“Lady Laurel, I seem to be blundering through this,” Brodie said sheepishly. “I don’t mean offense. I simply wondered because I saw your guards training today. They are diligent and attentive to their surroundings. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t have them accompany you while you shop.”
Laurel stood silently.
“Lady Laurel?”
“Aye?”
“Have you naught to say to that?”
“You hadn’t asked a question,” Laurel answered archly. “I have plenty to say, but for once, I’m keeping my own counsel.”
“Do you not fear moving around the town unaccompanied?”
“Clearly I do not.”
“You should.”
“Dressed as little more than a peasant widow?”
“Why do you dress that way?” Brodie pressed.
“I prefer it.”
Brodie scowled, his expression hardening. He knew it was generally intimidating, and it caused people to jump when he wore it at home. But Laurel grinned, then laughed. She shook her head and turned toward her chamber.
“Lady Laurel, must you always be so difficult?”
Laurel looked back over her shoulder. “Aye. But at least I respect you.” She didn’t wait for his response before she continued down the passageway. She glanced back when she reached her door and found Brodie standing with his arms akimbo, watching her. She giggled and shook her head. On a whim, she waved before she ducked into her chamber.
Laurel glanced out of her window embrasure and realized she’d dawdled far longer than she realized, but she’d enjoyed her banter with Brodie. But it had cost her time she needed to work on her gown. She rang for Ina while she stripped off her ruined kirtle. When her maid arrived, the woman took one sniff of Laurel and rushed to order a bath. With as much care as she could, she laid out her evening gown and unfolded the new garnet fabric. She knew the easiest solution would be to cut a seam where the material tore and make the garnet satin into a decorative panel. While she waited for Ina, Laurel gathered her needles and threads. She dug out her shears and held her breath as she cut her gown. She’d reconstructed enough gowns that she knew she shouldn’t feel nervous when she took the scissors to a kirtle, but she always did, especially when time was not on her side.
Ina returned with servants carrying the tub and buckets of hot water just as Laurel finished cutting the garnet satin to fit the panel she would make. Sensing her anxiety, Ina silently scrubbed Laurel’s hair while Laurel ran the sudsy linen cloth over herself. She would have preferred to soak until the water chilled, but she didn’t have that luxury. She was in and out of the tub in less than five minutes. She sat before the fire to dry her hair, her back to the flames while she worked on the gown. Her nimble fingers quickly added the yards of fabric, making it appear as though the blue and deep red materials were seamless. Glancing once more at the window, she sighed as church bells rang in the town. She had an hour before she would need to dress for the evening meal. Feeling calmer, Laurel pulled embroidery thread from her basket and set about stitching.
An hour later, Laurel straightened her back and looked at her work. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she considered the scene she’d stitched. While she usually sold embroidery that included complicated patterns and designs, she tended toward flowers and birds on her own gowns. It ensured no one connected the goods she sold to what she wore.
When Ina returned to fashion Laurel’s hair, she glanced at the gown she’d just finished, and her heart felt lighter than it had in years. She almost felt like she had before she arrived at court. She opted to wear her hair down, a rarity these days. Laurel felt that despite her maiden status, she was too old to wear her hair down like most unmarried women. But her carefree mood railed against having pins pushed into her scalp from every direction to hold her thick locks in place. Ina wove a ribbon into Laurel’s hair, framing her face, but otherwise, Laurel’s hair was unadorned. With a warm smile and a pat on Ina’s shoulder, Laurel donned her gown and headed to the Great Hall.
Seven
Brodie knew the moment Laurel arrived in the Great Hall. It wasn’t that heads turned in her direction because he didn’t notice. He sensed it. Some silent force drove him to look toward the doors the moment she entered. Her hair hung in long waves over her shoulders and down her back, far longer than he’d imagined earlier that day. And he had imagined it. As sparks flew from her blue-hazel eyes, he’d wondered what she would look like with her hair unbound and spread across their bed. He’d startled himself when he realized that he’d thought of any bed as theirs, a shared destination rather than just a piece of furniture.
After parting with Laurel, Brodie had returned to his chamber for a rest before dinner. He’d closed his eyes, not to doze, but to relive his walk with Laurel. He’d enjoyed their repartee as he accompanied her back to the castle, but he’d been awed by her beauty when he lifted back her veil. He hadn’t anticipated her clear alabaster skin and dazzling hazel eyes. Standing within arms’ reach, he realized that Laurel’s hair held a deeper tint of red than Monty’s, whose hair tended more toward blond. The fiery strands woven among the blond—seemingly matching her temper—peeked through when she moved in a particular way. Having his sporran covering the front of his plaid avoided Brodie embarrassing himself when his body once again took notice of Laurel’s elegant feature; despite her muck-covered kirtle, he’d recognized a fine figure beneath the gown.
But it had been her giggle that made his cock twitch. It was infectious and, he suspected, rare. As he reclined on his bed, he discovered he longed to run his fingers along her body, exploring where she might be ticklish. Once more, the image of her laying beneath him materialized before his eyes. But this time she giggled and kissed him while he tickled her. His imagination was so vivid it made him want to bang on her chamber door and make it real.
Now, as he stood watching her enter the enormous gathering hall, the sound of her teasing voice echoed in his head. Even her scathing rebuke about not being distressed made him smile. Catching himself lest he look like a loon, he pushed away from the wall. He observed as Laurel’s eyes widened a fraction when she spotted him. She glanced around, and Brodie wondered if she looked for her brother or a means to escape, perhaps both. But his long strides carried him toward her, people moving aside to avoid his broad shoulders from bumping into them.
“Lady Laurel,” Brodie said softly, his naturally deep voice huskier than usual. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Laird Campbell,” Laurel spoke equally quietly. She felt the heat entering her cheeks as Brodie’s eyes locked with hers, unrelenting, as though they looked into her soul. She feared all he would find was a black abyss. She swallowed, unsure what else to say and not understanding why he didn’t let her pass. Brodie’s hand moved of its own volition to reach for hers, but he caught himself before he embarrassed them both. He couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t spurn him and ridicule him, but part of him looked forward to the possibility. He was curious as to what she might say, even if it would put him on the receiving end of her barbs.
“Is that the fabric you purchased today?” Brodie wondered. He’d recognized it and knew the answer, but he thought it might encourage conversation. But he watched as Laurel withdrew, even though she didn’t move.
“Yes, my laird.”
“Your maid must be an excellent seamstress to finish your gown so quickly. And the embroidery. Well, I’d be cack-handed if I were to try such. I can stitch a wound but never aught so fine,” Brodie grinned. But he snapped his mouth shut when he realized Laurel looked markedly uncomfortable. “The gown is as lovely as you are.”
Laurel blinked, then smiled shyly. Brodie detected she was uncomfortable each time he paid her a compliment, but there was also something about discussing sewing that made her uneasy.
Mayhap I insulted her if she thought I meant her maid did the embroidery. That skill could only come from a lady.
“Did you stitch the Highland scene?”
Brodie tried again. He’d recognized the small red birds as crossbills, a breed of finch indigenous to the Caledonian Forests.
“I did,” Laurel admitted.
“It must remind you of home,” Brodie grinned again, but Laurel looked away, finally breaking the connection.
“Stirling is my home. It doesn’t remind me of here.” Laurel wanted to flee. Standing before Brodie made her realize that a particular Highlander inspired the flora and fauna she’d created. Her heart sped.
“Back to claiming you’re not a Highlander, lass?” Brodie chuckled, struggling to lighten the mood once more.
“Excuse me please,” Laurel said, but she didn’t wait for a reply. She stepped past Brodie and wound through the crowd until she reached her table. She sat, taking a deep breath. She felt more unsettled than was reasonable for such a benign conversation. She struggled not to let tears slip from her eyes. She tried to reason through her reaction to Brodie’s comments. As she thought about everything they’d said to one another, she understood why she was on edge.
Brodie wasn’t the first man she found attractive, but he was one of the few who had more than handsome features to draw her attention. While she wondered what it would feel like to have his brawny arms wrapped around her, to feel his stubble abrade her cheeks and chin while they kissed, to have her breasts caught between them as she pressed herself against his muscled chest, she also wondered what it would be like to share a lifetime of banter with him. An emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole encircled her as she chided herself for being foolish. She couldn’t fathom a man such as Brodie wishing to spend a lifetime with her.
Mayhap he’s friendly merely because he and Monty are well acquainted. Or mayhap I’m too daft to realize he’s mocking me after this afternoon’s spectacle. He’s likely forgotten aboot me already.
Laurel shifted her gaze to find Monty, needing to speak to him after the meal. But when she found her brother, she also found Brodie staring back at her. A bolt of electricity seemed to crackle between them, and as his penetrating gaze locked once more with hers, it was a jolt that made her heart skip. There was interest in Brodie’s gaze; Laurel recognized it as such, but it had never been directed toward her before. She’d seen it as, one after another, her friends and fellow ladies-in-waiting met their soulmates and paired off. She worried that she would draw attention, but she couldn’t disengage. Eventually, someone spoke to Brodie, pulling his focus from her, but she caught him glancing at her several times throughout the rest of the meal.
Brodie spent the following three days finding reasons to encounter Laurel in the bailey and around the keep. The morning after their encounters in Stirling and at the evening meal, Brodie maneuvered himself into a seat behind Laurel for Mass. When the Pax Board reached Laurel, and she had to turn around to pass it to the pew behind her, she found Brodie standing behind her.
“Peace be with you,” Brodie murmured.
“And also with you,” Laurel replied, whipping back around as soon as the blessed piece of wood left her hands.
He timed his arrival and exit from the lists to coincide with when the ladies came and went from the flower gardens during the queen’s morning stroll. While he noticed other young women attempting to gain his attention, his greeting was only for Laurel. They danced twice each night, but Brodie found Laurel grew more subdued with each set. He wondered why, but he feared the answer if he asked. Instead, he delighted in the time spent with her, even if there was little more than small talk about the weather.
Laurel spent the fourth hiding in her chamber. She’d battled a nearly constant headache for three days, confused by Brodie’s persistent interest while the ladies continued their snide attacks about being forced to wait for Laurel to marry. She chided herself for thinking Brodie might consider her an eligible bride. He’d been pleasant, but he’d made no overtures toward her. But she couldn’t fathom why he would show interest in her without a purpose.
After a day of rest, Laurel emerged feeling more herself, but it all came crashing down during the morning meal. She arrived to break her fast later than she normally did, having gone back to her chamber to replace a bootlace. When she arrived at the Great Hall, she found the other ladies huddled together, laughing uproariously. She approached, curious about what had happened in the short time she was away. But her world came crashing down in the matter of a handful of words.
“Liam Oliphant and Nelson MacDougall wagered Laird Campbell one hundred pounds that he couldn’t woo the shrew,” Catherine MacFarlane announced. “Why else would he pay attention to her? He doesn’t want to be out one hundred pounds. He must make her fall in love with him and agree to marry him. I’d make my own wager that he doesn’t show up to his own wedding.”
“That explains why he’s paid attention to her,” Emelie Dunbar mused. “We’ve all wondered why.”
Laurel trembled as she listened, no one yet aware that she’d arrived. She swallowed the sour bile that burned her throat. The weight that took root in her chest pressed every organ, threatening to make her knees buckle as she continued to listen.
“I heard even her brother agreed to the wager,” Emelie’s sister Blythe said. “I can’t believe that. For all Lady Laurel’s faults, her brother is fond of her.”
“Fond of the notion that he can rid himself of her,” Sarah Anne snorted. It was at that moment that Emelie looked up and caught sight of Laurel. Emelie elbowed Blythe, who looked in Laurel’s direction. Mortified, Laurel turned on her heel and ran into a glowering Brodie Campbell. When he moved to help her as she teetered backward, she slapped at his hands.
“Don’t touch me,” Laurel hissed.
“Laurel,” Brodie whispered. Laurel’s eyes narrowed as her nose flared, and Brodie waited with bated breath. If he didn’t feel hideous for what he overheard—and knew Laurel had, too—he would have thought her magnificent. He wondered what was wrong with him that he waited to see what Laurel had to say.
“Dinna speak to me, dinna touch me, dinna come near me,” Laurel spat, uncaring that her brogue had returned with such force that she doubted any Lowlander could understand her. “I didna think the almighty Laird Campbell of Glenorchy would be a roiderbanks, but I should have kenned all along that there is a reason why yer people must grab everything within reach. Ye’re someone living beyond yer means. Why else would ye stoop to such lows as to consider me—the Shrew of Stirling—for a bride? Why pursue me if ye ken that everyone thinks I’m a triptaker? That all I do is find fault with everyone. Ye are naught more than a churlish mumblecrust.” Laurel snapped her mouth shut, having hurled enough insults at Brodie and finishing by calling him a toothless beggar.
“Laurel, I didn’t accept the wager,” Brodie explained.
“But ye kenned of it. And now everyone else does, too. And ye didna try vera hard to disabuse people of the notion that ye refused it. Ye heard them. I’ll give ye the bluidy hundred pounds to be done with ye.” Laurel spoke in anger, but she would part with the hard-earned coin if it meant she never had to look at Brodie Campbell again.
“I dinna want yer coin, Laurel,” Brodie kept his voice low, his own burr slipping back into his words. “That isnae why I’ve paid attention to ye.”
“Och aye. I suppose it was to see what ye could get for free. Ye thought to make a fool of me just as everyone else. I suppose ma brother kens aboot this too.” Laurel feared the rising gorge she fought would soon strangle her.
“Monty and Donnan were there when the wager was suggested. Monty refused to even consider it,” Brodie explained.
“He refused to consider it. Nae ye. Him.” Laurel stepped around Brodie, but his arm swung out and blocked her way. Without thought Laurel spat at his boot. “Ye want something from me. There ye have it. That’s all I’ll ever give ye.”
“And if I wish to give ye ma name, a home in the Highlands where ye didna feel alone, the respect and appreciation ye havenae had?” Brodie asked as his hand settled on Laurel’s waist, holding her place with
little pressure.
“I thought ye were different. But ye’re naught. Ye’re worse. Ye're cruel,” Laurel hissed as the first tears fell.
“Why do ye assume I’m lying?” Brodie asked.
Laurel looked back over her shoulder at the crowd of people watching her argue with Brodie. There wasn’t one look of sympathy directed at her. Those who cast a pitying gaze directed it at Brodie, not her. Most watched with morbid fascination. She wished she could slink away, never showing her face again. Laurel turned back to Brodie and shook her head. If she attempted to speak, she would sob instead. She pushed his arm away and mustered as much dignity as she could, holding her head up as she walked toward the doors. She found Monty and Donnan standing there, matching expressions of shock on their faces.
“Fine choice ye’ve made for me,” Laurel snarled as she pushed past her brother and friend. Once in the passageway, she lifted her skirts nearly to her knees and bolted.
Eight
“I never accepted a wager,” Brodie growled at those watching the disaster unfold. He spun on his heels and stormed after Laurel. When he reached Monty and Donnan, he halted. “She’s yer sister. When are ye going to protect her like ye should?”
“She’s a woman full-grown,” Monty corrected.
“Aye. But she was dumped in the woods and left for the wolves when she was a lass. Now everyone faults her for learning to protect herself,” Brodie argued.
“She’s not the first woman to come to court unwillingly. But she’s the only one who can’t fit in,” Monty stated.
“When will ye realize she isnae like other women? And that isnae for the worse,” Brodie barked. He left Monty and Donnan staring after him as he ran after Laurel. He chased her until he spotted her rose-hued skirts in the distance. His longer legs soon covered the distance that separated him. He called out to her, “Laurel.”
A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9) Page 7