Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid

by Suzanne Enoch

  “And if ye do it again he’ll know it wasnae an accident. So ye stand back.”

  Damn, damn, damn. He had three bloody days, now. If Bear tried to step on everything he meant to attempt, he would have to either admit defeat and watch Rowena walk up the church aisle and on to another man’s bed, or he would have to grab her and make a run for it. And she would never do that to Ranulf. He would consider it, but he was a MacLawry chieftain. Moving directly in opposition to the MacLawry’s orders troubled him to his bones.

  The riders pounded onto the narrowest part of the course, between the huge boulders and the standing rain from the last storm. And he watched as Cranach kept Prince steady in the center of the path. And he cursed.

  Munro and Saturn pushed past him and up on Cranach’s left. “I dunnae mean to lose my own damned race!” Bear bellowed, staying to the middle as he and the big bay shoved past a pair of riders and then shouldered hard into Prince.

  The wiry black stumbled. Then he righted himself. Cursing again, Lachlan settled low on Beowulf’s neck. “Go, lad,” he muttered. The bay’s ears flicked back at him, and then they were off. “I’m nae losing ten quid to ye, Bear!”

  This time Prince stumbled into the mud, missed a step, and balked. Lachlan only had a second to glimpse Cranach’s green-faced expression before the man went head-first into the mud and Prince resumed the race without his rider.

  Back onto the flat meadow again, Beowulf edged up on Saturn. They both passed Devil/Satan, who looked ready to toss his own rider. “Thank ye, Bear,” Lachlan panted.

  “Ye owe me. Dunnae ferget that.”

  “I willnae.”

  Duncan Lenox, one of the MacLawry chieftains, passed Donald MacAllister at the last turn and flashed across the finish line on his chestnut gelding, Bruce. Lachlan and Bear finished fourth and fifth, though as far as Lachlan was concerned, twenty-fifth would have been fine. Because Lord Robert Cranach didn’t even finish twenty-sixth.

  As soon as the rest of the horses cleared the trail he turned Beowulf back up toward the boulders at a walk. No sense hurrying, after all. When Cranach came into sight, Lachlan didn’t even bother hiding his grin. No one else, would, either. “Cranach, are ye injured?”

  The six-foot pile of mud swore at him. “You bloody did that on purpose.”

  “I’ve taken a mud bath a time or two myself. They say it’s good fer the skin. I dunnae ken aboot yer fancy riding clothes, though.”

  “Give me a ride back, at least.”

  Lachlan backed Beowulf out of Cranach’s reach. “Nae. Ye’ll have me all dirty.”

  “I’ll see you with a bloody nose, I will.”

  “Ye can try. The next event’s the rope pull. I’ll sign ye up.” He turned the bay back toward the crowd.

  “She’s going to be mine, you know.”

  “Aye? Then welcome to the family.” Kneeing his bay, Lachlan left Cranach behind to walk the rest of the way back to the tents. Once he’d dismounted and handed his mount off to a groom, he went to find Rowena.

  She stood with the Hanover sisters, Charlotte and Jane. At least Ranulf wasn’t there. He wished he knew how far she would be willing to go—because he would meet her there. “Lasses,” he drawled, brushing grass and dirt from his kilt.

  “Lord Gray,” Jane said, offering him a smile and a curtsy that was purely Sassenach. A rare pleasant one, she was, but English without a doubt. “I see you trounced Lord Samston.”

  “Aye. I dunnae reckon he means to pay up on his wager, though.” He shrugged. “I didnae win the race, so I’ll nae press him on it.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Jane returned. “Under the circumstances I don’t think I’d be so magnanimous.”

  Her sister’s brow furrowed at that. “Under what circumstances, pray tell?”

  Jane forced a laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing. We—Rowena and I—discovered Samston only pretended to be infatuated with Winnie because he wanted her dowry.”

  “Ah.” Ranulf’s betrothed turned her gaze on Lachlan. “And you knew about this?”

  Ranulf wouldn’t have fallen for a thickheaded lass. He therefore needed to tread carefully. “I figured it oot,” he said, folding his arms over his chest and straightening. She was a tall lass, but that still meant she barely came to his chin. “Rowena gave him a piece of her mind and sent him scuttling away, so I didnae feel the need to bloody him over it.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Good, then. I’m glad it’s been handled. I imagine Ranulf would have preferred to know, but he’s had several other things on his mind this week.” She grinned, excitement lighting her hazel eyes nearly to green.

  “As do y— Oh, my,” Jane exclaimed, her attention on something beyond Lachlan’s left shoulder. “What happened to Lord Rob?”

  They all turned to look, and Lachlan took the moment to brush the tips of his fingers against Rowena’s. “He claims he’ll have ye, whatever I say aboot it,” he breathed, standing as close to her as he dared. “I bade him welcome to the family.”

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered back, as the rest of the crowd caught sight of the muddy scarecrow figure. “Perhaps I should try talking to him. He’s been nothing but polite so far, after all.”

  “Ye know, he only pretends to sound like a Highlander,” he returned. “Oot of yer hearing he says ‘verily’ and ‘jolly good.’”

  A laugh burst from her chest. “I seem to be pretending an accent as well, Lach. I cannae hold that against him.”

  “He’s a good man, then.” Clenching his jaw, he lowered his head toward hers. “Why should ye nae marry him?”

  Her gray eyes practically sparked. “Because there’s another man I want,” she stated, thankfully keeping her voice down. “For a time I thought only one of us had grown up, and then I wondered if we were simply destined never to want the same thing at the same time. But no one knows me as well as he does. No one means to me what he does.” She lowered her head to give him a sly glance from beneath her long lashes. “And I daresay I’m the only lass who knows what the wee scar on the left side of yer arse is from.”

  Lachlan snorted, far more content and optimistic than he likely should have been. After all, they were attempting to bend the orders of the most formidable man he’d ever met, and the stakes were the happiness of a woman who’d always been precious to him, and who over the past few days had become vital to his own survival.

  “If I have my way, Rowena, ye’ll be the only lass who ever knows yer mountain of a brother put a fish hook through my hindquarters. Now, go talk to Lord Rob, and dunnae let him get ye anywhere alone.” For a bare, mad moment he nearly kissed her right there in front of all the clans.

  She nodded, clearly not realizing how close she’d come to a public disaster. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “I do, lass. That, I do.”

  * * *

  Ranulf had discovered some time ago that good haggis tasted, for all intents and purposes, the same. He shoveled in another mouthful, smiled, chewed, and swallowed. “That’s glorious, Mrs. Meason,” he proclaimed, and moved on to the next offering.

  Why the devil anyone cared for his opinion as to who cooked the best haggis, he had no idea. But someone had handed him three ribbons and asked him to choose his three favorite dishes, and so he would. As he nodded and smiled over the next plate he caught sight of a mud-covered Lord Robert Cranach stalking through the crowd toward the house.

  Immediately he looked about for Rowena. A moment later he found her standing a few steps behind Charlotte and Jane, in deep conversation with Lachlan. The first two were looking at Cranach, as was most everyone else at the gathering. The second two were looking at each other.

  Their fingers brushed, quickly, and then parted again. Lachlan said something, his expression serious, and Rowena nodded. Then she smiled. Only then did she incline her head and go walking after Cranach.

  “Ye’ve three more left to sample, m’laird,” Mrs. Forrest, his head cook and the lass Rowena had asked to oversee the food
competitions, commented. “Do ye wish another beer?”

  “Aye, Mrs. Forrest. I need to rinse my gullet.”

  He downed half the beer Peter Gilling fetched for him, and resumed his stroll along the table, dividing his attention between the haggis and his sister. Rowena might have gone to get herself proposed to, but Cranach didn’t look in the mood to bend down on one knee and say something a young lass eager for love would find romantic.

  Aside from that, she hadn’t been happy about his pronouncement yesterday. Today, she looked … excited. What, then, had changed? A night of reflection, perhaps—after all, he’d gone to a great deal of effort to find a man who met the requirements that she’d deemed most important. But Lachlan looked happy, as well. And that, he couldn’t quite find a reason for.

  A few weeks ago, aye. He would have expected Lord Gray to be relieved that Rowena had found another man on whom to lavish her attention. Why, then, was Lachlan presently gazing after Rowena and wearing a supremely unbrotherly smile?

  He took his last mouthful of haggis, choked it down with more beer, and handed out the three ribbons. Charlotte, he decided, owed him a grand favor for keeping her away from the Scottish treat—and he had several ideas how he would collect. With a grin of his own he whistled Fergus and Una to his heel and strolled through the pockets of boisterous guests toward where Arran supervised the laying out of the stout pull rope. The contest was to be among clan MacLawry, as they represented the majority present, and all comers.

  The rope spanned the narrow stream that crossed one edge of the meadow on its way to Loch Shinaig. A bright red ribbon marked its center point, directly over the middle of the water. “Who are ye putting in the front on our side?” he asked.

  “Lach volunteered,” Arran returned, “which is only fair considering he and Bear are supposed to be the ones organizing the damned games.”

  “They couldnae lower the flag fer a race they were in.”

  “Aye. I ken that it makes sense fer me to help oot, with my maimed wing.”

  “But?” Ranulf prompted, half his attention on where Rowena and muddy Cranach stood talking, Jane Hanover now with them.

  “It’s naught ye need to worry over,” Arran said with a grimace, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Ye’ve enough in yer brain, what with getting married day after tomorrow.”

  A low, excited … satisfaction flowed through his veins at the thought of it. Charlotte was his, and always would be, but he wanted everyone to see it. Saint Andrew, he wanted to bellow it to the sky. Ranulf shook himself. If something troubled clever Arran, he needed to know what it was. “Oot with it.”

  “I dunnae ken what it is.” His brother shrugged. “Someaught’s afoot.”

  “Trouble?” The MacDonalds were the most likely source, but there was no love lost between the Gerdenses and the MacLawrys—and the Gerdenses answered to the Campbells. “What have ye seen?”

  “Naught in particular. It’s just…” He shrugged. “Lachlan scheduled all the contests, had it doon on paper to keep it organized. This morning he went and changed everything, so there’s nae a man who knows where he’s supposed to be when. And he added Lord Robert’s name to most of the competitions. And then he went off and left me with the mess.” Arran scowled. “I dunnae mind it, truly. I’m nae complaining aboot that. It was just … the hairs on the back of my neck pricked.”

  With a nod, Ranulf looked across the meadow again. “I know the feeling.”

  “Mayhap I’m just expecting trouble,” his younger brother continued. “We’ve had only three fights since we put up the tents. It’s unsettling.”

  Perhaps that was it, after all. After so many years of conflict, it was unsettling to see Campbells sitting with MacLawrys, and Camerons with Stewarts. “Who’s at the front of the other side of the rope?”

  “It’s supposed to be none of the MacLawry’s affair, but it’s Lord Rob’s name on the list.” Arran stood there for a moment. “Do ye want me to change it?”

  “Nae. Leave it. If he doesnae like it, he can change it himself.”

  Whatever was afoot, Lachlan, Rowena, and Rob Cranach seemed to be at the center of it. He’d told Rowena in no uncertain terms what he expected of her. She knew there would be consequences if she defied him. He had even less tolerance where Lachlan was concerned. Lord Gray had no right, and no reason, to make trouble now. For God’s sake, they’d both had eighteen years, and had failed miserably to do what he’d hoped and expected. If they were up to something now, and he had more than a suspicion they were, he was willing to give either or both of them enough rope with which to hang themselves.

  * * *

  “But how did Lord Gray make you fall off your horse?” Jane asked, then took a step back as Rob gestured and mud flew off his arm and spattered the grass.

  “He shoved me off the trail,” Rob snapped. “He and your brother, both, Lady Winnie. And that was after he tried to push me into a tree.”

  Why hadn’t she noticed before how his voice went up an octave when he was indignant? Perhaps because she’d never seen him unsettled before. But then she’d known Lachlan for all of her eighteen years, and that couldn’t possibly compare with four days of a fellow on his best behavior. Until this moment, of course.

  “It was a Highlands race, if ye’ll recall,” she said, for the first time in three months not trying to hide her accent in front of a … beau. Or former beau, whether he knew it yet or not. In fact, she intentionally exaggerated her brogue. “Ye have to expect some shoving aboot. Ye didnae lose any blood, did ye?”

  Rob and Jane both blinked at her. “I’ve a few scratches, yes,” he answered.

  “Well, that’s a sign of yer bravery, then.”

  Jane clasped her arm. “Why are you talking like that?” she muttered.

  Rowena giggled, covering her mouth with her free hand. “It’s how I talk,” she exclaimed, hoping she sounded apologetic. “I suppose it’s the gathering and having all my people aboot. I am a Highlands lass, ye know.”

  And a few months ago she would never have said such a thing. It wasn’t only Lachlan’s influence, though; seeing all the clan around her, hearing the songs, realizing how proud and pleased and supportive all these people were to see the MacLawry, their chief, about to be married—it touched her deeply.

  They—some of them barely scraping by, others refugees from neighboring clans who’d been lucky enough to make it to MacLawry land with their families intact—had such pride about who they were, and there she was with her fine gowns and a fine, warm house to live in, pretending to be someone else. Whether she truly belonged in the Highlands or not, whether she could be happy there or not, she still wasn’t entirely certain. But she wanted Lachlan. The rest she would have to figure out later. She only hoped she had the time to do so.

  “If you ladies will excuse me, I think I’ve had my fill of the games for today.”

  “But I just talked to Lachlan,” Rowena countered, “and he said you’d challenged him to the rope pull.”

  “He’s mistaken.”

  Blast it all. They needed Rob to continue his involvement. If he vanished for the next day, he would have time to gather his thoughts. He would have time to be logical. And that would never do. She put her hand on Jane’s and squeezed. If she flirted with Lord Rob, it could set the plan to dissuade him from proposing to her backward again, and they only had three days left as it was.

  “But Lord Robert,” Jane blurted out. “Lord Gray said you would turn tail, and I wagered him two pounds that you wouldn’t. And he’s so … arrogant, already.”

  He turned around, looking at the two of them with his right eye, and still blinking mud out of his left. “You wagered in my favor, Lady Jane?”

  She bobbed her head, blond ringlets bouncing. “Of course I did.”

  “And you, Lady Winnie?”

  Rowena lifted her chin. “I cannae wager against my own clan.” Or against the man she’d begun to favor above everything and everyone else in the world
.

  “Well. I suppose I cannot disappoint a supporter,” he commented, sending a pointed glance at Rowena.

  Jane, though, freed her hands to clap. “Hurray!”

  Rob inclined his head. “I need to summon my valet and change into something less brown. If you should see Lord Gray, please tell him I look forward to our next meeting.”

  They watched him out of sight over the hill. “Oh, thank goodness,” Rowena breathed, fighting the urge to sag to the ground. “Thank ye so much, Jane.”

  “You’re welcome, of course, but I wish you’d tell me what the devil is going on. I thought you’d be furious with Lord Gray for embarrassing Lord Rob.”

  Rowena pulled her friend a little farther away from the MacLawry men who always surrounded her in public. “You must promise not to say anything to Ranulf.”

  “I’m not bringing anything to your brother that might make him angry.” Jane shuddered. “He’s far too fierce for me. So what are you doing? Is this because Lord Gray decided he likes you?”

  She sighed. “Yes. And if Rob proposes to me, I have to marry him,” she whispered, hoping the noise around them and the small distance she’d managed away from her sentries would keep anyone else from hearing. “Those are Ranulf’s orders.”

  Jane looked at her. “I do like fairy tales, you know, but if you mean to defy Lord Glengask, you need to be certain this is more than wishful thinking. Lord Rob is the most sophisticated Highlander you’ve ever met. You told me that three days ago.”

  “I know I did. It’s complicated.”

  “Lachlan is the reason you ran off to London, Winnie. You said you were finished with him.”

  Evidently she’d said quite a few things she was now rethinking. “We’ve … come to a mutual understanding,” she said slowly. “I’m glad I left. If I hadn’t, I don’t think I ever would have seen that Lachlan’s nae a daydream. And he wouldnae have seen me as anything other than the MacLawry’s only sister.”

  “But are you certain, Winnie?” Jane pressed, her generally effusive smile buried beneath clear concern. “I’ll be very upset with both of you if he’s just teasing and you get your heart broken. Again.”