The Highlander's Choice (Entangled Scandalous) (Marriage Mart Mayhem)

by Callie Hutton

  Shortly after breakfast, Sybil found herself hugging the girls and wishing them a pleasant journey. They hurried to the coach that would take them and their tutor, Miss Dubbins, to Inverness for a holiday. Two excited faces beamed as Liam’s sisters waved through the window of the coach.

  Sybil headed back to the door, crossing the large marble entry hall. Before she’d taken two steps up the stairs, Lady MacBride said from behind her, “There are a few things ye need to see to before ye take yerself off for another day of lying about, my lady.”

  So here it comes. Sybil turned, and raising her chin, viewed the lady with as much dignity as she could muster. The woman was a bully, and she’d not allow her to think she could easily dismiss her. Now that she’d had a taste of what marriage to Liam could be like—at least the part they’d shared last night—she would stand her ground. Either she would win Lady MacBride over, or convince her any battle between them would not end with Sybil as the loser.

  “Yes, my lady. With what can I assist you?”

  “Ach, you needn’t get your hackles up, miss. I only wanted to show ye things that go on in a castle such as this. Things that anyone who felt they would want to be mistress here should know.”

  Apparently, Liam had told his mother he wanted to marry her. That certainly explained her overt dislike of Sybil. It wasn’t just because she was English, but because her son wanted to “taint” the Scottish blood with a Sassenach.

  But perhaps she had misread the woman. Maybe she truly wanted her to see what life here would be like. No doubt it would be quite different from life in an English manor.

  However, the sparkle in Lady MacBride’s eyes told her she had something planned that would not be to Sybil’s liking.

  “As you wish, my lady.” Sybil came back down the stairs and followed behind Liam’s mother the length of the corridor to the kitchen. Smells of meat roasting and bread baking greeted them before they entered the massive room. A huge fireplace stood against one wall with several cauldrons hanging over the flames. A roast of some sort was speared onto a spit, with a child of about eleven years slowly turning it.

  The cook she’d met before, when she had requested the picnic basket, was working her fingers in a mound of dough. “Good day, mistress. What brings ye to the kitchens?”

  “I don’t think you know Lady Sybil, Mrs. MacDougal.” Lady MacBride turned to Sybil. “This is our cook, Mrs. MacDougal.”

  “Nay, me lady. I met the lass a few days ago,” the cook said, giving Sybil a slight smile.

  “Indeed?” Lady MacBride turned to Sybil. “’Tis sure I am that there are many things she can show ye so ye have an idea how the kitchen works.”

  Sybil tried very hard not to show her surprise. Since when did a guest need to know how the kitchen worked? And even if Lady MacBride was introducing her as a potential bride for the laird, knowledge of the kitchen operation was generally not necessary. But if the woman wanted to play games, she would be right there with her.

  “How lovely. I’m sure you can show me many things about the kitchen.”

  “Mayhap her ladyship would like to help with preparing those.” Lady MacBride nodded in the direction of a pile of vegetables in the center of a large work table where two young girls sat peeling away. The startled looks on the maids’ faces almost made Sybil laugh. Obviously, no other guest had been asked to work in the kitchen.

  Since Lady MacBride seemed to think all English women deemed themselves royalty, she would soon disabuse her of that notion. “Yes. I would love to help peel the vegetables.” She turned to a very wide-eyed Mrs. MacDougal. “Do you have an apron I may use? If not, I can go upstairs and change into my work dress.”

  If Liam’s mother wanted to play games, she had picked the wrong woman to match swords with. Two young girls’ giggles were quickly stifled when Lady MacBride glared at them.

  “Yes, my lady. I do have an apron.” Mrs. MacDougal seemed flustered, but managed to secure an apron and handed it to Sybil.

  “Thank you.” She tied the apron around her waist and regally glided to the work table and sat alongside the girls. What Lady MacBride had no way of knowing was that Sybil’s mother had oftentimes sent a recalcitrant daughter to the kitchen to help Cook as a way to remind them of all the privileges their lives came with. Even her brother, the Duke, had spent many an afternoon mucking out stables for his escapades.

  Sybil picked up a knife and deftly began to work on the vegetables. Lady MacBride narrowed her eyes at the three at the table, then quickly made her exit. Mrs. MacDougal fussed around, casting uneasy glances at Sybil until finally, convinced the guest would not hurl the knife in her direction, went back to her work.

  Within a half hour, the vegetables had all been peeled and Sybil had learned the two girls she’d shared the chore with were sisters, their mother being one of the upstairs maids.

  “My lady, me mum says the laird has taken a fancy to ye.” Meg, the younger of the girls, spoke softly, glancing sideways at Cook, apparently waiting to have her ears boxed for her impertinence. Her older sister elbowed her.

  Tempted to say she’d taken a fancy to him as well, letting word spread back to Lady MacBride, she was stopped before she could speak as the woman herself entered the kitchen. “Glad I am to see ye got all that work done. I have another place that needs yer attention.”

  Mrs. MacDougal opened her mouth to speak, but shut it firmly when Lady MacBride scowled at her. The cook went back to her work.

  Sybil stood and removed the apron, holding it out to Meg. “It was a pleasure working with you and your sister.”

  Both girls did a quick bob. “Thank ye, my lady.”

  Lady MacBride gave a very unladylike snort and turned on her heel, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Sybil followed.

  The next job the woman had for her could only be called spiteful. She took her into a room with furniture shrouded in dust covers. “This room has not been cleaned in a long time. However, the mistress of Bedlay Castle must see that there are always rooms ready for unexpected company.” She turned to Sybil, a malicious grin on her face. “But then, I’m sure ye aren’t up to taking on this task.”

  “Does not the castle employ maids to see to rooms needing cleaning?”

  “Aye. We do. But the poor girls are all busy and this room must be made ready for Lord Templeton who is expected in two days time.” She started to leave and turned back. “Unless ye feel ’tis too difficult for ye? Or maybe beneath yer dignity?”

  Sybil gritted her teeth and raised her chin. “Not at all, my lady. Not at all.”

  Sybil whipped the scarf from her head and collapsed onto her bed. During the past two days while Liam and his sisters had been gone from Bedlay Castle, Lady MacBride had made Sybil mop, dust, garden, polish silver, wax furniture, and just about anything else the evil woman could come up with. The more outrageous the jobs she’d been assigned, the more determined Sybil had become to best her in this contest of wills.

  Many of the clan members and those who worked in the house had cast sympathetic looks at her as she went about her chores, but a mere glower from the lady of the castle had sent them scurrying back to their tasks.

  Lady MacBride thought her a princess? Well, she thought the lady of Bedlay Castle a consummate witch. She held up her hands, red and itchy from the lye soap she’d been given to use for her last chore. Her back ached, her feet hurt, and all she wanted was a hot bath. But the last time she’d requested one, she was told it would be her job to lug the buckets of water up herself.

  Of course, the woman expected Sybil to complain, loud and lengthy, to Liam when he returned. Then she could remind her son that all English women were useless and this one was no better. Sybil groaned.

  “My lady, it is simply outrageous how Lady MacBride is treating you.” Bessie entered her bedchamber with towels over her arms. “I don’t know why you allow her to do so.”

  Sybil propped herself up on her elbows. “She’s trying to chase me off. I will leav
e when I am damn ready to.” She collapsed back down again. “Or not at all.”

  “You should give the laird an earful when he returns.” Bessie bustled around the room, pulling out a fresh gown for Sybil to change into for dinner.

  “Were you able to secure me a bath?” Sybil asked from the bed. Her eyes were so heavy, all she wanted to do was sleep.

  “Yes. I managed to convince one of the lads from the kitchen to bring up some water.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.”

  Bessie hurried to the door at the sound of a scratch and opened to two large men carrying in a bathtub. “We will bring up the water for ye, lass, as soon as we get this set up.”

  Feeling awkward, Sybil rose from the bed. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

  “If ye don’t mind me saying so, my lady, I don’t think what the mistress is doing to ye is verra nice.” The younger of the two men placed his hands on his hips and glowered.

  She waved a dismissal. This was her battle and although it was nice to have advocates, the last thing she wanted to do was cause dissension among the household. It would only give the witch more fodder for her campaign.

  Once bathed and dried off, Sybil passed on dinner to have a tray in her room. Of course, Bessie had to battle Cook to get the tray. It seems the kitchen staff had been given orders not to allow trays in the bedchambers any longer. Only Bessie’s persuasive skills and Cook’s regret at how the mistress of the house was behaving to their guest released the tray into her maid’s hands.

  After Bessie watched over every morsel Sybil put into her mouth did the woman allow her charge to climb into bed, where she fell sound asleep within minutes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Liam glanced up from his place at the table as Sybil entered the morning room. The lass looked fatigued, and seemed surprised to see him. “Good morning, darlin’.” He hopped up and pulled out the chair next to him.

  Sybil covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawned, and sat. “When did you get home?”

  “Verra late last night. Everyone was already abed.”

  “How did your visits go?” Once again she yawned, her eyes watering as she tried to hold it in.

  Before he could answer her question or ask about her weariness, his mum swept into the room, casting a warm glance at him, and a very cold one at Sybil. He sighed inwardly. He really needed to spend some time with mum and convince her that Sybil was verra different from her view of the English.

  “When did you return?” Mum took her seat and poured tea into her cup.

  “Last night.” He turned toward Sybil. “The visits went well. I had a number of problems to solve for the tenants.” He paused. “That reminds me, I want to introduce you to some of the clan. They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Really?” his mum said. “And why would Clan MacBride be interested in meeting the Sassenach?”

  “Mum!”

  Her face colored, but her chin edged up in defiance. “I dinnae understand why a guest should be introduced to the clan.”

  Sybil reached out and touched his arm, apparently not wanting to make a scene. She was right, of course. When he and his mum had the conversation about her rudeness it would best be done in private.

  “Ach, lass. What happened to yer hands!” Liam ran his fingers over her skin—dry chapped, and reddened. She quickly pulled her hand back and placed them both in her lap.

  Sybil glanced quickly up at his mum who calmly took a sip of her tea, although there was a slight flush to her cheeks.

  “Nothing. I forgot to wear gloves when I went for walk in the cold air yesterday. I’ll put more cream on my hands this afternoon.”

  “The air isna that cold.”

  “Mayhap the English can’t tolerate a bit of cool air,” his mum said.

  He might not be the smartest of men when it came to women, but there was definitely something going on at his breakfast table.

  “Will Lord Templeton be arriving today?” Sybil asked.

  “Who?”

  “Lord Templeton. Your guest?”

  “I know of no Lord Templeton.” The lass was surely acting strange. And what was stranger still were the dark looks Sybil was hurling in his mum’s direction. Definitely something odd going on. “Faith! What is the matter with the two of ye?”

  “Nothing.” They both mumbled in unison.

  He tightened his lips in frustration. Mayhap a change of subject would ease some of the tension in the room. “Where are Catriona and Alanna? They’re usually the first ones down in the morning.”

  “Miss Dubbins took the lasses to Inverness for a day or two. They should be back this afternoon.”

  Another unusual occurrence. To his knowledge, his mum had never permitted his sisters to go gallivanting about for an overnight trip with their governess. ’Twas no matter. Now that he was home, his time would be better spent trying to convince Sybil that she should marry him.

  His time away had seemed to go on forever. Leaving the comfort of her arms without a promise to accept his proposal had worn on his mind the entire time he’d been gone. Even more disturbing was how awful he felt at the thought of her rejecting him and returning home. If he cared to examine the situation a little closer, he feared he’d find his heart already taken with the lass.

  Liam wiped his mouth on a napkin and turned to Mum. “During my visits, many of the clan expressed an interest in meeting Duncan’s bride since so many of us have ties to The McKinnon.”

  “Another Sassenach,” his mum muttered.

  “Aye, an English lass.” He narrowed his eyes. “A verra fine woman. I promised to hold a ball to welcome the new laird’s wife. I’m thinking two weeks would give ye enough time to do whatever it is ye women do for such things.”

  “I dinnae like the idea of honoring an Englishwoman.”

  Liam leaned forward, his muscles tightening at his mum’s continued resistance to the way things were. “As yer laird, I’m telling ye to prepare for a ball to welcome the new bride.”

  …

  Sybil watched with dismay the play between Liam and his mother. Goodness, the woman was stubborn. Her face flushed and her eyes snapped, but a lifetime of adhering to the laird’s wishes eventually won out, and she gave a brief nod.

  “As ye wish, my laird.” She stood abruptly, before Liam could draw her chair out, and swept from the room, closing the door a bit stronger than was necessary.

  “Truth! I don’t understand the woman,” Liam said, wincing at the sound of the door.

  Sybil understood the woman perfectly. She was a stubborn, nasty woman who cared nothing for people’s feelings. But those observations were best kept to herself. Lady MacBride also represented the main reason she was dithering on Liam’s offer of marriage.

  During the hours she’d spent cleaning rooms—apparently not needed for a guest—polishing silverware, scrubbing floors, and peeling mounds of vegetables, she’d had plenty of time to think about the man sitting near her. Just his closeness caused shivers to run down her spine. His still damp hair from his bath had been pulled back and fastened with a tie, making her ache to loosen it and run her fingers through the silky strands.

  Her memories of their last time together caused her to flush and her heart to speed up. She viewed his large hands as they fingered his coffee cup, remembering how they’d swept over her body, bringing her such pleasure.

  “I will be talking to my mum to make sure she welcomes Lady McKinnon.”

  Perhaps he was trying to convince himself, because he certainly was not convincing her. “I will be happy to help with the preparations. I assisted my mother with numerous parties and balls.”

  “Aye, that would be wonderful.” He reached out and covered her raw hand with his. She curled it into a ball to keep him from commenting again on its condition. Doubtless Lady MacBride expected her to complain to Liam about how she’d been treated while he was gone. She would not give the woman the satisfaction of reminding her son that
all English women were pampered, useless creatures. It was a battle between her and the witch. If she accepted Liam’s proposal—and each day it seemed more likely—that was an issue she would have to deal with herself.

  “I have things that need my attention this morning, but I would like to take you into the village this afternoon and introduce you to more of my clan.”

  She sat mesmerized as his thumb wandered carelessly over her hand, distracting her from his words.

  “Sybil?”

  “Ah. Yes.” She forced her gaze up to his face. That was no better. The twinkle in his eyes told her he knew where her thoughts were. Heat rose to her face. “I would like that very much.”

  Before she completely recovered, he cupped her neck, and pulled her close until their lips met. The fact that her breast was practically in her tea cup barely registered as his mouth covered hers and any sense of time and place fled. She anchored her hands on his shoulders so she wouldn’t fall completely into her eggs and kippers.

  Within minutes and not at all certain how it had happened, she found herself on his lap, her fingers caressing his face. Liam pulled back, both of them panting heavily. “Ach, Sybil. Ye make me daft. I want to lock the door once more and have my way with ye.”

  Sybil scooted from his lap and returned to her seat. “No. We were fair lucky the last time, we cannot keep this up.”

  “Aye, lass. ’Tis too late for that. I am already up.” He grinned at her, no doubt enjoying how her flushed face colored even more.

  “Nevertheless, I will leave you now.” She stood, straightening her gown and raising her chin. “I must see to my correspondence. What time shall I expect to accompany you on your visits this afternoon?”