God's teeth.She was barely past the childhood stage, Rebbie realized.
Standing between them,Rebbie'sfather cleared his throat. "Lady Elena, I would like for you to meet my son, RobertMacInnis, the Earl of Rebbinglen." He motioned to Rebbie.
When her wide blue eyes lit on him, her face blanched white as snow. She glanced down over his Highland attire, belted plaid, sword and dirk. Her terrified gaze flew to her father. "This is who you wish me to marry, Father? A Highlander? A barbarian? Nay!" She ran toward the stairwell and disappeared inside.
"Well," Rebbie murmured, smiling as a thrill shot through him. "Problem solved."
***
Calla stood frozen in the shadows with the three maids. In shock, she stared from beneath her cowl at the dark-eyed Highlander Elena had just been introduced to. How could the nameless man she'd met years ago betheLaird Rebbinglen Elena was to marry? Calla had not even imagined he was an earl, for heaven's sake. When he saw her face, he would remember her, surely. But nay, it had been many years. 'Haps he had forgotten her…please, God in Heaven, let it be so.She tugged the cowl more securely over her head.
When Laird Rebbinglen turned his back to talk with his father, she slipped along the wall and up the steps, following her cousin.
Saints!Calla leaned against the wall in the upper corridor, catching her breath. Her heart near galloped from her chest. The spoiled Elena was betrothed tohim? Robert, they'd said his name was. A Highland earl. But clearly Elena did not wish to marry him. The lass was terrified of the sort of Highlanders who wore belted plaids and armed themselves heavily.
When Calla had first encountered him, he dressed as any other Lowlander. Of course, she'd assumed he was a laird, mayhap a baron, considering his expensive clothing. His charming accent had been a bit more northern than she was accustomed to, but that had been a good thing at the time, for she'd assumed he lived far fromStirlingor Kinross.
Since they hadn't exchanged names, their identities had remained secret.
She wished she could slip out before supper so he wouldn't see her. But she couldn't leave. She was Elena's paid companion, and since Stanbury had died and left her destitute, she needed the money. Maybe she could claim a headache or stomachache to avoid supper. She didn't have to be by Elena's side every moment, especially while her parents were present.
Calla entered the chamber she and Elena shared and closed the door. "What on earth were you thinking, throwing such a tantrum in front of the earl?"
Elena placed her hands upon her narrow hips. "I don't care if he's a bloody prince, I'll not be marrying a barbarian!"
Good.
What? Nay, Calla didn't care either way.'Twasnone of her concern. She had far bigger problems, anyway. Namely her late husband's debtor who wanted to take what was owed him out of her flesh in the most lascivious way possible. She swallowed her disgust and focused on the issue at hand.
"Rebbinglen isn't a barbarian." Calla took a seat on the settle by the fire and used the poker to stir the coals before adding a stick of wood.
"How do you know? He certainly looks like one, wearing a kilt and all that plaid." She grimaced.
"'Tisdoubtful he dresses that way all the time. His father doesn't. Rebbinglen is a wealthy earl; he can afford to wear what he likes."
"Indeed. So, why would he choose such an uncouth and coarse way of dressing?"
"You will have to ask him."
Elena turned up her nose and gazed out the narrow window. "Nay. I don't wish to speak to him."
"And if he wears conventional clothing to supper, what would you say?"
"I know not."
"You might fall in love with him, then, aye?"Fickle lass!Calla couldn't avoid the dark-eyed earl forever. Eventually, he would see her face, and perhaps recognize her. Then what? Her stomach knotted, and she caught herself chewing on her fingernail. Forcing herself to stop, she smoothed her dress down.
"'Tisdoubtful." Elena pouted. "Besides, he's too old."
Calla snorted. "Nay, he's quite young. I didn't see a gray hair on his head. You saw my former husband, did you not?"
"Well, aye, he was ancient. I don't ken how you tolerated him."
"Nor do I." Of course, his age was not the worst thing about him, but his disposition. His threatening manner. His obsession with gambling. She didn't want to think of Stanbury at the moment. She wanted to visualize Laird Rebbinglen, with his broad shoulders, muscular physique and wicked midnight gaze.... "Laird Rebbinglen is very handsome," Calla blurted.Blast!Had she truly said that aloud? She pressed her lips between her teeth.
"I suppose, though he is no Hardwick," Elena said.
Calla released a breath, glad Elena hadn't noticed her interest in him. Not that she wasinterestedin him. Nay, she was but making an observation of truth. Anyone could see he was an attractive man, no matter what he wore… or didn't wear. An image of his naked body flashed in her mind—bronzed skin over sleek, powerful muscles, a fine dusting of dark hair on his chest that tapered to…Nay, do not remember.
