And the Bride Wore Plaid

by Karen Hawkins

  His gaze met hers, searching, seeking. “Yes, love. What is it?”

  “Malcolm, you know I care for you. That I—” Could she say it? Could she tell him that she loved him dearly, desperately? And if she did, would she lose something because of it?

  She looked at Malcolm, at the way he regarded her so seriously. At the curl of his hair over his ears. At the dimple in his chin that she’d kissed so many times. Fiona took a deep breath and said, “Malcolm, I love you. But I do not wish to have children until I know for certain that you will not love me the less. I have to have your promise that it will not be that way.”

  He stiffened, as if she’d delivered a blow of some sort. “Fiona, I love you. I think I always will.”

  I think. She needed more than that. More than he seemed capable of giving. “I want us to be the way we used to be, before we came here and everything became so horrid.” She bit her lip, fighting the tears. “I do not wish to live here, in this castle, watching our marriage fade away.”

  A flicker of pain crossed his face. “Fiona, we can’t go back. No one can. We can only go forward.”

  He was right. Her heart pained, she collected herself as best she could, lifting her chin. “Of course. Forward. We will let our marriage rest on our wager then.” She met his gaze evenly. “You may think you have won, but you have not. Not yet, anyway.”

  Malcolm sighed, disappointment evident. “Your sister is looking for you. She’s in the sitting room.”

  “I’ll go to her at once.”

  “I thought you would.” Malcolm’s sharp gaze rested on Fiona’s face. “Murien mentioned something about a ball.”

  Fiona heard the note of accusation. “Yes, I have decided to give a small ball. We never use the ballroom, and I thought we might do so while we have both St. John and Murien here.”

  Malcolm’s expression hardened. “I know what you are about, Fiona. I will not let you embarrass Kat.”

  “Then she needn’t attend. It will be her decision.”

  “I see. You will invite her in such a way that she cannot refuse.”

  Fiona nodded, suddenly feeling miserable. She didn’t wish to use Kat in such a way, but Fiona had no choice.

  Malcolm looked at her a moment more, then moved past her to the window. “Murien is waiting for you.”

  That was it. He’d dismissed her as if she were nothing more than a bothersome chambermaid.

  “I—I’ll go at once.”

  “Do so.” He lifted up the edge of the curtain, his gaze on Kat and Devon. “I will be down shortly,” he said absently, as if he’d already forgotten Fiona’s existence.

  She stood a moment more, waiting for some sign. Some indication from her husband that he cared. But no such reassurance was forthcoming.

  After a long, silent moment, she turned on her heel and left the room, and Malcolm, behind her. Disconsolate, she made her way to the sitting room.

  Murien whirled on Fiona as soon as she entered. There were lines of tension on Murien’s usually smooth face. “Thank God you have come. I was dying of ennui.”

  “Yes, it has been a rather dull day. Perhaps because of the rain.”

  “That didn’t keep St. John from going out,” Murien said in a discontented voice. “I don’t understand how he can continue to see Kat. Surely the attraction, if it ever was that, has paled by now. The time has come for us to separate them.”

  Fiona sighed at the waspish note in Murien’s voice. She hated it when her sister was out of sorts. Which lately was more oft than not.

  “Where is St. John now?” Murien asked. “I am so tired of sitting around, waiting on him to return.”

  “He is in the courtyard saying good-bye to Miss Macdonald. It appears they were caught in a rain shower.”

  Murien stood and raced to the mirror over the fireplace. “Why didn’t you say so?” She patted her hair. “Come! If we go out on the terrace, we can see them from there.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Come along. I can’t go alone.” Murien turned on her heel and swept from the room.

  Fiona stared at the empty doorway. She was beginning to believe that her sister was a wee bit selfish. Sighing, she followed Murien down the hall to the library and then out on the terrace.

  They had a prime spot to witness Devon’s goodbye to Kat. Though he never touched her, there was something intimate about the way they stood. Watching them, Fiona felt a wrench of jealousy. Why should Kat have what Fiona had been denied?

  Murien, meanwhile, was having similar thoughts. It burned her soul to see a man, any man, that she deemed hers, paying attention to another woman. But there were ways to deal with such inconveniences. A word here, a word there.

  More was won by innuendo than by fact. Murien found a smile. “Do not fear, Fiona. I will make certain our dear friend Katherine appears at our wondrous ball.”

  Murien watched as Devon said one last thing to Kat and then left the courtyard. He strode away, an amused expression on his face.

  Murien decided it was quite telling the way Kat gazed after him, a rather wistful look in her eyes. “I can certainly take care of that,” Murien murmured.

  “Take care of what?” Fiona asked, blinking as if she had just awakened from a long sleep.

  Really, what had Fiona so distracted of late? It was most annoying. “Fiona, why don’t you return to the sitting room and I’ll join you there. I believe I should extend the invitation to our ball to Katherine.”

  “But I can—”

  “This one needs a personal touch. I will see you in ten minutes in the sitting room, and we can begin planning the entertainment for the ball.” Without waiting for a reply, Murien made her way down to the courtyard.

  She caught up with Kat just as she was getting ready to mount her horse. “There you are,” Murien said brightly.

  Kat turned. She was soaking wet, her hair reddish and straight to either side of her face, her riding habit molded to her frame. The sight gave Murien pause, and for the first time she found herself admitting that perhaps there was more to Kat Macdonald than Murien had first thought. “Kat, I’m so glad I caught you.”

  “Indeed?”

  There was a decidedly guarded look to Katherine’s expression. No fool was Malcolm’s little sister. Murien put on her best smile. “Fiona and I have been dreadfully bored, so we’ve been planning a little ball. Malcolm insisted we invite you.”

  “That was kind of him.”

  “Yes, well, Fiona and I argued that you wouldn’t want to come, but he was quite adamant.”

  Kat regarded her flatly, no expression on her face.

  Murien took that as encouragement. She allowed her gaze to wander past Kat. “I don’t know much about horses, but that one seems rather untamed. How do you ride him?”

  Kat’s hand rested easily on the horse’s neck. “One mile at a time.”

  Murien managed to keep her smile in place, but only with the utmost effort. “How humorous.”

  “What do you want, Murien? You didn’t come to talk about my horse.”

  “No, I didn’t. I came to give you the benefit of my advice.” Murien paused as if embarrassed. “I hope you don’t take this wrong, but I realize that you’ve been on your own for a long while. I’ve also noticed that you are…shall we say ‘fond’ of Mr. St. John.”

  Kat’s cheeks colored. “I don’t know where you got that idea, but what I think and feel is none of your business.”

  Murien’s brows rose. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. I’m certain you have every reason to be infatuated. Mr. St. John is all that is amiable. He is handsome, well off, of impeccable lineage, and possesses a very pleasing manner.” She gave a light laugh. “I daresay half the women in the castle are enamored of him. Poor Fiona can’t get the upstairs maid to do anything.”

  “The upstairs maid never did anything before Mr. St. John’s arrival, so I fail to see a connection.”

  Murien’s false laugh faded from her lips. Really, it was annoying to
speak to someone who did not follow the customary rules of polite conversation.

  “Murien, I don’t know what you want, but out with it. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  That irked. “Very well,” Murien snapped, “if you wish it, I will be plain. In addition to all of his obvious charms, St. John is an accomplished flirt. He is pleasant to every woman he comes in contact with, including me.”

  Kat’s hands tightened about the reins. “For your information, I am not infatuated with Mr. St. John. And second, even if I were, it would not be your place to inform me of that fact. If you wish to protect a heart, then watch for your own.”

  “Oh dear. I’ve offended you. I’m so sorry. It’s just that—well, someone should drop a hint as to the way things stand.”

  “And how do they stand?”

  It was obvious the woman was embarrassed to the teeth, which was exactly what Murien wanted. To add vinegar to the wine, she sighed softly, as if regretting what she had to say. “This is so unpleasant. But you are Fiona’s sister by marriage, which makes us almost sisters. This is the least I can do. I just didn’t want you to embarrass yourself at the ball next Wednesday.”

  “Embarrass? How would I do that?”

  Murien smiled gently. “The ball Malcom and Fiona are holding in honor of Mr. St. John will be well attended. It is quite obvious how you feel about the man. Though you might think you were being circumspect, your face will always betray you, and everyone will know. Everyone.”

  There was a stiff silence during which time Kat stared fixedly at Murien. Her face was inscrutable, but the way her knuckles were white on the reins told all. Kat Macdonald was boiling inside. Boiling and just the littlest bit shamed, just as Murien had planned.

  Murien waved her hand. “You’ve been warned. Rest assured that whatever you decide, I will do what I can to smooth things over for you.” Murien smiled as kindly as she could.

  “I don’t need anyone to smooth things over. No one would dare ridicule me in my brother’s house.”

  “Not to your face,” Murien said gently. She paused to let that sink in, then said in a staunch voice, “But you are right. You should attend the ball; after all, it is in your brother’s house. I’d just forget all those who will be whispering. I’m certain Mr. St. John won’t notice anything, either.”

  “You don’t want me to go.”

  “Me? Oh, I don’t care, one way or t’other. In fact…” Murien’s gaze slowly traveled over Kat. “I sincerely hope you do come. It will make it all the more enjoyable for the rest of us.”

  Kat’s lips thinned, and Murien knew she’d drawn blood with that one. “Murien, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I’m certain you’ll think of something. Perhaps, one day I’ll have you do some glasswork in my house. There are a number of windows that could use some decorating glazes.” Smiling over her shoulder, Murien turned and left.

  She hid her triumph as best she could as she made her way back to the terrace. Kat would attend the ball now, Murien was certain of it. Better yet, Kat would be awkward around Devon, as well, wondering if he could see the same things on her face that Murien mentioned.

  Overhead, the late afternoon sun shone warmly, the blue sky decorated with a faint scattering of puffy clouds. Murien decided that it was a beautiful day. A beautiful day to win.

  Kat tromped into her bedchamber, Annie hard on her heels.

  The housekeeper shut the door and then turned to regard Kat with a flat stare. “What’s happened to put ye in such a mood?”

  Kat slumped onto the bed. “Nothing.” Blast Murien Spalding and her little blond airs. Kat wasn’t the type of person to develop a hatred for anyone, but Murien had certainly managed to ignite a strong dislike inside Kat’s usually forgiving heart.

  “Don’t tell me ye aren’t fashed about something,” Annie said. “Ye near took off puir Donald’s head fer nothing more than a cheery good afternoon.”

  “I did not snap at Donald.”

  Annie lifted her brows, her skinny arms folded beneath her breasts, one foot tapping in disbelief.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” Kat kicked at her skirts, frustration boiling. Should she go to that silly ball? Murien would simply make a mockery of her, and Devon would…Kat frowned. What would Devon do?

  She caught Annie’s minatory gaze and suddenly remembered that the housekeeper was waiting on an answer. “I’m sorry, Annie. I just didn’t wish to hear Donald complain again about the flue in the new chimney. I know it needs to be fixed but I’m not in the mood to hear him harping on it day and night whilst he—”

  “He said ‘good afternoon’ to ye and not a word more.”

  Kat’s shoulders slumped. She supposed she had been a little harsh. “You are right. I was just angry at—Never mind. I’ll apologize to Donald as soon as I finish.”

  “Finish what?” Annie asked suspiciously.

  Kat scooted off the bed with an energy she was far from feeling and went to the wardrobe. She threw open the door and waved at the assortment of clothing that hung there. “I’ll apologize as soon as I finish deciding what I’m going to wear to Fiona’s and Malcolm’s ball next week.”

  Annie brightened. “A ball? Och now, that sounds promising.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Kat straightened her shoulders and stared at the gowns, most of them too plain to be of use. “I wish I had time to have a gown made.”

  Annie hopped up on the edge of the bed so that she could watch Kat pulling first this old gown and then the next out of the wardrobe. “We should order one now fer the next time ye are invited. If they do. I’m a wee bit surprised they remembered ye this time.” She sniffed her disdain loudly. “They’ve been somewhat remiss aboot that in the past.”

  “No, they haven’t. They always invite me. And I always refuse. They know I don’t like their puffed up affairs and I know they would find my company at such a formal event quite onerous. But this time…” Kat pulled out her best gown. Of sky blue silk, it was quite fashionable. Or had been, several years ago.

  She held the gown before her and looked in the mirror, mentally comparing it to the gowns Fiona wore. Good heavens, how fashion changed.

  Kat sighed and dropped the gown on the bed beside Annie. “What is different about this ball is that Fiona’s sister, Murien, is going to be there, and she seems to think I’ll be an embarrassment.”

  Annie made a face. “Och, that one. She’s catty, she is.”

  “Yes, she is.” And rude and possessive, too. And if one was so inclined, one might notice that Murien’s eyes were just a wee bit too closely aligned. “She’s a haughty vixen, and I don’t mean that in a good way.”

  “They say she runs with the devil,” Annie said in a mysterious undertone.

  Kat had to grin at that. “I can’t argue with you there. She’s also very determined that every man in a fifty-mile distance should pay her homage.”

  “Oh ho! I suppose ye’re talkin’ about St. John. So ye have Miss Spalding worrying that you’re getting too close to him, eh?”

  “I am not getting too close to him.” Not yet, anyway. Tomorrow, now…that might be another story. Although, now that Kat had tasted Murien’s poison, things seemed far less clear. If Kat did allow Devon closer, wouldn’t her feelings become even stronger? Even more obvious to anyone who looked at her?

  Not that she was in love; she wasn’t. But she was close to it, she knew. If she looked down at her toes, she was certain they’d be flush against the line that marked friendship and love.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to allow her relationship with Devon to progress into a more physical area. Perhaps—

  “Hmph. I can see why ye’re hesitant about takin’ up wid the Sassenach. He’s well enough if ye like the tall, handsome, wealthy, titled sort o’ man.”

  Kat sighed. “Don’t start, Annie.”

  “Lord love ye, Miss Kat, but what’s not to like in a man like that?”

  Kat wisely didn’t answ
er. She dug deeper in the wardrobe, but found nothing else even approaching an acceptable evening gown. “I should have never let Murien goad me so.”

  “Aye, ye haven’t a decent gown.”

  “I know, I know. But I cannot refuse to attend now.”

  Annie snorted. “She taunted ye, did she? Now ye’ll go, come heaven or hell, come good weather or bad. Ye’ll go if ye have to walk the whole way barefoot and naked as the day ye were born.”

  “I was rather hoping I could find something less dramatic to wear than my bare skin,” Kat said dryly. “Unfortunately, my wardrobe does not extend into our present decade.” She touched the sky-blue gown on the bed and sighed. “It looks as if I’m going to have to play the part of rustic dowd for the night or not go at all.”

  From her position perched on the edge of the bed, Annie picked up the gown and shook it out. “Won’t this do? ’Tis of quality silk, and the color would look good on ye.”

  “It’s sorely out of fashion. I’ll be a laughingstock, I suppose, but that’s nothing new. At least I won’t be sitting at home, moping about because some puffed-up piece of fluff ordered me to stay away. To Hades with Murien Spalding and her airs.”

  “That’s the spirit, Miss Kat!” Annie jumped up off the bed, her thin face resolute. “And I’ll help ye, I will. I might have time to turn this gown into something acceptable, if we keep things simple.”

  “Annie!” Kat said, touched by her housekeeper’s show of spirit. “Thank you.”

  “Och, ’tis only right that ye go and that ye look well doin’ it. Besides, I should help ye after all ye’ve done fer me.” Annie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The last time I saw Lady Strathmore, she had on a right lovely gown that was…” Annie’s eyes narrowed, and she nodded, folding the gown over her arm. “What we need is one of them fashion books as are stacked in Lady Strathmore’s dressing room. That fool, Jane—a lazy wench if there ever was one—tends to the upstairs. We’ll borrow one of those books fer a bit and then we’ll fashion ye up a gown that will show that Murien hussy just who is the real lady.”

  “Yes, but we’ve no time to—”