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"I'm nae making a face." In fact, she was trying not to make a face, though it was the least their hosts deserved for embarrassing her so terribly.
"Yes, ye are,'' chirped Fenella in a playful voice. Her sister's upbeat attitude aggravated her – she knew Fenella meant well but for a fraction of a moment she imagined poking a finger in her eye.
Lorna's jaw clenched. Ma and Fenella's intentions were pure, she knew that, but they had never been scorned by the man who was supposed to look after and care for them for the rest of her life. She had given up her home and freedom for him! They'd never had to sit through a meal that was delicious but melted to ash on their tongues, waiting for a man they knew would never arrive. They couldn't comprehend.
They meant well, but she saw no reason to ignore such a slight.
"Mine future husband has refused tae show his face tae me. He has slighted me, from the moment o’ my arrival. So forgive me, dear maither, dear sister, if this so blatant misbehavior on his part does nae warm my heart!"
She hadn't meant to raise her voice and barely had but Lady MacLean turned to her all the same. Clearing her throat, she locked gazes with Lorna. "I apologize,'' she said quietly.
She did not want this woman’s apology. She did not want her to apologize for her son’s disregard because she did not want to suffer nor acknowledge such disregard in the first place.
Beside his wife, Laird MacLean dabbed his forehead with his napkin where sweat had gathered in drooping beads. He was a frail old man but he had the large shoulders of a laird who had once been mighty. He reminded Lorna of her own Pa, somehow.
A young woman about Lorna’s age was seated far across from her, with lush blond curls and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. She cleared her throat, calling for Lorna's attention. "Lorna, is it?"
Lorna nodded and set her glass aside.
"So what do ye like tae do, Lorna?"
Ride, hunt, read and discuss books with my sister, Lorna was about to answer. Then, as if her mother could already hear the scandalous answer frothing on her lips, she shot her a warning glance, and Lorna changed her mind. It hardly mattered. The young lady had a sly look about her, as if her question were a trap.
Stretching her lips in a placid smile. "I like tae sew, and play the pianoforte." She settled into a pause, and then, "I like tae paint, too." Indeed, all of those things she enjoyed doing but none as much as riding, and notching an arrow in her bow before loosing a shot, and talking about books with her sister, but a bow was thought unbecoming for a lady and a woman who read too many books was thought worldly, and heady.
"How lovely," said the young woman; dabbing elegantly at a crumb on the corner of her lip. "All o' them interesting things that I'm sure Arran would have loved tae hear." She angled her neck this way and that, as if Arran might be hiding behind a chair somewhere and she was looking for him, as if everyone was not already painfully aware of his swelling absence, especially Lorna. "Only, he's nae here, is he?" added the lady with the lush curls. "What a shame. Do you nae think?"
She parted her lips to speak but Ma gently, subtly too, jabbed her in the rib with her elbow.
Lorna bit back her words and forced a graceful smile.
"His brither too," said the pretty young woman. "I wonder at it," she said, playing up the theatrics.
Lorna blinked her bemusement away. What had gone wrong? Had she somehow offended this lovely wisp of a woman? Lorna could tell she had something against herbut couldn't tell what it was.
"Esme, are those the earrings Laird Talbot gifted tae ye on his last visit?" said Lady MacLean to the young woman and she smiled softly.
She was attempting to change the subject in order to get Lorna out of an embarrassing situation and while sheappreciated Lady MacLean's wit, she did not want her or anyone else to come to her aid. She didn't want Esme to think she'd gotten under her skin or that she needed her protection.
She was not little lass. If being the first child of the MacKenzie laird had given her one power, it was the ability to hold her own.
She was capable of handling herself.
"Why indeed it is," answered Esme, and the noblewomen gathered around the table oohed and aahed as she angled her neck for them to catch a better look. Her sapphire earrings glimmered in the candlelight and she beamed. There were few finer sights than stunning jewelry on a stunning woman, or so Lorna had been told.
Despite her desire not to appear as the damsel in distress, shewas grateful for the respite provided by Esme's display of beauty.
She scoopedsome soup into her spoon, willing herselfto eat. No matter how upset she was, she couldn't sleep on an empty stomach. Fenella smiled down at her, a glint of reassurance in her eyes.
"It’ll all be fine," she cooed.
"I know it will," Lorna muttered, squeezing her sister's hand back. Somehow, she believed her words. At the very least, she wanted them to be true.
Lorna could never quite summon an appetite whenever she was upset but she tried her best to eat a sizeable chunk of her meal. She heaved a nearly audible sigh of relief when the Laird and Lady called it a night; pushing their chairs back, hugging and kissing one another and their guests before bidding each other goodnight.
Lying in bed that night, staring up at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, Lorna's father's words rang in her ears until she fell asleep.
I know ye. And I trust that ye will allow wisdom, patience, and understanding to lead the way, unlike me.
