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Now, all that had changed.
Janice, fresh and perfumed after her bath, donned a plain but elegant woolen dress in the same slate grey as her eyes. She looked at Kitty and raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“How do I look, Kitty?” she asked.
“Ye look lovely, mistress,” her maid answered, smiling. “An’ I am sure yer young gentleman will think sae too.”
Janice smiled. “I hope so. I have been waiting for him for a long time.”
20
“You look beautiful,” Bernard said appreciatively, his gaze wandering all over Janice as she entered the parlor again. “But then you always do, Mistress Stewart.”
He smiled at her, and Janice could feel herself melting, heat and moisture gathering between her legs, preparing her for something wonderful. She tried not to think of the magical evening on the turrets. But as soon as she looked at Bernard, the desire came rushing back stronger than ever.
“Thank you,” she answered, stepping toward him. “Perhaps ‘lovely’ is a little extreme. Better than I looked before, certainly.”
“You would look lovely dressed in a sack,” he assured her, grinning.
She gave him a playful slap on the arm. “Now, let us see my brother. I do not have to ask his permission, but it is a courtesy now that he is the laird. Then we can begin to make our plans.”
He chuckled. “Do you have any advice for me?” he asked. “I don’t want to say anything I should not.”
Janice looked up at the face that had come to mean everything to her and sighed in contentment.
“Just be yourself,” she advised him. “As you know, Alasdair is not what you could call fearsome, but I cannot guarantee that he will take kindly to our news. Yet I know that you can stand up to him without too much trouble.”
Bernard laughed and followed her into the laird’s study.
The new laird was sitting and reading a book when they entered and looked up in some surprise as he saw Bernard. His eyes widened, and he looked at his sister, a question in his eyes.
“Janice?” he asked. “Is this not Laird Ballantine’s man?”
“It is indeed, M’Laird,” Bernard answered, bowing. “Bernard Taggart at your service.” Then he grinned. Alasdair was not half as intimidating as his father.
He stood up, and Janice gave him a challenging look. “Don’t worry, Alasdair,” she said as she and Bernard sat down. She took a deep breath. “Remember when Da asked me to find a good man to marry?” she asked.
Her brother nodded. “I do,” he replied. He looked tense.
“Well, I have found one.” Janice smiled as she jerked a thumb at Bernard. “What do you think of my choice?”
Alasdair stared at Bernard in disbelief for a moment, but Bernard held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated.
“Who are your mother and father?” he asked at last.
“My father was Alec Taggart, a brave soldier who died when I was still a small child,” Bernard answered. “My mother is Moira Taggart, the cook at Benleith Castle.”
“And you are not related to William Ballantine at all?” Alasdair sounded mystified. “But you go everywhere together. I thought you were cousins or some such.”
Janice watched Bernard’s golden-brown eyes darken.
“We are boyhood friends, M’Laird,” he replied. “We have known each other since we were babies. We are not related, but we are brothers of a kind.”
“And what position do you hold in the household?” Janice’s brother asked, frowning.
“I am captain of the Guard, a position I earned by merit,” Bernard answered stoutly.
Alasdair looked at Janice, and she could see the anger in his eyes.
