Chapter Twenty-One
“So tell me about London,” Fiona said as they were seated for the evening meal the next night.
“‘Tis a filthy city full of soot and thieves,” Broc answered before Mari could say anything.
“When did ye go there?” Bridget asked. “I dinnae recall ye going beyond the Borders.”
“Ye dinnae ken everything,” Broc replied.
“It is true parts of London are dirty,” Mari interjected before an argument would ensue and wondered where Jamie was since he had not come to the table. Duncan was not present either, but perhaps that was good. Mari continued, “And certainly London has criminals as does every big city, but Mayfair—where I live—is quite safe and lovely.”
“Tell me about the parties,” Fiona said, seemingly unaware of the glare Broc leveled in her direction.
Mari frowned too. What on earth would be wrong with talking about parties? Fiona was maybe a year younger than she was and would naturally be curious about such things—especially as isolated as the castle was.
“They are grand affairs,” Mari replied. “One or another of the matrons of Society hostsoireesand crushes every week with lots of wonderful finger foods and music or entertainment. It gives all of us young ladies a chance to mingle and meet eligible young bachelors.”
“Ye can do that at the local inn with nae the fancy stuff,” Broc said with a smirk. “There be plenty of willing lasses—”
“Hold yer tongue,” Bridget snapped, “or ye can leave this table and eat with the mongrels outside.”
Broc narrowed his eyes. “I dinnae take orders from a woman.”
“Then ye will take orders from me,” Jamie said as he entered the room and took a seat beside Mari. “I dinnae ken what was said before, but I heard yer reply. ’Tis nae fitting for the lasses to hear.”
The sheer presence of Jamie’s muscular bulk was comforting. The fresh scent of the outdoors wafted from him as well as a hint of peat smoke, and Mari wondered where Jamie had been. His long hair was windblown, one dark curl hanging over his forehead, and she had the sudden urge to push it back for him. Her fingers actually twitched, and Mari clasped her hands in her lap, not quite sure what had put that thought into her head. For once, though, she was actually glad Jamie was so bossy.
Broc glowered at him. “Ye are nae head of this clan.”
“I stand for Ian when he is nae here. If ye doubt me, ye can ask him.”
“I might if the mon ever comes out of the bedchamber.”
Jamie eyed him steadily. “Have a care. Ye tread on boggy ground.”
For a moment, Mari thought Broc might actually challenge Jamie. Given the man’s black eye and still-swollen nose, she had no doubt Jamie would be victorious, but she did not understand why Highlanders thought to solve everything with fists or weapons. Maybe she could smooth some ruffled feathers.
“We were just talking about London Society,” she said quickly. “Broc was trying to make a jest.”
Jamie stared at her as though she were daft. Mari felt her face warm since the remark sounded asinine even to her, but she truly wanted Broc—and the uncle—to see that not all English people were bad. Broc narrowed his eyes, but his look was more thoughtful than sinister.
“Aye,” he said slowly. “A jest is what it was.”
Jamie’s expression told Mari he did not believe one word of it, but at least he did not comment. A servant hurried in with a steaming bowl of stew along with fresh bread for Jamie, and Broc resumed eating.
Mari let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Perhaps she had averted a crisis.
“What are the balls like?” Fiona asked, oblivious to the tension that had been building.
“Absolutely wonderful,” Mari responded, glad to be back on safer ground. “The girls all wear pretty pastel gowns—only the matrons wear dark colors—with the latest fashionable bows and ribbons from Paris now the war is over.”
“And the dances?” Fiona asked breathlessly. “Do you dance every one?”
Mari smiled at Fiona’s enthusiasm. “We try. When a gentleman requests a dance, he writes his name on a small card we have attached to our wrist. It is quite the thing to have the entire dance card filled at the start.”
“It sounds like such fun. Have you danced a waltz?”
Jamie choked on a piece of bread, and Mari avoided looking at him. She remembered all too well what it felt like to have Jamie’s strong arm wrapped around her waist while his other hand caressed her fingers sensually and he tugged her close enough on the turns that her breasts brushed against his hard chest. Just recalling that dance made her nipples tighten.
