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

by Callie Hutton

  “That’s what I get for trusting a Scottish barbarian with my heart,” she murmured.

  She slipped the ring off her finger and placed it on the pillow on her bed, then went in search of Bessie.

  …

  “Has she said anything yet?” Mary asked.

  “Nothing.” Sarah sighed.

  Sybil listened against the closed breakfast room door, trying to garner the strength to walk into the room and face her family once again. Since she’d returned from Scotland they’d all tip-toed around her.

  Two long weeks had passed, and she’d smiled when she was heartbroken, laughed when she wanted to cry. But she had fooled no one. Her surprised and unannounced return to her country home had been met with joy. At first. Then her family began their solicitous attentions. Sybil found it impossible to talk about Liam, even to her beloved twin. Her pain was too raw, too new.

  Her anger had slowly faded over time, replaced with a longing that hurt. She still hadn’t reached the point where she could get past even ten minutes without thinking about him. About the fact that he was most likely married to the woman his mum was so determined to have him wed. A woman much more suited to Bedlay and the MacBride clan.

  She tried shopping, visiting friends, afternoon teas, but nothing worked. No matter where she was or what she was doing, a scene would flash through her mind of them together. Then her heart would ache so much it would double her over.

  Forcing cheerfulness, she opened the door and entered the room. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” they all chorused.

  Her brother, Drake, his wife, Penelope, her sisters Sarah and Mary, along with her mother, the Dowager Duchess of Manchester, all returned bright smiles. She moved to her chair as though she was the pathetic heroine in a bad play. The difference was, an actress playing her part would leave the stage and resume her normal life. Sybil’s life would never be normal again.

  Damn the Scot.

  She almost giggled at the idea of asking her family, How does one recover from a heart so broken that the pieces have scattered like dust in the wind? That would surely make for interesting breakfast conversation.

  Drake had tried several times to talk to her about her trip, but she had brushed him off. She’d been holding herself together for so long she feared if she uttered one word about Liam or their time together out loud, the floodgates would open and she would never stop crying.

  “Mary and I are going to the village, would you like to come?” Sarah placed her hand on Sybil’s. “We thought we’d go to the bookstore and see what new books have come in.”

  Nay, lass. I ken which one the bookstore is. ’Tis the one with the books in the window.

  Unbidden, the tears came. Without a sound she sat very still as thick drops seeped from her eyes, dripping from her chin onto her lap. She closed her eyes, trying to stem the tide, but it didn’t work. “Excuse me,” she mumbled. Pushing her chair back, she quickly moved to the door and raced up to her bedchamber.

  It would be another long day.

  …

  Liam awoke with a throbbing headache, ready to face another day full of misery. He’d been gone from Bedlay for three weeks. Three weeks of seeking the bottom of the next bottle of whiskey and trying his best not to beat someone senseless.

  He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. All he saw was Sybil’s face. The small room he’d been in for three weeks now closed in on him. It was time to return home and face The McLaughlin and Anise. Do his duty. Uphold the honor of his clan.

  Once Sybil had climbed into his carriage to journey home, still stiff with anger, he’d vaulted onto Cadeym and ridden for hours with no particular destination in mind. Just as the sun had begun its descent he had found himself at an inn, miles from Bedlay Castle. Not interested in where he was, he ordered a bottle of whiskey sent up to his room. Aside from the occasional meal tray, over the past three weeks he’d merely indulged himself in pity.

  Sybil had thought all Scots were whiskey swizzlers and bar brawlers. He gently touched the bruise under his eye from the fight he’d had last night when he’d finally ventured from his room and had taken insult on something an Englishman had said about the Scots. Well, a swizzler and brawler is what he had apparently turned into.

  Why he’d blurted out that stupid comment about the Sassenach while in the middle of his argument with mum angered him still.

  He’d lived with his mum’s hatred of the English, but he genuinely thought the hatred had not seeped into his bones. Were he to be honest with himself, he did not feel the dislike his mum felt for the Sassenach. He loved Sybil. It was that simple. He didn’t care if she was a dairy maid, or an American, even.

  He would have been happy to teach his bairns about their English family, just as he would have liked to tell them about their Scottish ancestry. But he’d lost his chance when he’d let his temper get the better of his common sense.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and held his aching head in his hands. A bath, breakfast, and a slow ride home was the order for the day. Best to get it over with.

  The sight that greeted him as he crested the hill leading to Bedlay didn’t inspire the pride and joy it normally did. All he saw was an old castle that would never be filled with the sound of Sybil’s laughter, or the bairns he’d planned to have with her. Little lasses with long brown curls and sparkling whiskey-colored eyes. Half-English and half-Scottish.

  Taking a deep breath, he rode the rest of the way, stopping at the stable to leave Cadeym.

  “Good morning, my laird. ’Twas a long trip ye took this time.”

  “Aye.” He handed the reins over to Angus, the old man who’d been stable master since he’d been a lad. “Have our guests arrived?”

  “Aye, Laird. About a week ago.”

  Liam nodded and headed to the castle. The enticing aroma of fresh baked bread greeted him as he entered, restoring his appetite for the first time in weeks. He passed empty rooms as he wandered through the lower floor and then entered the kitchen.

  “Praise the Lord, the laird has returned!” Mrs. MacDougal turned from the pot over the fireplace she’d been tending to, a huge smile on her rounded face.

  “Aye. And ’tis starving I am.”

  “Well, sit yerself right down, and I’ll fix ye a fine plate of stew.”

  “And some of that wonderful bread I smell.”

  She bustled around the room, scooping stew into a bowl, then placing it in front of him, along with several thick slices of bread and butter.

  After he’d had his fill, he pushed his empty bowl away and asked, “Where is my mum?”

  The cheerful woman carried a cup of tea to the table where he sat and settled in across from him. “She’s been busy entertaining her guests. A sweet lass, that Anise McLaughlin. Verra quiet, fearful, sort of. Not like Lady Sybil, that one. Your mum brought her to the kitchen to see how it all works but she dinna seem too interested. Spent most of her time twisting her fingers and staring at the ground.”

  Liam sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He thought of the lass his mum had sent for, and then his mind wandered toward Sybil. Her face, her spirit, her love of life. The way she smiled at him, how she made him feel when he held her close. Her kisses and laughter.

  A fire started low in his belly and tightened his muscles. His heart pounded, and a burst of energy like he’d never felt before raced through him, jolting him from his chair as if booted from behind. The shroud of despair that had kept him company for weeks fell like broken glass at his feet. He was not a quitter. By the saints! What the hell had he done?

  Mrs. MacDougal jumped as he banged his fist into a wall and let out with a fine string of curses. She studied him for a minute. “Laird, it sounds as if ye have finally come to yer senses.”

  He rubbed his sore knuckles. “Aye, Mrs. MacDougal. I have indeed come to my senses. Now ’tis the time to set things to rights.”

  She gave him a wide grin, revealing a missing front too
th. “I like the look in yer eyes, Laird.”

  He kissed the woman on the top of her head and strode from the kitchen in search of mum. Why the devil had he let Sybil leave? He should have physically thrown her over his shoulder and hauled her upstairs to lock her in his bedchamber until he’d convinced her he’d made a huge mistake. He should have not let her out of his bed until she understood that what he’d yelled in a moment of anger was not how he truly felt.

  Sounds of conversation drifted from the parlor, and he followed the path to the voices. His mum sat, embroidery in her hand, instructing Anise, as The McLaughlin looked on.

  “There he is now, Laird.” His mum stood and greeted him with a bright smile as if she hadn’t torn his life apart only a few weeks ago. “’Tis so glad I am yer home, lad. I told The McLaughlin how yer were called away to deal with a problem with the clan.”

  He swallowed his anger and turned to The McLaughlin. “My Laird.” Then he walked to Anise and greeted her, never having laid eyes on the lass before. She was slight, with golden hair fashioned in braids wrapped demurely around her head. She glanced up at him briefly, her sky blue eyes casting back down toward her lap as she fidgeted with her fingers.

  Although of a pleasant countenance, she was not his Sybil. This was a lass who could disappear in a room full of people. Sybil would be at the center, laughing, joking, and trying hard not to notice his heated looks. Anise McLaughlin looked as if she were terrified of him.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned to her father. “I request that ye grant us privacy so I may speak with yer daughter.”

  “Aye. Yes, yes,” his mum said grinning. She picked up her embroidery and hustled The McLaughlin out of the room.

  If he hadn’t been so angry with her, he would have laughed at what she must have thought was his imminent proposal to the lass.

  Once the door closed, he turned to Anise. “Have ye had a pleasant visit while I’ve been gone?”

  She nodded her head, keeping her focus on her lap. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “Lass. Ye are a sweet, bonnie girl and would make any man proud to call ye wife.”

  The distinct sound of a whimper came from her direction. This would indeed go much better if she at least looked at him. He moved toward her, thinking to go down on his knee so he could see her face, but decided since the lass was expecting a proposal, that was not the best position to put himself into.

  “Anise. Can ye at least look at me, please?”

  Slowly she raised her head, chewing her lip, her eyes as wide as Mrs. MacDougal’s oat cakes.

  “Are ye all right, lass?”

  She shrugged.

  Time was wasting that he could be on his way to England. Best to get this over with and depart. “I hate to disappoint ye, and I hope not to hurt yer feelings, but the fact of the matter is, my mum overstepped herself. I am not prepared to make ye an offer of marriage.”

  For the first time since he’d entered the room, she looked at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Yer not?”

  “Nay. I am betrothed to another, and my mum had no right to ask yer father to bring ye here.”

  She hopped up and grabbed his hand. “Oh, thank you, my laird. Thank you so much.” The wee lass threw her arms around his neck and gave him a large, rather sloppy kiss on his cheek.

  He drew back, grinning at her unexpected response “Well, ’tis happy I am that yer so relieved.”

  “I am. Truly, I am. My da wouldna listen to me. He was so anxious to join our clans, he refused Alfred’s request for my hand.”

  “Alfred?”

  “Yes. He is a wonderful man. He loves me, and I love him. He has his own land and raises sheep.” Her words fought with her lungs for breath.

  A slight scratch at the door drew their attention. The McLaughlin and his mum entered, both grinning from ear to ear. “So, lad have ye set a date?” his mum said.

  Liam looked at Anise and they both burst into laughter.

  The McLaughlin and his mum threw them curious glances. “And what is so funny?”

  “Sit down, the both of ye.” Liam motioned to Anise to take a seat as well, but he remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back. “There will be no wedding between me and Anise.” He raised his hand when his mum opened her mouth to speak. “Dinna interrupt.”

  Liam turned to The McLaughlin. “I apologize to ye, Laird. My mum overstepped herself. I am betrothed to another woman.”

  “What is this?” The man glared at his mum. “Ye told me the lad wanted a wife. Ye invited us here to make the final arrangements and have a wedding. My daughter is verra upset at this turn of events.”

  “Nay, da.” Her face pale, Anise jumped in. “I am not upset. I told ye many times Alfred has asked for my hand, and it is he who I wish to wed.”

  “Why do ye think ye can just fancy someone and marry them?” Lady MacBride scowled at the two of them. “Ye neither one have loyalty to yer clans.”

  Liam ignored his mum and addressed The McLaughlin. “’Tis sorry I am for all the trouble my mum put you through. But I will not be marrying yer daughter, and I sincerely hope ye will grant yer permission and blessing to Anise and her Alfred to marry.”

  The McLaughlin looked at his daughter and his expression softened. “Aye, lass. If it’s Alfred yer wanting, then let’s be on our way.” He stood and addressed Lady MacBride. “’Tis time for us to acknowledge what we think is best for our children is not always what they want.”

  His mum huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Liam motioned to his mum. There was still one more thing he had to do before he left for England. “Mum, I will see ye in the library, please.”

  Her brows drawn together, she followed him. He motioned for her to take a seat and he settled in the chair across from her.

  She went on the attack immediately. “I canna believe ye would embarrass me so in front of The McLaughlin. Yer making a grave mistake. Why are ye thinking with yer man parts instead of yer brain?”

  Despite the anger that rose in him, he waved her question away. He would not allow her to drag him into an argument when he was anxious to leave. “’Tis a mean thing ye did, mum. When we are finished with this conversation, I am headed to England to bring Sybil back here if she will have me.”

  “Nay!”

  “Enough! I am done with yer interfering. Ye had no right to drag those people here with the promise of marriage. Do ye have any idea the heartbreak ye caused, woman?” The anger in his voice was heightened by his low growling tone.

  She raised her chin, her face growing red. “’Tis not sorry I did.”

  Closing his eyes, he shook his head, and then fixed her with a piercing look. “’Tis too bad ye said that.”

  She shrugged—and that was the final straw.

  Rage shot through him at her careless dismissal of what she’d done. “As yer laird, I’m ordering ye to move yer belongings to the tower. Ye will live out yer years in those rooms, taking yer meals there.”

  “Nay! Ye canna do that. My daughters are here.”

  “I will see to my sisters. ’Tis not sure I am that yer influence on them is a good one, anyway. Yer a hateful woman, and ’tis a distressing day when I need to say that to my own mum.” Before he could change his mind, he pushed himself out of the chair and left the room.

  In less than an hour he was clean, shaven, dressed, and ready to leave again. The food and bath had helped clear his head from the previous evening. Going to the small silver and black box on his dresser, he removed enough coins for the trip. In the corner of the box sat the ruby and diamond ring Sybil had placed on her pillow right before she’d left. Retrieving it, he rubbed the stone on his sleeve. Then fisting it, he closed his eyes and remembered the pain on her face when she’d walked in on his argument with his mum.

  Whatever it took, he would gain her forgiveness and make her believe he loved her and would do whatever was necessary to make her his.

  I’m coming for ye, lass.

>   Chapter Eighteen

  The fading sun cast a soft golden glow over Sybil and Sarah as they walked arm in arm around the end of the summer roses in the east garden. “I believe I may survive, Sarah.”

  Sarah hugged her twin closer. “You are a strong woman, Sybil. Of course you will survive.”

  “There were times I truly doubted it. I finally realized how Marion felt the two years she was mourning Tristan.” Sybil shook her head. “Except in my case, he isn’t dead.”

  “Neither was Tristan.”

  “True.” Sybil smiled. “In some crazy way it would be better. But married to someone else?”

  It had taken her a couple of weeks, but she had finally confided in Sarah what had taken place in Scotland. Even the part about her and Liam making love. Instead of being shocked, her sister prodded her for information until Sybil brought a halt to the conversation. Some things were not to be shared, even with one’s twin.

  Sarah had sympathized with her when she had replayed the argument with Liam. How his words proved he still held animosity and disdain for the English. She told Sarah that had they gone forward with the wedding, every time they had a disagreement, the issue of English against Scottish would most likely arise.

  However, Sybil was surprised to hear her twin almost try to excuse Liam’s words. She gently pointed out that after all she’d told her of Lady MacBride, it seemed the woman could certainly goad someone into saying things they truly didn’t mean.

  But it didn’t help to dwell on that thought—it was too painful to think she’d acted in haste.

  “Auntie!” Their nephew, eighteen month old Robert, Marquess of Stafford, toddled on the path toward them, followed by his mother, Penelope. Their sister-in-law pushed a pram with five month old Lady Esther Lacey.

  Sybil bent and the boy ran to her. Scooping him up, she swung him around and gave him a loud smacking kiss on his cheek. “I still cannot get over how big you grew while I was gone. Surely it must have been a whole year.”