Page 2 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"I ken he's him," Maisie said, gathering sections of Alba's hair and beginning tae pin them. "That's why ye need tae talk tae him properly taenight. Otherwise ye're just goin' tae spend another six months thinkin’ about what ye should have said. Ye used tae play with him and tease him all the time when ye were a bairn."

"What am I supposed tae say? 'Good evenin', Lachlann MacNeil, I've been thinkin' about ye fer years, would ye like tae dance?'"

"That would be a start."

"I cannae say that!"

"Why nae?"

"Because he's…" Alba stopped, trying to find words for what Lachlann MacNeil was.

Tall. Quiet. Possessed of the kind of steady competence that made her feel slightly unsteady by comparison.

"He's nae the kind of man ye just walk up tae and say things like that tae."

"What kind of man is he, then?"

"The intimidatin' kind."

"He's one of yer braither's closest friends," Maisie pointed out. "He's nae intimidatin', he's just reserved."

"Reserved people are intimidatin' tae people who talk too much."

"Ye dinnae talk too much."

"I dae when I'm nervous," Alba said. "Remember when I met the Countess of Mar? I told her about our entire family history goin' back four generations and she hadnae even asked."

Maisie winced. "That was unfortunate."

"That was mortifyin'," Alba corrected. "And if I dae that tae Lachlann MacNeil, he's goin' tae spend the rest of the evenin' avoidin' me."

"So dinnae," Maisie said reasonably, working another section of hair into place. "Just be yerself. But the version of yerself that can complete a sentence without panic."

"That's a very narrow version."

Maisie paused in her work and met Alba's eyes in the mirror. "Me lady, if I may?"

"Of course."

"The gentleman ye're describin' sounds like a good man. A quiet man. And in me experience, quiet men appreciate women who can talk, because it means they dinnae have tae." She resumed pinning. "So if ye dae happen tae talk too much, it might nae be the disaster ye're imaginin’'."

Alba considered this. "Ye really think so?"

"I've been dressin' ye fer enough gatherings tae ken when ye're frettin' fer good reason and when ye're just frettin'," Maisie said. "This is just frettin'."

"But what if he's nae interested? What if he's just bein' polite every time we talk and he's actually just toleratin' me because I'm Calum's sister?"

"Then he's nae worth yer time," Orla said firmly. "But I dinnae think that's the case."

"How would ye ken?"

Maisie smiled slightly. "Because I saw the way he looked at ye at the last gatherin’ when ye were walkin' away. That wasnae tolerance. That was interest."

Alba's head whipped around so fast that several pins fell out. "What? When? Why didnae ye tell me?"

"I'm tellin' ye now," Orla said, retrieving the pins with a long-suffering sigh. "Turn back around before I lose all me progress."

Alba turned, but her heart was beating faster now. "What kind of look was it?"