“Nary a man has distracted me,” Darcy sputtered.
“Ladies.” Mari moved closer, hoping she could interject some sort of peace. “I have just talked with Jillian. While she is weak, the worst seems to be over.” She turned to smile at the twins, who were staring at her. “My sister seems to be well taken of.”
The girls looked at each other and both of them nodded. “Aye,” one of them answered, “the Crone o’ the Hills healed her.”
“Who?” Effie asked.
“Our faerie,” the other twin said.
“Your what?”
“Our faerie,” the second twin repeated earnestly.
“Hmmph!” Effie folded her arms across her chest. “Children should not be told such stories. Faeries do not exist.”
Both twins’ eyes rounded. “But she takes care of the MacLeods when one is in need,” the first twin said.
“Cousin Jillian has seen her,” the other one added. “Ye can ask her.”
“Perhaps we can wait with that,” said a female voice from the doorway. “Our guests are probably quite tired from the journey. Why don’t the two of ye go find Jamie?”
“But—” one of the twins started to say before the other gave her a poke in the ribs with her elbow. The first one frowned, about to return the gesture when the woman in the doorway cleared her throat. Both girls jumped up and hurried out without another word.
The woman who entered the room was about ten years older than Mari, with hair as red as a country sunset. Although she had a smile on her lips, her brown eyes appraised Effie. Mari had a feeling the woman had probably already summed up the potential spat between the maids. Things were not off to a particularly good start.
“I am Jillian’s sister, Mari,” she said.
“Aye. Jamie informed me when ye went up the stairs.” She gave Mari the same appraising look she’d given Effie.
Mari tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. She felt as though she were being considered by the patronesses of Almack’s for the spring voucher, which was ridiculous since she was in the middle of the wild and forsaken Highlands.
The woman extended her hand. “I am Bridget. I bid you welcome to our home.”
“Thank you. That is very kind.” Mari shook her hand, thinking how strange the gesture was considering only men shook hands in London. Bridget’s hold had a strength to it that surprised Mari and reminded her of Jamie. And then she remembered that Jamie had told Highlanders were honor bound to offer hospitality to anyone who arrived at their door. Mari also remembered Jillian saying how the uncles hated the English.
Did Bridget mean those words of welcome or did she harbor her own dislike?
And what had Jillian meant about things getting interesting? Lord, if Bridget could control three MacLeod men who were used to issuing orders, things would be interesting indeed. Perhaps she could even learn a thing or two.
The first thing Mari learned when they were seated for dinner later that evening was the entire family adored Jamie, although it should not have surprised her since both Aunt Agnes and Effie practically gushed at his comments—and neither of those women was accustomed to gushing.
What was amazing, though, was how different each of the family members were from one another. From Jillian, Mari learned that Bridget, out of necessity, had taken over the care of her younger sisters when their stepmother ignored them. Ian and Jamie had supported her, since neither cared for the self-centered woman their father had chosen to marry. Mari wondered if that had something to do with the fact that Jamie did not seem particularly impressed with any of the debutantes in London.
Shauna, the middle sister, was the quiet one with auburn hair more brown than red. She had been polite when Bridget introduced them earlier, but had then retreated to the library in search of a book, reminding Mari a great deal of Abigail.
Fiona, the youngest, was the complete opposite. Her hair was as inky-black as Ian’s, but her eyes were a soft pearl grey that, along with the pale, porcelain perfection of her skin, gave her an ethereal look. However, any notion she was a mystical, otherworldly creature dissolved into mist once she started talking. Mari didn’t think she’d ever met anyone so animated. Fiona had a hundred questions about London and Society, none of which she’d given Mari time to answer.
And then there were the twins. They were twelve, and she’d learned their names were Caitlin and Caylin, although she still didn’t know which was which—a fact that brought sly little smiles to their faces. Mari suspected she’d be the subject of many a jest on their parts. They were actually Shane’s sisters, but since he spent so much of his time at sea, they lived with Ian rather than in Edinburgh.
The whole lot of them sat enthralled, listening to Jamie regale them with stories of training an inept household staff to use weapons. The twins, in particular, thought it hysterically humorous that grown men could not handle swords.
“Even we practice with blunted swords,” Caitlin—or Caylin—said.
“And we practice archery too,” Caylin—or Caitlin—said. “Can the English nae shoot an arrow either?”
The question seemed to dispose both of them to fits of giggles, but it did give Mari some insight into Jamie’s penchant for carrying weapons on various parts of his body. Goodness gracious, if young girls were trained for battle…
“I would rather know if the English lads are good-looking,” Fiona interjected.
