“Thatone is Maisie,” Christie said. “It was she that issued an invitation to Wilkie, with Laird Morrison’s approval, last month. She is famously precocious and wishes it to beherhusband who will inherit the lairdship.”
Maisie Morrison was not at all comely like Christie had described; she was in fact quite beautiful, it had to be said. She was not tall and big-boned like her sister Clementine, nor tall and slim like Stella, but rather petite with a rounded, curvy shape that might have even been described as plump. But her shape suited her. Shefilled out the curves of her dress voluptuously. Her wavy brown hair shone in the candlelight, and her pink cheeks and vibrant eyes suggested an almost wonton frivolity. She giggled and whispered with her younger sisters, clear excitement written on her face.
“Maisie has designs...” Christie hesitated, looking at me, her light blue eyes luminous with light and youthful earnestness. “Well, she has designs to marry a Mackenzie. And since Stella is not ambitious in that way, Laird Morrison agreed to it. Yet I do wonder if that will change, now that Stella’s stable boy has been sent away. Perhaps Stella will now be forced into marriage because of her unsuitable yearnings,” she said, speaking her unsettling thoughts aloud. Christie squeezed my hand briefly. “I’m glad you’re wearing that dress tonight, Roses. You outshine everyone in the room.”
“You are kind, Christie. So very kind.” In fact I felt almost tearful with it; I wasn’t sure I deserved Christie and Ailie’s steadfast support, but they genuinely seemed to be encouraging of my presence in Wilkie’s life. I couldn’t begin to guess at why this might be. And as though in answer to my unspoken question, Christie said softly, “We Mackenzies are all romantics, you should know.” She paused, contemplating me quite earnestly, then she said, “Our mother died in childbirth when I was born, Roses. Our father pined for her and continued to worship her memory until his dying day. He never remarried. And I can tell you that all my siblings, myself included, aspire to that kind of devoted love. And we made a pact—if we were ever to find it, we would recognize it for what it was, and not deny it. Knox found it, but his wife was lost to him, also dying in childbirth, and their baby boy along with her. It wasa traumatic event for all of us, and one I believe that has changed Knox’s outlook. He’s harder than he used to be, less indulgent of his own feelings or anyone else’s. I suppose that may have something to do with his lairdship as much as anything else, I don’t know. What I do know is that hehaschanged, at least on the surface. He’s forced himself to change. But the rest of us continue to believe. I think Wilkie’s been overcome by you in this way, Roses. We can all see it. We’ve certainly never seen Wilkie behave as he does with you. He’s truly in a state. He’s half mad over you. I must admit it’s a new look for him, and I’m finding it quite entertaining—oh, look, here he comes.”
At that moment, Laird Mackenzie, Wilkie and Kade walked into the room, and I caught my breath. The three of them together were a spectacle in itself, for their size and masculinity alone. They looked a force to be reckoned with, with their dark hair and flashing eyes, and dressed in their clan-colored kilts, as were the other men. Their presence filled up the room and caught the crowd’s attention.
But I only had eyes for one of them.
Wilkie had a wild look, whether from his day of sparring and hunting, or from something else entirely, it was difficult to tell. His gaze immediately found me in the noisy bustle of the crowded space. His eyes wandered my face, my dress—and all it revealed—and my hair. His expression darkened. Fury and fire reflected in his direct stare and brought a rush of heat to my skin. Was he angry? I wondered briefly if Ailie had misunderstood her instructions; maybe Wilkie had wanted me to remain in his chambers and wait for him. I wouldn’t have minded, but in fact, now that I was here, I didn’tfeel quite as out of place as I thought I might. Christie was at my side, content it seemed, to be my companion and guardian. I’d also had half a goblet of the ale she’d offered me, which infused me with a warm ease, and the feeling that I could almost handle the evening. And it further heightened the heat Wilkie’s gaze inspired. My dress was fitted and soft. And I wore nothing underneath. He couldn’t have known this, but his expression burned me in intimate places, exciting the light swell that ached for his touch.
He walked toward me, and my stomach felt fluttery as he drew closer. There was a definite volatility to his expression; I didn’t understand what it meant or what caused it, but it stirred me.
Before Wilkie reached me, his attention was diverted by Magnus Munro, who greeted him and slapped him on the back as if they were old friends. Wilkie was popular, as his sisters had pointed out. This was clear by the unending cluster that sought him out. I watched him as he spoke and laughed with his noble friends and acquaintances. It seemed he was attempting to make his way in my direction, but there were more people who wanted to greet him. Very occasionally, I caught his eye.
Several of the Morrison women, including Maisie, were next in line. Maisie adjusted her dress scandalously low, in an obvious bid to entice him. She was clearly determined to get his attention and unconcerned about the possibility of tarnishing her reputation to do it. She was fairly spilling out of her gown with her eagerness. Stella, I noticed, was nowhere in sight, a detail I was momentarily grateful for.
The Morrison women surrounded Wilkie, blocking any potential attempts of his to evade them. Theylaughed and fawned over him, lightly touching him with their fingers at every opportunity. Maisie’s attentions, in particular, were possessive in nature. She slung her arm through the crook of his, as though he were her escort. He, after a time, subtly removed it as his drink was refilled.
Wilkie watched me for a moment from this short distance, his expression inscrutable. And the sight of him there, surrounded by his adoring heiresses, almost upset my control. What could I do? I could hardly storm over to him and remove their hands from his arms and push them away. I could huff away to his chambers, but I didn’t want to voluntarily remove myself from his presence; it seemed wasteful.
He noticed my ire, and he met it with his own. His eyes were predatory, as though he was struggling to maintain his self-control. But his loose-limbed stance appeared, by contrast, relaxed. I could not read his behavior, and this upset me even more. I wished I could touch him, tofeelhis indifference, if that’s what this was. I wasn’t adept yet at reading him from afar, but his touch gave everything away.
Was the company of his own peers enough to oust me from his favor?
Well, I could be aloof as well, I thought indignantly.
My emotions were raging within me, yet my outermost layer felt calm. After all, I’d already made up my mind: I wanted all of him, with no quarter given.
He was still being circled by the women, and I wondered what he was thinking. I didn’t care anymore if I was seen and stared at or whispered about. I didn’t care if the Morrison women blocked my way or even ifWilkie was savoring their explicit attentions. I would go to him.
But I stopped before I began. Maisie Morrison had cupped her hand to Wilkie’s jaw and turned his face to hers. She was saying something to him, which he leaned closer to hear. And as he did, she caught my eye in a challenging glare, and her hand was reaching farther to caress his face lightly and to touch his hair.
That glance provided unwanted information. Maisie Morrison not only wanted Wilkie,she thought she already had him. It was a glare of ownership, as one might deliver to a thief.
My soul grew cold, and I wondered if Wilkie’s dismissal of the Morrison alliance, through his marriage to one of them, had been overturned. I wondered if Laird Mackenzie had agreed to Laird Morrison’s proposal at the instigation of his third daughter, who still held me in her watchful glare.
Before I could thaw or react, two large men approached Christie and me, blocking out the sight of Maisie and Wilkie, as though to provide temporary distraction from my anxiety. Their red-cast hair identified them immediately as Munros. And I was glad of the diversion they provided. It gave me a minute to steady myself.
“Are you Magnus’s brother?” asked Christie of the one who stood next to me, and quite closely.
“Aye, Christie. We met once when you were still quite young. I’m Angus. Third in line.” He smirked, as though the subject of his inheritance was highly entertaining to him. “This is Tosh Munro, my cousin.”
Angus Munro had memorable hair: red on the bottom layers giving way to strawberry blond on the top; itgave him a sunny quality that seemed to match his personality. His presence was energetic and bright, throwing a small amount of warmth into my stunned silence.
“And who might you be?” he said, lifting my hand to kiss the back of my knuckles. Not once, but several times.
“This is Roses,” Christie offered before I could speak.
“Why haven’t I seen Roses before?” asked Angus. “Are you new to the Mackenzie clan?”
Christie deftly changed the subject. As far away as the Macduff clan was, these men were warriors who traveled regularly between clan territories, to meet and discuss politics on a regular basis. It was risky to spin lies. I felt, and Christie appeared to feel the same way, that it was a topic better avoided if possible. “Not so new. More ale?”
She poured the drinks.
I felt adrift and loose. And utterly alone, despite the crowd.
