“No. But like you, I held notions of what Scotsmen were like. My mother’s aunt married a Scotsman. A large man who favored drink and found it very difficult to find his way to her bed. Yet he had no trouble finding beds of other ladies,” she said. “I know that infidelity is accepted in my world, but he was not discreet, and it humiliated my aunt.”
“But your parents were discreet?”
“No!” She pulled herself up and glared at him. “They had no need to be discreet. My parents adored each other. They would never think of doing such a thing.”
“Another way your family differs from the rest.”
“It is one reason why my brother bemoans the responsibility of his sisters. None of us will marry for any reason other than love. We all feel we deserve what my parents had.”
“And have they succeeded?”
“My siblings? Yes. A couple didn’t start off that way, but all have extremely happy marriages with devoted spouses.”
They both sat, their thoughts keeping them occupied. The sun disappeared behind a cloud, causing Sybil to shiver.
“We best be getting back.” Liam glanced at the gathering clouds. “I dinna wish to get caught in another storm.”
The ride back to Dundas was quiet, each of them occupied with their thoughts. How different the lass and her family were from what he’d held as the truth. He quickly pushed away the thought that kept nudging at him.
If I can change my mind about the English, what would it take to change Sybil’s idea of Scots? And do I want to?
Chapter Five
“Come,” Sybil called at the tap on her bedchamber door.
It was the day after her ride with Liam. They’d spent the rest of the day in indoor pursuits since the storm that had threatened had arrived with a vengeance shortly after luncheon. The men had gathered in the library doing whatever it was men did when they gathered, and the ladies had taken to the drawing room, with Lady Boswick, Duncan’s aged aunt, acting as hostess.
“Since the weather has cleared, we are going on a picnic today!” Margaret said excitedly as she danced into Sybil’s room. “Cook is fixing several baskets and all the young ladies and gentlemen will ride in wagons to the picnic site. Isn’t that wonderful? I’ve never ridden in a wagon before.”
“That sounds like fun. In that case, I will wear one of my older dresses.” Sybil reached into her trunk and after pawing through the contents, pulled out a heavier brown muslin gown.
“Why? We will have tables and chairs. The servants are bringing them out and setting them up now.”
Sybil laughed. “You know me better than that. I don’t plan to sit prettily when I can be investigating all the beautiful woods.” She turned and held her hair up so Margaret could undo her buttons.
“Although we are the best of friends, I will never understand you, Sybil.”
Shrugging out of her gown, she slipped the other one over her head and wiggled until it fell into place. “You seemed quite at home yesterday afternoon in the drawing room. What do you think of Lady Boswick?”
“Scary, at first.” Margaret’s fingers worked to fasten the buttons. “But after she ordered me to sit near her and we talked at length, I found her to be gruff only on the outside.”
Sybil turned and grasped Margaret’s shoulders. “Are you truly happy? Will Duncan be a worthy husband to you?”
“I must admit I was a bit frightened when we arrived, but Duncan has been remarkable. He has done everything to make me feel at home. I think this may be a very pleasant marriage.”
Pleasant.
While she was happy for Margaret, Sybil wanted no part of a “pleasant” marriage. She desired passion and love. Marriage to a man who could stir her emotions, make her enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed. She’d seen the looks her sisters gave their husbands, and her brother his wife. That is what she wanted—a connection that linked two people, as if no one else in the world existed. A man who would become part of her very soul.
A man like Liam.
Good Lord where did that thought come from?
…
Four wagons filled with excited guests rolled slowly over the hill. The sun was strong and had already dried up most of the moisture from yesterday’s storm. Unlike the Englishwomen who all carried parasols to protect their skin, the Scottish ladies enjoyed the warmth from the infrequent sun on their faces.
The gentlemen were in two wagons and the ladies in the other two. The picnickers shouted back and forth about the games they would play, who would be on whose team, and which teams would likely win. One Scottish woman in particular, Moira Crawford, as she was introduced to Sybil, spent most of the ride bantering back and forth with Liam.
She’d arrived last evening with her parents, and first thing this morning she’d latched onto Liam and held on like a dog with a bone. Not that Sybil cared or even noticed. It was just that she felt sorry for the woman making such a cake of herself. But Liam seemed to be enjoying himself with the tart, so who was she to complain?
The wagons rolled to a stop, and the gentlemen hopped down, hurrying to the ladies’ wagons to assist them. Liam came to stand directly in front of Sybil, who was almost nudged off her feet by Moira. “My Laird, ’tis so grateful I am to have such strong arms to lift me down,” the girl whimpered.
Regaining her balance, Sybil snorted and took the hand of Mr. Pennyworth, another guest who reached for her. Once the ladies had all been helped out of the conveyances, they strolled in groups to where the servants had set up tables and chairs. Mr. Pennyworth held onto Sybil’s arm as they made their way up the slight hill.
He was a pleasant man, a Scot, but nowhere near as broad or tall as Duncan and Liam. Perhaps not all Scotsmen were giants. Mr. Pennyworth blathered on about something, which prevented her from hearing what Liam and Miss Crawford were talking about. Whatever it was, Liam leaned closer to the chit so he could hear her. Honestly, did he have to be so gullible? Of course the girl purposely spoke softly so he would have to bend his head closer to her. Men were such fools.
She turned to Mr. Pennyworth, flashing him a brilliant smile. The man stumbled and stopped speaking. He seemed to have a problem regaining his thoughts, which made it possible for her to hear Liam’s chuckle. She turned her head to see him peering at her with amusement. Did he think she purposely smiled at Mr. Pennyworth because she was jealous of Miss Crawford? What a ridiculous notion. As if she cared who Liam let fawn all over him.
“May I escort you to a chair, Lady Sybil?” Mr. Pennyworth viewed her with such a lovesick expression she felt as if she should pat him on the head like a devoted puppy.
“Yes, thank you.”
Sybil found herself directly across from Liam and Miss Crawford.
“Lady Sybil isn’t this wonderful?” Miss Crawford’s very young eyes shone bright with excitement. “There is going to be a scavenger hunt.”
Sybil smiled brightly at the young woman. “Yes. Extremely exciting! I’m having a hard time keeping my aged heartbeat steady.”
Liam was taken with a fit of coughing that Sybil took great effort to ignore.
“The Laird and I are going to be partners,” Miss Crawford panted.
“Indeed? How very thrilling for you both.” Sybil turned to Mr. Pennyworth. “Would you like to take a stroll?”
The man jumped up so quickly he knocked his chair over. Red-faced, he picked up the chair and extended his arm to Sybil. She raised her chin and took his arm.
“Enjoy your stroll, lass,” Liam threw out as they sauntered off.
Sybil dipped her head in acknowledgment and continued on as Mr. Pennyworth blathered about some nonsense.
…
Liam watched Sybil stroll away, clinging to the arm of the wee man, her hips swaying delightfully. If he didn’t ken better, it was almost as if she was jealous of his attention to Miss Crawford. Which was foolish since he’d been trying to avoid the young lass all morning. Her constant chatter grated on his nerves, and she had a habit of spea
king so softly he had to lean down to hear what she had to say. Rarely had he found it worth the effort.
“Oh, Lady Sybil and Mr. Pennyworth, don’t walk off. We will start the scavenger hunt very soon,” Lady Margaret called. “I believe luncheon is ready?” she asked Lady Boswick.
The older woman nodded her agreement. “Yes, my dear. All ready.”
Sybil and Pennyworth headed back to the tables and settled in the seats they’d just left.
“Lady Sybil, may I get luncheon for you?” Pennyworth bowed toward the lass with what he must have assumed was London ballroom grace. A well brought up Sybil very politely did not laugh, although Liam found it hard not to roll his eyes at the man’s demeanor.
“Yes, thank you Mr. Pennyworth. That would be very nice of you.”
Miss Crawford looked expectantly at Liam, wide smile and bright eyes. He swallowed his sigh and said, “Mayhap ye would like me to fetch yer luncheon, lass?”
“Oh, aye. That would be wonderful!” She glanced around, making sure everyone noticed.
Liam rose and joined several other gentlemen at the food tables. He placed a few items on two plates and returned to his seat. Miss Crawford looked at the scant offering and took a deep breath. “I dinna think I can eat all of this, but I shall give it a try.”
There wasn’t enough on the dish to satisfy a small bird, but he’d guessed correctly that Miss Crawford was of the wee appetite ilk. On the other hand, Mr. Pennyworth had brought an array of foods to Sybil who was happily sampling them all. Liam dug into his food as well, all the time nodding at Miss Crawford’s constant babbling.
Odd that the Scottish lass behaved more like he’d expected Sybil to act.
After everyone had completed their repast, Lady Boswick clapped her hands to gain the guests’ attention. “Please form partners—one gentleman and one lady. Once we are finished with luncheon, the gentlemen will select a paper with items written on it from the pile in front of me. Ye and yer lady partner must find the items and return here. The first couple to return wins.”
Giggling and shouting commenced as partnerships were formed. “Lady Sybil, mayhap you would consent to be my partner?” Pennyworth wiped the sweat from his brow as he asked this crucial question, his eyes pleading. Liam shook his head in disgust as Sybil agreed.
“Laird, I ken we will win because you are so verra clever.” Liam inwardly groaned as Miss Crawford batted her eyelashes at him.
The gentlemen retrieved their list of articles to be found, and with the ladies in tow, left the area to begin their search.
Liam set off with Miss Crawford hanging onto his arm and chattering away. Did the lass ever stop to take a breath?
“Is yer home verra large, my laird?”
Ach, so now the questioning would begin. A familiar pattern he’d been through before. He looked into her upturned, expectant face and could only think how verra young the lass was.
How old was Sybil, anyway? And why did that question pop up just now? The difference between the two lasses was much more than age. “Aye. ’Tis a goodly size.”
“Laird McKinnon mentioned yer lands are quite extensive, and ye two are neighbors.”
He sighed. “Aye. We are.”
“Mayhap I could join ye for a ride one morn to yer home? I would love to meet your mum.”
He gestured to a spot in the distance. “Isn’t that a bird’s feather on the ground? ’Tis one of the items on our list.”
“Aye!” She squealed and rushed to the feather, scooping it up. She all but skipped back and dropped it into the small bag each team had been given to collect their articles. “What else are we to find?”
“It says here ten leaves from an oak tree.”
Miss Crawford spun in a circle, then stopped and pointed. “There!”
He lumbered after her, wishing the annoying game done and Miss Crawford in her nursery sound asleep. ’Twas probably the only time the lass didn’t talk. He held out the bag as she pulled leaves from the tree and dropped them in. She finally took in a breath of air, and the sound of a man and woman’s voices, apparently in argument, filled the blessed silence.
Sybil!
Pebbles crunched under his feet as he strode down the path and around a curve to see Sybil sitting on the ground, clutching her foot. Mr. Pennyworth leaned over her, his hands waving as he spoke.
Liam brushed Pennyworth aside and squatted in front of Sybil. “What happened, lass?”
She grimaced and shifted her body so she could look at him. “I tripped over a tree root and twisted my ankle.”
“I told her to stay put, and I will go back to the castle and summon a cart to fetch her,” Pennyworth said.
Sybil rolled her eyes. “I do not need a cart to fetch me. I can probably hobble my way back with the help of your arm, Mr. Pennyworth.”
“Nay, my lady. You might do more damage. I shall fetch a cart.”
“Oh, dear, Lady Sybil. Do you have much pain?” Miss Crawford joined the group, her eyes wide with excitement.
“I hurt my ankle is all. It is not a huge problem.”
“But you should stay off your feet. Mr. Pennyworth has the right of it,” she beamed at the man. “He should fetch a cart.”
“Yes, that is what I told the lass. She should sit quietly while I fetch a cart.”
“By the Saints!” Liam bellowed, bringing stunned silence to the group. With a disgusted look at Pennyworth, he scooped Sybil up in his arms, stood, and then jiggled her until she was settled against his chest.
“Oh, I dinna think that is wise,” Pennyworth said as he stared in horror at the two of them.
“My laird, should you be carrying Lady Sybil that way?” Miss Crawford dodged his steps as he moved forward.
Liam gently nudged her out of the way with his elbow and started toward the castle. He barked over his shoulder at the two open-mouthed guests, “The two of you can finish up the game.”
…
After a few minutes of staring up at his stony expression, Sybil said, “I can walk, you know.”
He shook his head and continued on.
“Are you angry about something?”
“Nay. ’Tis sorry I am for your injury, but if I had to spend another minute in that lass’s company, I might have been forced to tie my neck cloth around her mouth.”
Sybil covered her lips with her four fingers and giggled. “She is very young.”
“Aye. A curse to be sure.”
“You were young once.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “Never that young, I can assure ye.”
They reached the castle, and with the others either at the picnic grounds or scavenging for the game, the great hall was quiet. Servants scurried about taking care of their afternoon chores. Liam stopped one of the young maids. “Is Mrs. Galbraith about?”
The maid gave a quick curtsy and said, “No, my laird. She went off to the market.”
Liam nodded and headed up the stairs. Sybil twisted in his arms and looked over his shoulder at the maid. “Is my lady’s maid, Bessie, nearby?”
“Nay, my lady. She went with Mrs. Galbraith.”
When he gained the second floor, he headed in the direction of her bedchamber. “What are you doing?”
“Bringing ye to yer bedchamber. Then I will get a cold compress for yer foot.”
“You can’t come into my bedchamber!”
He grinned. “Now, lass. Ye heard the maid. No one is about to assist ye. Dinna fash yerself.” He stopped in front of her door, shifting her body so he could unlatch the portal. “Here we are. I’ll place ye in the chair by the fireplace and get ye something for yer foot.”
It was disconcerting how the man had a habit of rescuing her and then ending up in her bedchamber. Either she’d become much more inept since she’d left England, or fate was having a grand time toying with her.
Once she was settled in the chair, he reached for her shoe, unbuttoning it, and slowly easing it off her foot. She winced as he touched the ankle. H
e held her foot out and turned it one way and then another, taking care to not move it roughly. “’Tis only a sprain, lass. Just sit here while I get cold water and cloths.”
Sybil grabbed his arm as he rose. “See if the young maid we just saw can tend to me.” Having the young maid look after her seemed a bit less scandalous than Liam in her room, touching her bare foot, and raising her skirts to apply a cold cloth to her ankle.
She had barely recovered her breath from their walk to the castle. Her breast had been pressed up against his chest, and her nipple had tightened. The warmth from his body had heated her flesh to where she’d felt the need to fan herself. She didn’t know whether to attribute her dizziness to her injury, or the scent of leather and man that wafted off him. He had carried her like she weighed nothing, reminding her again of his size and strength.
Why in heaven’s name was she attracted to the most unsuitable man she’d ever met? He was a Scot. That was all she needed to know about him. Except he hadn’t lived up to her expectations, thus far. He was clean and polite, smelled good, and she hadn’t seen him swill whiskey or sneak out of a bedchamber since she’d been here. Although it appeared she found him in her bedchamber more times than she should have.
She twisted around and gazed out the window at the beautiful Scottish Highlands. Hills and valleys, mountains in the distance, everything green and verdant. He was as much a part of his environment as the trees and grass. Powerful, strong, and breathtaking, Laird MacBride was the Highlands.
Liam strode into the room, “No one is about, so I brought the cold water and cloth for ye foot.”
No one was about and here he was in her bedchamber, again. Even with the door open, she felt vulnerable. The air snapped with the tension between the two of them, reminding her of a threatening storm. She found it hard to catch her breath as he came near and set the pan of water and cloth on the table next to her chair.
He knelt at her feet and pushed up the hem of her gown. Without meeting her eyes, he ran his hand over her ankle, then up her calf, caressing her skin, leaving goose bumps in his wake. “I need to remove yer stocking.”
The Highlander's Choice (Entangled Scandalous) (Marriage Mart Mayhem) Page 5