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Kathleen found it all incredibly refreshing. She’d almost forgotten the ease of country life, and how distant it was from the pressures of London’s competitive social milieu.
Encouragingly, she’d not heard anyone complain about the vandalism or robberies. That suggested the festivities were achieving their intended goal of reminding Dunlaggan that it was a close-knit community, united against any and all threats.
The only irritation for her was Captain Brown, holding court by the drinks table with a smattering of locals—no doubt expounding on his dreary land scheme. Kathleen would happily have seen him ejected from the party for acting like a pest, especially with Jeannie.
According to Sabrina, Brown had presented his archery prize to Jeannie after the tournament, making a show of it. The prizes for the games weren’t much, truth be told, wreaths made of bay leaves and heather, along with silk scarves in Chattan colors. Kathleen had fashioned the wreaths, and Hannah had whipped up the scarves from remnants of leftover drapery fabric.
Unfortunately, Jeannie had been rather dazzled by the captain’s gesture. If the dratted man kept it up, she might rethink Grant’s offer to thrash the man, or even take on the task herself.
She squeezed past a group of farmers who were complaining about the latest tax outrage from Westminster and finally made her way to Grant. With a shoulder still propped against the doorframe and whisky in hand, he quietly studied the room.
He smiled as she joined him. “How are the Mistresses Ferguson and Harrison? You seemed to be having quite the chew.”
“Were you spying on me, sir? I thought that was your brother’s job.”
“He’s turned the position over to me on a temporary basis. And speaking of the Dunlaggan ladies, any chatter about our little problem this afternoon?”
“None at all. You deflected any curiosity quite ably.”
He snorted. “You mean Angus and Hannah did. They performed their roles to perfection.”
“Yes, but it was your idea.”
Once they’d made the discovery that the punch had been spiked, it became necessary to dispose of it without raising suspicion. Grant had suggested that Hannah accuse Angus of adding too many lemons, thus making the punch too tart. The pair had thrown themselves into the charade by loudly exchanging insults. Much to the amusement of the villagers, Graeme had dramatically separated the faux combatants, while Grant had calmly picked up the punch bowl and carried it back to the kitchen.
“Your grandfather is a very convincing actor,” Kathleen said.
“No one is better at telling whoppers—or acting outraged at a moment’s notice—than our grandda. It’s quite a talent.”
“Yes, he’s a true original.”
Grant tilted his head, his gaze warm and slightly amused. “And so are you, lass.”
She crinkled her nose. “So I’ve been told.”
“Yes, but I meant it as a compliment. And speaking of compliments, you look very fetching in that gown.”
She dropped him a little curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir. According to the Dunlaggan ladies, I look like a princess.”
He settled his broad shoulders more comfortably against the doorframe. Kathleen couldn’t help thinking he looked like a handsome Highland prince in the dress kit of his clan. In a fine wool kilt in Kendrick plaid, topped by a tailored black coat, he was absolutely delicious.
“A fairy princess, I would say,” Grant said. “There’s something quite fey about you.”
“It’s the Irish, and I hopethatwas meant as a compliment, too.”
He smiled. “Kathleen, I could spend all night complimenting you.”
She had a sudden mental image of what spendingall nightwith Grant could possibly turn out to be.
“And I’ve noticed you’re quite fond of pink,” he added. “It’s a very flattering color, especially with that overskirt of Brussels lace.”
She choked on a laugh. “Mr. Kendrick, this will never do. Men are generally not thought to notice such things as the details of a lady’s dress.”
His gaze went positively smoky. “Lass, I noticeeverythingabout you.”
Kathleen resisted the temptation to snap open her fan and flap away at her suddenly overheated cheeks.
“Clearly not,” she managed to reply. “Because this gown isn’t pink.”
