Ram knew he’d said something about seeing her later as he tried to escape without seeing the disappointment in her eyes. But she caught his sleeve and reminded him that he would partner her at dinner. He’d said he looked forward to it, because ‘twas all he could say.
The sprite batted her eyes–batted them, at him–and said, “I expect that I’ll be too nervous to do more than pick at my food. Already, I can’t think of anything but our moonlight stroll in the garden.”
Ram muttered something and left at a near trot. He nodded to the elder who hailed him but didn’t speak or slow down. That got him back to his room in near record time. He stepped inside, locked his door and leaned against it as he closed his eyes and panted like he’d fled from an enemy ambush.
He’d rather face an enemy–unarmed–than a moonlight stroll with Flora.
When he’d given in to the elders and the MacKenzie’s persistent pressure, he’d agreed to the betrothal over David and Hugh’s warnings. His friends agreed that the union would bring advantages aplenty, but they didn’t think the gains would be worth the price. Once Ram tallied the benefits, he focused on what the union would mean to his people. He never accounted for the personal adjustment.
How could he romance his little sister?
Mind you, the petite green-eyed redhead was a pretty little thing, but she was pretty the same way one of his aunts was a handsome woman and one of his cousins was a good-looking young man. She was also cute, like a new puppy. Lord knows, Flora pattered after him for years every bit like a pup. But Flora wasn’t hot, enticing or desirable.
The words that fit Rose so well felt profane and insulting when applied to Flora. They felt like feuding words, but the feud would start if Ram couldn’t get worked up in exactly that way over the sprite. And so far he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. But he’d have to try harder–starting tonight.
***
The elders must have arranged the seating at dinner, but they didn’t get it quite right. Flora sat beside him while Rose sat across the table and three places down. That put Rose out of speaking range, but directly in his line of sight if he looked to his left. He looked to his left often. Too often. He couldn’t help it.
Rose looked like sex on a cloud.
Her gown was sky blue gown with a neckline cut into a deep vee. She wore several strands of pearls and when she leaned forward or turned to the side, the pearls dipped down into the pillows of her breasts. Ram remembered those breasts vividly–how they looked, plump and bare in the moonlight.
“What are you doing?” Flora asked, touching his arm. “Ram are you quite all right?”
“Perfectly,” Ram said, fighting a grimace as he looked down at the mangled biscuit in his hand. He met Rose’s green and gold gaze as he said, “I fear the thought of something else I held recently distracted me.”
Rose’s complexion matched her name as she shifted in her chair, nearly in unison with Ram’s movement across the table. Her wiggle sent the pearls swaying, ever so slightly, enough that a beam of candlelight caught the silver clasp, buried deep in that damnable baby blue bodice. Half helpless and more than half resentful, Ram envied the candlelight the freedom to dally there, in those globes he longed to fondle and suckle.
Suckle. Yes. Dearest growing groin, yes. He could pluck her from her chair to carry her out and give her something else to wriggle upon. And if he did, he’d bury his face in her chest before they cleared the door. Ram half rose twice before he would his feet around his chair to keep himself in his seat. He was so preoccupied with trying to keep his seat that he didn’t realize he was licking his lips.
“Is the food that good?” David asked Ram before turning to Rose. “I found the meat a wee bit dry.”
“I don’t see how he would know about the food,” Rose said. “He’s barely taken a bite.”
“Perhaps he’s nervous too,” Flora suggested.
Hugh finally lost patience. “He’s nae had a nervous second in his life. What he is could best be described by an ‘h’ word.”
“Ramsay!” Laird MacKenzie roared. “Swallow yer tongue, put yer eyes back in yer head and attend my daughter.”
‘I’m trying,” Ram said in a tone vibrating with strain and heat and restrained heat. Every eye at the table focused on him as he grabbed the carafe, turned to Flora and asked, “Would ye like some more wine, sprite?”
Flora squealed, burst into tears, jumped up from the table and ran out the back of the room.
Damnation. Ram sighed and threw his napkin on the table. Apologizing generally to the table, he rose and followed. He knew what the sprite wanted. ‘Twas the same thing she always wanted–his attention. Giving it to her had been more pleasure than duty–until now. This time she wanted his attention in a whole new way and as he took his time walking through the kitchen to trail her out the back door, he reflected upon how difficult it would be to ever give her his male attention.
Could he imagine Flora bare breasted? Could he see himself touching and caressing her? What if she’d been the woman in the pavilion? He stopped in his tracks, causing a kitchen maid to run into him and drop a tray of pudding. Ram couldn’t imagine Flora as that woman. The thought made his belly churn, making him glad he’d eaten so little.
No, he couldn’t see Flora as that woman, but he could easily see her father, brothers, David and Hugh beating the immortal hell out of him if he treated her that way. He’d beat the crap out of himself for doing something so low. Did Rose deserve any less respect?
“Laird,” the Cook called out, “ye better go, ye ken? Herself will hae gone from tears to a tantrum by now. Her mad’ll outlast those tears by quite a spell, it will.”
Ram nodded, but he was still caught up in realizing that Rose had no champions. When his feet didn’t move fast enough, the Cook marched over, pointed a wooden spoon at him and gave him a direct order. “Go!”
“Aye,” Ram said, heading out back because he had no choice. Maggie, the head cook, was right. Flora’s sorrow had made her unnaturally calm since her arrival. Faith, but he’d appreciated it as much as all of them, but ‘twas like having a giant standing over your house with a boulder in his hand. Ye didn’t know when the crash would come and reached a point where the tension of awaiting it grew worse than anything the impact could cause.
This felt like the kind of night where fate would tickle the giant to make him twitch and drop the boulder. Then fate would stand back and watch, to see where the boulder fell and how many people it crushed.
How right was he? When he found Flora she was by the loch–thankfully a ways away from the pavilion. She had a large stick wedged beneath a large boulder. She was using oaths she’d surely overheard from her brothers as she tried to pry up the rock.
“Skipping stones again, sprite?” Ram asked, knowing he was giving fate and the giant a hand.
She turned around and Ram saw the veil lift from her eyes. The green glowed eerily, as if someone lit a roaring fire behind her eyes. Flora didn’t march towards Ram–that would’ve made him dig in his heels and stand his ground. No, Flora sashayed, swaying her hips, and carrying the devil in her face. Ram backed up a step.
About halfway she paused, reached up with the stick and plucked the fichu out of her gown. Ram backed up another step as she swung the stick, sending the fabric skittering back to the rocks by the lake and revealing a scandalously low-cut neckline.
“Flora,” he said, tripping over the name, “don’t.”
She put one hand on her hip, tossed her head back and thrust her breasts forward. “You want to see a bosom?”
“Flora,” he said to her shoes, repeating himself because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Don’t.”
“Mine are larger than hers,” Flora said, dropping to the ground and lying right in the spot where he’d been staring at her shoes.
“Get up, tiger,” Ram said. “You’ll soil that fancy frock.”
He didn’t look away from her face, no matter how much he’d rather be s
taring at the fine sprig of weeds an inch or so away. He couldn’t look away because the plea in her eyes held him in a way that her drama never could. No one could do drama like Flora and when she took it over the top she changed from sprite to tiger. Calling her tiger used to be enough to make her back off a bit. Now she looked delighted.
Damn it, nothing was working out as it should. Everything was upside down and backwards. Here was the bride he chose, lying at his feet. He’d known her forever and he couldn’t see her reduced to this no matter how lost he was in a maze of honor, duty and desire. She hadn’t caused this delicate dilemma.
“Flora,” Ram said, bending over and catching her hand. “You’re far, far better than this.”
She let him help her to her feet, but she dropped his hand like it carried a disease. When she raised stormy eyes to look at him, her face held the MacKenzie battle cry. “You could barely keep your eyes off of her bosom tonight. Yet, you won’t even look at mine. What’s wrong with me? What does she have that I lack?”
“You lack nothing,” Ram said. “The problem is mine.”
“We’ll nae overcome that until you make an effort,” Flora said. “I want a proper kiss.”
Flora tilted her face, closed her eyes and puckered her lips. Ram could see her practicing in the mirror and holding up the back of her hand to receive the kiss. Knowing her well enough to know that and having that picture in his head wasn’t helping his motivation. But he did care for her, had cared for her all her life. And he owed her this.
Ram dipped down, pressed his lips to hers and counted in his head. He wanted to raise his head when he reached ten but he made himself continue until he reached twenty. He raised his head and said, “There, was that better? A real kiss.”
She raised her head and he stepped back a pace and then two. Her eyes sparkled as she parroted his words with a dreamy inflection. “A kiss. A real kiss from Ramsay Sutherland.”
He grunted in response and put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the castle’s side entrance. When they walked inside her family and the elders sprang to their feet.
Dair didn’t tarry or mince words. He strode over, pinned a steely glare upon Ram but addressed Flora. “How did it go, lass?”
A parade of stars born of years of girlish dreams still cascaded through Flora’s eyes when she looked at her father and answered. “He kissed me, Da. He finally kissed me.”
Now Dair addressed Ram. “Nothing improper, I trust?”
Flora answered. “Give me a bit of time, Da!”
Dair barked out a laugh and the rest of the room joined in. Ram couldn’t manage even a tight smile as he continued the deep, even breaths he’d been taking since he lifted his head from the kiss. As the laughter trailed off Ram gave the room a brisk nod, and headed upstairs without a word.
His steps were brisk but by the time he reached the curve of the hallway near his door, Ram swallowed large gulps of air. Snatching open his door, Ram slammed it shut, clutching his churning stomach. Willing himself not to throw up, Ram lurched towards the side table where the washbasin rested. He cupped his hands and dashed water on his face, sticking out his tongue to catch the droplets.
After he and his innards calmed a bit, Ram picked up the washing cloth dipped it in soap and water and scrubbed his face and neck. Then he stuck out his tongue and scrubbed it too, welcoming the sting and the hideous, raw taste of the soap. When he’d scrubbed it well, he rinsed out his mouth with water. He stood, nodded, and walked to his bed stand table, picked up the carafe of the light, dry and slightly fruity wine that always stood there, and poured himself half a glass. After a moment, he picked up the carafe again and finished filling the glass.
Then he sat down on his bed, sipping his wine, reflecting upon how hideous it felt to kiss his little sister and hoping he could avoid doing it again.
***
The dawn of the next morn found Ram in an entirely different frame of mind.
‘Twas a rosy kind of day.
He woke early and went downstairs to tuck into a hearty breakfast. On his way out of the morning room, he passed David and Hugh stretching sleepily and heading towards the informal buffet. Ram waved a hand in greeting, grinned and said, “Lads, ‘tis a bonnie day. Shall I see you laggards at the practice field later this morn?’
Both babbled agreement of some sort as they exchanged a strange look.
Ram walked two steps before he turned back, shouted, “Ever prepared,” and tossed a sausage. Hugh caught it by the reflexes honed to a fine edge by the old game they’d played for years, at chance meetings, formal conferences, or on the training field. The object tossed might be anything–a valuable statute, an egg, a piece of fruit, a shoe or a sword. “Ever prepared” could be called anytime and the two potential recipients had to adjust their strategy while the object sailed through the air.
The “silly wee game” honed the lairds into deadly warriors and leaders capable of adjusting strategy upon an instant’s notice. They hadn’t played it for years. The press of responsibilities too numerous to list dampened their youthful enthusiasm.
“This time,” Ram said, giving the standard response to a successful catch. He nodded to his friends and turned the corner towards the rear of the castle. After giving detailed instructions to the cook and two footmen, Ram walked out the back door, headed to the practice field. He was about halfway to the field when he heard David and Hugh scurrying behind him, shouting for him to wait.
It wasn’t a day for idling so Ram pointed towards the field, shouted that he’d meet them there, and broke into a trot. His arrival was greeted with silence by his wary group of banged-up warriors. They were here despite the abuse he heaped upon them yesterday. To a man, each warrior wore a frown. Then David and Hugh arrived and they were frowning too.
This wasn’t a day for frowns. He looked around the yard, weighing each expression. He heard a sweet voice in his head, urging him to make amends. “Lads,” he said, “I see that most of you wear the marks of my rage of yesterday. I don’t like traps and I fight my way out of them. But my battle was not yours.”
“Wha’s he about?” yelled one warrior.
“He’s talkin’ out of his head,” another shouted.
“Be he explaining?” another asked.
“’Course he ain’t. But he’s not himself. Ain’t been himself since English arrived.”
That set off a pure tizzy amongst the men because Rose’s champions were legion. Unfortunately, the ranks contained some who would never be partial to anyone English. Ram couldn’t follow the whole thing. He just picked up comments hither and yon.
“The lass is as kind as she is bonnie and I’ll hear nothing bad about her.”
“She be as bloody English as the King and twice as treacherous!”
“Treacherous? She’s the soul of mercy, she are.”
“Look at what she done to the laird and she just barely arrived.”
“He’ll be kissing our feet soon and aye, ‘tis all her doing.”
“She’ll have us feuding with the MacKenzie’s before ye can say bloody English bitch.”
“She ain’t caused nothing. The trouble is the elder’s doing.”
“Treacherous? She be the female version of Satan incarnate. Or mayhaps, she be a witch what has blinded all of ye with black magic!”
The last insult turned out to be a wee bit too much for the pro-Rose contingent. They replied with their fists. An all-out brawl ensued, causing Ram to shake his head, shrug and open his mouth to call a halt. A hand clapped on his shoulder stopped him.
“Lad,” Hugh said. “Ye’re nae about to play spoilsport, are ye?”
“This settles nothing and they need time to heal, not more wounds,” Ram said.
Hugh seized one of Ram’s shoulders and David the other. At the same time, both said, “Where have ye hidden Ramsay Sutherland?”
With a shrug, Ram surveyed the field and the combatants. “This isna’ a day for unhappiness but–they do seem to
be having a fine time. I’ll leave them be at present.”
The lairds watched in silence for a while as the men brawled and shouted insults. They began to exchange comments about individual fighting styles and various of the grappling matches. They debated who had the better of the colorful volley of insults. Before long, Ram stepped forward, raising his right hand and shouting, “Enough.”
‘Twas a testament to the discipline and control Ram instilled in his warriors that the rage-driven brawl halted instantly.
“That will suffice for training,” Ram said. “though this morning’s session was by a method of your choosing. If ye’re asked about those bruises and such, I expect every one of you to recollect that. And speaking of ye’re wee injuries, so help me, if a single one of you bothers Lady Rose with the results of today’s foolishness, I’ll make sure that every single one of you suffers for it. Ye ken?”
“Aye, laird,” came the response, too muted to suit Ram.
“I’ll run full gear practices for six hours a day and when ye finish, I’ll send ye out on night patrol around the perimeters of our land and I’ll send large groups of ye to the MacBains and the MacGregors to reinforce both of those clans forces against their feud with their better armed and better manned rival clans,” Ram said, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back and his dark eyes boring into each man’s soul. “Ye’ll nae just risk injury–ye’ll risk death and there will be no lovely blonde goddess to care for ye. So, I’ll ask again–DO YE KEN?”
“Aye, laird,” came the reply, shouted at the top of every voice.
Ram gave a brisk nod. “Dismissed.”
He turned to David and Hugh. “Very funny.”
“We felt compelled,” said Hugh, who along with David had shouted the reply.
“Although I am still thinking of seeking some loving care from a certain blonde goddess,” David quipped.
Ram’s expression didn’t change, but steel coated it. “Stay away from her–both of you.”
“Can’t do it, lad,” Hugh said. “We’re suitors.”
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