Page 80 of The Highland Laird’s Hellion Bride

“Smiling urgent,” Duncan said, falling into step beside him, “is generally the worst kind.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Ye’ve had two days of it now. The trunks. The ribbons. The hat that nearly went in the loch of its own accord.” His mouth curved. “I confess I’m looking forward to whatever this is.”

“That doesnae reassure me.”

“It’s nae meant to.”

They found the whole party assembled at the water’s edge by the time they arrived, Elspeth standing beside a large covered basket with an expression of barely contained anticipation, Katherine beside her looking similarly pleased, Liam a careful few steps back, and Agnes crouched at the very edge of the loch, peering into the reeds.

“There he is.” Katherine spread her arms, as though presenting him to an audience. “Magnus! Come, come, ye’re just in time.”

“In time for what?”

“A handfasting gift.” Katherine drew herself up, visibly pleased with the announcement she was about to make. “Though I must admit that it was Elspeth’s idea. I only helped arrange the transport, which was considerably more trouble than either of ye ken, given how they carried on the whole journey.”

“They?”

“Aye.” Elspeth crouched beside the basket, hands on the lid, practically vibrating with the effort of not throwing it open at once. “Ye have sheep, and goats, and horses, and even that dreadful chicken ye insist on training to walk beside ye like a hound. But there was one creature missing from yer little kingdom, and the moment I saw yer loch, I kent exactly what it needed.”

“Elspeth.”

“Ye’ll love it. I promise ye.”

Duncan, standing just behind Magnus’s shoulder, made a small sound that might have been a cough.

“Elspeth,” Magnus said again, with rather more care this time. “What precisely is in the basket?”

She didn’t answer. She lifted the lid instead.

Two enormous white swans emerged with considerable enthusiasm, honking loudly, wings half spread, waddling directly toward him.

Magnus went very still.

“They’ll look beautiful on yer loch,” Elspeth said, beaming, unaware that the color had drained from his face by several full shades. “I thought of it the moment I saw the water. It seemed a shame for it to sit empty of anythin’ so fine, and swans are meant to be terribly loyal creatures. They mate for life, ye ken, which struck me as rather fitting for⁠—”

“Elspeth.”

“—a handfasting gift, and I thought⁠—”

“Elspeth.” His voice had gone tight enough that she finally stopped.

“What?”

“Naught.” His jaw worked once. “They’re fine creatures.”

One of the swans, apparently unconvinced by his assessment, extended its neck toward him and hissed, low and vicious, wings lifting slightly from its sides.

Magnus took a step back.

“Magnus?” Elspeth’s smile faltered, noting something in his expression she couldn’t quite place. “Do ye nae like them?”

“They’re fine creatures,” he said again, as though repetition might convince either of them.

“Ye’ve said that twice now, and ye’re currently retreating from one of them.”

“I am nae retreating. I am…” The second swan hissed louder, mantling its wings out to twice its previous width, and advanced on him. “Repositionin’.”