she?” he asked, frowning. This wasn’t about who’d lost interest in whom, however; this was about getting a bit of information while he figured out for certain who was watching them from the ruins.
“Well, she actually said you were never hers, and she just finally realized that. Honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t fancy her. If I was a man, I’d want to marry her. She’s splendid and funny and very, very brave.”
“What if I was wrong?”
He wasn’t certain he’d spoken aloud until she tilted her head at him, her expression stunned. “Beg pardon?” she squeaked.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “I mean no offense to ye, lass, because ye’re a fine, bonny young lady. It’s … Damn, I have nae idea what it is, but she’s nae the bairn she was a week ago.”
“Lachlan, are you interested in Winnie?” The news must have been truly earth-shattering to her, because she barely managed a whisper. And that was a good thing, considering the lass lurking in the old ruins.
Of course it was just as possible that saying such a mad thing aloud would cause the mountains to fall. “I think I am. At the least, I dunnae like the idea of Samston or one of those other Sassenach scalawags putting their hands on her.”
“Goodness,” she breathed. That seemed to be the lass’s favorite expression. Privately, he didn’t think there was anything good about it. Not at all. “I don’t know what … You should tell her, of course.”
“I tried to, yesterday, but since she came back from London, every time we begin a conversation we end with an argument.” Telling her, conversing with her, using pretty words—that was the Sassenach way, anyway. And he was not a damned Sassenach.
A bit of black hair above a pert nose edged into view at one side of the fallen archway. He’d caught her spying on him enough over the years to know that the nose belonged to Winnie.
“Ye know, I think I spied some ducklings in the reeds at the near side of the pond there, Jane,” he said aloud. “Would ye care fer a look? I need a moment or two to think.”
“Of course.” Leaning down, she put a hand on his arm. “She was very … disappointed in you. It may be too late.”
It was not too late, because he wouldn’t accept that. All Winnie needed was a man from the Highlands to woo her. And he needed to figure out if he’d perhaps received a blow to the head, or if it had merely taken him eighteen years to sort himself out. To see her the way she truly was, and not for the child she’d been.
Had he merely been a fool? Or was there something to the saying that the forbidden fruit was the sweetest? Because just two days ago he’d renounced any claim to her. He’d set himself free. And now he’d begun to realize that by doing so he might just have made the greatest mistake of his twenty-six years.
* * *
Rowena ducked behind the old tumble of stones. She’d asked Lachlan to stay away from Jane, and yet there he was, being … chivalrous. And flirting. She wrinkled her nose. He’d never bothered to check whether her foot was in the stirrup, for heaven’s sake. Once he’d even ridden off and left her when she’d claimed to have a dizzy spell.
Not that she cared, of course. Adam, Lord Samston might have played his hand and lost, but she had three Highlanders on the way just to meet her. She was no longer a girl in want of a first kiss, either. Rowena touched her fingers to her lips. It hadn’t been a … well, a glorious kiss, but it had been a kiss. And if once upon a time she’d dreamed that it would be Lachlan to give her her first kiss, well, that was just stupidity. He’d made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested in her, and she’d made other plans.
She’d only snuck out of the house this morning to make certain Jane was well. He’d been so unlike himself yesterday, so angry, that she needed to be certain he wouldn’t seduce Jane just out of spite or something. Taking a breath, she glanced around the broken masonry again. Both horses and riders had vanished into the misty morning. Perhaps they were holding hands and exclaiming about how blue the bluebells were. She certainly didn’t care.
“What the devil are ye doing in here, lass?”
Rowena squeaked, whipping her head around. Lachlan MacTier, Lord Gray, leaned against what had once been a doorway of the old fortress, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression amused. Drat. “I thought I saw a ghost,” she lied. As she straightened, something cau
ght at the back of her skirt, pulling her back onto her knees again.
“‘A ghost’?” he repeated. “Old Lady Teàrlag, come to find her cheating husband?”
“I don’t know,” she returned, twisting to tug at the back of her riding habit. The only thing worse than being discovered by stupid Lachlan was being trapped here. “It made me curious.”
“Ye always have been fearless, Rowena. I’ll give ye that.”
She stopped tugging and faced him again. “What did you call me?”
“Rowena. It’s yer name, isnae?”
A soft shiver ran down her spine at his low brogue saying her name. “You never call me Rowena. It’s always ‘Winnie, you have burrs in your hair,’ or ‘Winnie, leave me be.’” There. That was what she needed to remember—that he thought of her as a child, as a sister, and that Lord Samston had kissed her. That other men found her perfectly marriageable and attractive and a lady. And that she preferred a man who didn’t detest London and the Sassennach, anyway.
He straightened, pushing away from the mossy wall and making his way closer. “I dunnae think ye saw Lady Teàrlag, lass. I think ye wanted to know what I was doing oot here with Jane Hanover.”
“You were out here with Jane?” She seized on the admission.
“Ye said ye didnae care. It wasnae a secret. But I want to know what ye’re doing oot here alone. Nae a groom, nae one of yer brothers, nae one of the deerhounds in sight. That’s nae wise.”
“The Campbell himself will be visiting here in a fortnight. No one’s going to jeopardize his plans. And now I want to remind you that she’s very romantic. Jane is, I mean. Don’t hurt her.”
Lachlan crouched beside her. His gaze on her face, he leaned closer and slowly reached back around her. Rowena held her breath. He was just teasing, because he couldn’t stand the fact that she was no longer infatuated with him, that she’d moved on to find a man worthy of her attentions and affection.
With a hard tug he freed her skirt. She started to her feet immediately, but he caught her arm and held her there, eye to eye with him. “Jane mentioned that the shiny lad, what is it? Sandstone? That he—”
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