He blinked, trying to remember himself. He was the Laird of Clan McLeod, not some unwanted fellow dismissed by his lover’s maid.
When she did not announce his presence to the room, he realized it was empty of Violet. “Miss Violet is in the drawing room with old Lady McLeod.”
Great! How was he going to seduce her into her bedroom with his grandmother present?
He dragged his feet to the drawing room, willing to try his hand. He could always send Grannie Ava to her room; it was already an hour past her bedtime. But what was he to do if she decided to exercise her authority over him and send him to bed first? He couldn’t summon Violet with another look; she had ignored the first.
Deep in thought, he stumbled upon Sir Horace, brushing past him along with Logan. He stared in confusion.
Upon seeing him, Logan said something to Horace, which sounded like a good night, then he came to his side while Horace continued trekking through the path leading to his chambers.
“Why are ye tailin’ the old man?”
Logan’s forehead creased as it did when he was skeptical. “I was worried.” He stared down the path where Horace had disappeared to as if watching for a listening ear. “I caught him by the south exit, which is only used by the staff. He said he had missed the turn to his bedroom, but he had descended the stairs leading to the cellar, where I found him. If he went from the dining hall to his bedroom, he wouldnae have passed by those stairs. Daenae ye think that’s weird?”
“He is an old man, and the castle is big. He must have made a mistake.”
The words shocked Ruaridh as quickly as they had left his mouth, but Logan was even more surprised.
“If ye believe so.” He backed away. “Wedding fever must have dulled yer senses. I suggest ye get better.”
The old Ruaridh would have had guards stationed outside the Baronet’s door instantly. The maids would have been reporting to him the abnormalities they had found in his room. He would never have let a man acquainted with Lord Westall into his home before proper investigations were made. But he had not done any of those things.
Logan was right; his senses were dulled. Since Violet had informed him of Horace’s approval of their impending union, Ruaridh should have instantly had a sit-down with the man, investigated the change of heart, and pressed him about breaking his alliance with Westall. Horace had come into his home with the intention of delivering his daughter to the Baron’s hands; it was safe to presuppose establishing his relationship with Westall.
Because of his failings, Ruaridh had a man he couldn’t trust secretly roaming his home in the dark. His incompetence was glaring, and he was loath to admit it.
“I am sure it is nothin’,” he said, but Logan had already disappeared around the corner.
Ruaridh heard his grandmother’s voice before he saw her.
“What do ye ken about designing clothes?” she addressed Keira, who was staring out a moonlit window.
He watched through the gap in the door as Keira turned to Grannie Ava, clutching a book almost the size of her body to her chest.
“Hence me desire to practice,” she moaned.
Ruaridh’s lips quirked up. He found comfort in knowing that she did not give only him a hard time.
He shifted slightly. Violet sat on an armchair opposite Grannie Ava, directly in front of the fireplace. She had changed out of her dinner dress and was wearing a simple robe, which he considered distasteful for its lack of ability to show skin.
She did not seem to share Grannie Ava’s amusement at Keira’s disposition. “I do not want you experimenting for my wedding. I already gave you the autonomy to do as you pleased with your hair.”
“A privilege innate to every lass,” Keira drawled, sprawling herself on the chaise.
Grannie Ava could not hide her smile at the incredulous look on Violet’s face. “Keira, yer behavior is that of a child,” she chided with feigned sternness.
“You intend to trick me with some logical spiel, don’t you?” Violet asked.
Keira gave her a look, accompanied by a shrug and a tilt of her head, as if to let her know that she had exhausted her itinerary.
Keira was a bother to deal with at night, and raising children ended once the sun went down and the cicadas came out to play. Ruaridh himself had suffered many nights of her nocturnal dispositions, so he understood Violet’s frustration.
“I thought we were retiring for the night,” he said loudly as he stepped into the room, startling all three women.
Keira bolted upwards, then looked irritated by the petty fright.
“We got carried away with the preparations,” Violet answered, cheeks reddening.
