Chapter 5

Ailis openedthe door to the drawing room to find her father, her sisters, and a discreet maid or two hovering nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop. She offered her hand to Laird Muir—Duncan, she must remember to call him by his name—and moved to stand before her father.

Duncan spoke, "Laird Clyde, after meetin' and speakin' to yer daughter in person, I find her to be a truly admirable lass, and everythin' I would wish to have in a wife."

He bowed slightly. "Therefore, with yer blessin', I'd like to ask for her hand in marriage. The contract can be drafted today, after which ‘tis me intention to return to me clan with her so that she may get to ken the lands and the folk there. Then, in one month, we'll join our clans in matrimony."

"Ye have me blessin', of course." Her father was all smiles, and Ailis wanted to do something impolite, like kick him. Or perhaps kick her new betrothed.

Curse the man for being so perceptive, and so blunt and straightforward. With another man, she might have thought he was bluffing about revealing her game, but with Duncan, she knew he was being absolutely honest.

Worse still, she found herself attracted to his brusque manner. She was afraid his good looks and alluring presence had muddled her good sense. She was also slightly afraid that, despite everything she'd ever believed about herself, she actually did like the way he spoke to her—blunt honesty and borderline rudeness included.

I used to think Maisie and Leona were crazy, the way they talked about their husbands and how enthrallin' they found such barbaric, almost crude behavior. God help me, but I'll never live it down if they were right!

The thought made her want to pinch herself, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing his presence flustered her so.

She forced herself to smile and keep her hands where they were. "Ye ken, Faither, that since Duncan surprised us, I didnae have time to pack for me journey. I need to gather at least the basic things I'll need for the month, and then me betrothed can arrange for the rest of me belongings and me dowry to be sent in before or directly after the weddin'."

"Of course." Her father waved a distracted hand in her direction. "Laird Muir and I need to write out the terms of the marriage contract and the alliance that will be forged between us. I'll let ye pack, and yer sisters can speak to the servants about arrangin' the betrothal feast."

Ailis frowned slightly. Her sisters were both competent young ladies, but they were also not used to such things. As the eldest, organizing feasts and celebrations, and figuring out how to work within their means, had generally fallen to her.

On the other hand, her sisters were staring at her hopefully, and they would have to learn sometime, especially given her impending departure.

"Just so long as ye lasses bring me a list of yer ideas and what ye have planned for me, to make sure everythin' is as it should be."

Freya nodded, and Grace smiled gleefully. With barely a curtsy, the two girls turned on their heels and scampered toward the kitchens.

Ailis managed to offer her father and her new betrothed a smile and a nod, then retreated to her rooms, thinking furiously.

She couldn't let Duncan tell her father the truth about her letters. But she also couldn't stomach being trapped forever in a marriage that held no more meaning than the alliance that came with it. She might have been all right if he'd seemed the stoic sort who simply didn't care much for romance—the type of man who could slowly be coaxed into falling in love.

Unfortunately, his vehement response to her declaration made it clear that he was not only disinterested but actively despised such things. She wondered why, then dismissed the matter as something she might discover later. She had a month to learn.

Then she shook her head again. She was only going to set herself up for heartbreak if she went with him, assuming she could simply "melt his icy facade and frozen heart," the way women in her novels did. She needed to have a way to escape the marriage entirely if he was as adamantly against loving a woman as he seemed.

"I cannae break faith with him unless he decides he'd rather nae have me."

Her words to Laird MacMicking came back to her, and a smile tugged at her lips.

That's the answer. He's never kenned aught about me but the letters I sent him, and so long as I'm nae behavin' too outrageously—at least while I'm home—anythin' I do can be explained as nervous vapors. I'm free to be as difficult or as careless as I please, so long as it's nae enough for Faither to recognize it as a ploy. Surely, as indifferent as he is, it willnae take much to convince him that I'm nae the sort of lass he wants to marry. And if that fails, I might be able to convince his clan and kinfolk that I'm nae the sort they want to see married to their Laird.

It was a good plan. A man could only take so many bad habits—dropping cups on his lap, accidentally elbowing him in the sides, or stepping on his feet before he grew tired of it. And his kin would take only so many displays of clumsiness before suggesting he find someone more refined.

Ailis went about the task of finding her traveling bags and deciding what she wanted to bring with her. However, as she packed and plotted, she couldn't help but feel a faint sense of regret.

Duncan was a handsome man, and that voice of his was everything she'd ever imagined when her stories described a man as having a "deep, dark, smoky voice like rough velvet." In fact, it was better because writing had never caught all the nuances and inflections of such a voice.

His voice, combined with the deep blue of his eyes, his looks, and his stoic, brooding expression made her feel like she'd swallowed butterflies. She had an urge to run her fingers through his hair to feel the softness and see if she could discern all the colors in his dark locks.

She wanted to run her hands over his muscles, to see if they were as firm as she had imagined. The very thought made her blush in mortification, especially given the circumstances, but it was the truth. She'd spent a long time reading romance novels, and never getting to live one.

Now she had a man who could have stepped out of the pages of a romance, claiming her as his wife, and she couldn't help but think of what it would be like to experience all the aspects of those tales. The romantic aspects, at least.

He was also offering her the freedom she'd barely even allowed herself to dream of having. A chance to be her own woman, with no demands on her time or her behavior. By his words, he'd not care if she ran about the woods, wild as a woodland fairy, and danced in the moonlight like a village maid seeking a paramour under the stars.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? He'd not care. And for all she didn't want a husband who'd treat her like property or a witless fool, she did want one who would at least offer her those experiences she'd been dreaming about. Who would care what she did, even if he didn't demand control over it?

If I have to choose between a life without love and a life with less freedom, then now I ken which one I'd choose.

A knock on her door pulled her out of her thoughts.

At her call, Freya came in, her eyes bright with concern. "Grace is plannin' the feast, but I wanted to check on ye. Everything's happenin' so fast, and tomorrow ye'll be leavin' us." She came closer, her eyes searching her face for reassurance. "I ken how much ye've insisted on havin' a love marriage, but ye've only communicated with letters. Are ye sure of what ye're doin', Ailis?"

Ailis hugged her sister. "I cannae say I'm nae nervous, but I do have a plan. I ken what I'm doin', Freya darlin', so dinnae fret on me behalf too much, even if me nerves get the better of me every now and then."

Freya smiled, and Ailis felt her resolve strengthen. One way or another, she'd find a way to return to those who loved her.

Then she leaned back and regarded her sister. "And what sort of plans have ye and Grace made?"

Freya smiled, genuinely happy to be able to help. "Well, since we cannae have a regular betrothal feast—we dinnae have near enough time to invite all the important people in the Highlands—Grace and I decided to suggest a cèilidh. Faither approved, so we've called in the musicians and the clanfolk in the nearby villages, and Grace thinks most of them will come, since it's such a big event."

"She's likely to be right about that."

Cèilidhs were infrequent, reserved for major seasonal festivals and coming-of-age milestones within Clan Clyde. They were always well-attended. Ailis was willing to bet this one would be even more crowded than usual, given the curiosity of the local clanfolk.

Anyone who could find a clean set of decent clothes to wear was likely to come, unless they had pressing business at home. It was a perfect excuse for her "nerves."

We'll also be required to dance, at least a couple's reel. And I imagine even a stoic like Laird Muir can only take so much of havin' his toes squashed and his shins accidentally bruised…

* * *

The lass—Ailis, he supposed he'd better begin calling her, even in his mind—was planning something. He might not know her too well as of yet, but he'd had plenty of experience with that wide-eyed, too-bright, nervous smile.

He also knew the difference between true nerves and mischief. This, for all she tried to disguise it behind a guileless expression, was the latter.

Which was why he wasn't too surprised when, as she joined him at the table for the feast, she managed to "accidentally" knock a cup of water into his lap.

"Och, me apologies! I'm nae usually so clumsy…"

"Dinnae fret. It will dry." He dabbed the water with a cloth offered to him by one of the servants. Then, just to get a reaction, he muttered in a low voice that only she could hear, "Besides that, Me Lady, I cannae deny that it is effective in coolin' the blood—something I've sorely needed since I saw ye in person."

The statement had the benefit of both being true and making her flush with honest embarrassment. He didn't miss the way her gaze roamed over his frame either.

It was clear that he wasn't the only one affected. That made him feel more cheerful and more tolerant of the discomfort that came with being surrounded by more people than he was used to.

It had been a long time since he'd stepped outside the borders of his lands, and there were few folk in his home that he didn't know well. Being surrounded by people who were strangers made him feel uneasy.

Being able to tease his new betrothed was also a new experience, but one that took his mind off the stress of his situation. It was an amusement he'd not expected to find.

It was soon clear that her spilling the cup was only her first attempt to put him off the idea of marrying her. Over the course of the feast, she made at least two more attempts that might have offended another man.

She positively gulped her drink, both wine and water alike. "Apologies, Me Laird… I dinnae ken why I'm so thirsty, but me mouth is dry, and it makes talkin' difficult."

Duncan smirked to himself and somberly refilled her glass and his. "Och, I understand, lass. I ken exactly what ye're feelin'."

When the soup came around, she nearly managed to spill it on both of them. He forestalled that by taking the tureen from her, with a deliberate brush of his fingers against hers that made her blush and pull back.

"Mayhap ‘tis best if I handle the dishes with any sauces, to make it easier for the both of us. Wouldnae want ye to burn yerself. Nor me."

When the fish came around, she asked for a second portion—an unladylike indulgence. He served her with a nod and a whispered "I like a lass with a healthy appetite, ye ken."

She did manage to spill on him the bread sauce from the roasted stuffed birds that followed the first course, and she acted as if she was going to hoard the neeps and taters. She also made sure to breathe into his face when she passed them over.

He was aware that she was plotting something. Then he overheard her red-haired sister make a comment to her twin and father about her being "nervous" and "so shy." It was followed by a consoling statement involving "their first meeting" that made their father nod and sit back with a satisfied expression.

Duncan turned politely to Laird Clyde. "Is there somethin' wrong?"

"Och, nae at all. I was concerned that there was somethin' wrong with Ailis, the way she's behavin'." Laird Clyde waved the matter away with one slightly pudgy hand. "But then Freya reminded me that Ailis has always been a shy and quiet lass, and she's likely just actin' out of nerves." He gave him an apologetic smile. "She's usually a fairly quiet and gentle lass, but she hasnae spent much time around men. I'm certain she'll relax around ye soon enough if ye give her a chance."

Like as not, Laird Clyde was concerned about his daughter and their fragile new alliance.

Duncan moved to reassure him. "Nay worries. ‘Tis only fair, seein' as I gave her nay warnin'. I'll nae hold any nerves against her."

Though I doubt she's as sweet-tempered as ye seem to believe, Laird Clyde. She certainly spoke her mind earlier.

But he didn't want to say that, so he changed the topic. "Ye said Freya? That's the name of yer red-haired lass? Is she yer daughter as well?"

"Aye. Ailis, Freya, and Grace." Laird Clyde nodded, his eyes sparkling with fatherly pride. "Ailis is me oldest, ye ken, but her sisters are the same age—both seventeen winters."

"Twins. A rare gift."

"Aye. When they were babes, Ailis could always tell them apart, but I couldnae. Thank the fates, they've changed as they've grown older." He chuckled. "Truth to be told, I didnae ken until Grace was old enough to walk and talk just how lucky I am that Ailis and Freya are more even-tempered."

Duncan wasn't sure if that was the way Laird Clyde would describe his eldest if he saw the letters she had sent. Or the way she'd argued with him.

"Grace is a wild one, then?"

Lily was sometimes wild in her ways, though young enough that it was practically expected. Still, it was something of a relief to know that someone else had raised a scapegrace of a girl-child, and the lass seemed to have grown into a bonny young woman.

Not as bonny as her eldest sister, perhaps. But knowing what he did about Ailis, and knowing she'd grown up with at least one mischiefmaker in her home, served to confirm his suspicions about her actions.

It was a game. A test of his resolve, but also a challenge. He was more used to challenges of a combative or physical kind, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of handling himself in this situation.

More to the point, Lily had made his entire household immune to the potential irritation at messes, kidnapped food, and clumsy accidents.

With Lily, however, he would never even consider more than a slightly indulgent smile and a mild scolding. He certainly wouldn't lean over and whisper, "Yer sister seems to think ye're nervous around me. Is that so, little Ailis?" He took Ailis's hand and offered her the smallest of smirks before leaning close to her ear. "Ye dinnae need to be nervous, love. I know how to properly treat a lady."

Ailis gulped, and he sat back, pleased with her reaction. Then her eyes sparkled with mischief as she rose to the challenge. "Then ye understand why I'm so nervous, as this is our first meetin'. I'm afraid I dinnae ken how to act around a man other than me faither."

She bent close, her hand on his arm and her eyes wide open and shining with an innocence he didn't trust at all. "Ye must tell me, Me Laird, if I make ye uncomfortable, and how I might put ye more at ease. After all, if we're to be wed, I have much to learn."

Innocent words on the surface, but the low, breathy voice she used to address him and the way her hand lingered and slid softly over his arm were anything but. And the angle she'd chosen gave him an excellent view of her bosom.

He was suddenly very well aware of her attractive features and the warmth of her, so close to him. It sparked a long-forgotten heat in his blood and a definite stiffness below his belt.

It also gave him far too many ideas of how he could "teach" her about making him comfortable. And more than comfortable. Half of them were entirely inappropriate to be thinking of at a supper table with her family seated nearby.

None of them were thoughts he could afford to be having when he was determined that she would be his wife in name and nothing more.

He contented himself with patting her hand and giving her another of those looks that seemed to make her blush so often. "Dinnae fret, I'll teach ye everythin' ye need to know."

He drew his arm from beneath her hand and offered her more wine, then took a long sip of the mead in his own tankard. With an effort, he willed away the tightness in his loins.

She's nae the only one who can play a game of courtship. Ailis Anderson, ye're a bonny, intelligent lass, but ye've misjudged what sort of man I am—and I dinnae have any intention of correctin' yer error. ‘Tis far more amusin' to see how long ye'll try to bend me to yer will, and how ye'll react when ye realize it isnae goin' to happen.

* * *

Following the dinner, tables were moved, and the main part of the room was cleared for dancing. Duncan watched with the first sense of trepidation he'd had all evening.

Clan Muir didn't celebrate much. He tried to make the major holidays like Midwinter special for Lily, but they celebrated little else. And then it was more a matter of feasting and story-telling and extra desserts.

Sometimes, on long winter nights, the servants would gather to play instruments and sing, and sometimes there was a bit of informal dancing, but he hadn't attended a cèilidh in many years.

Nonetheless, when the musicians signaled for the first song, he stood up and offered his hand to Ailis. "Shall we dance, Me Lady?"

She blinked up at him with soft, doe-like eyes. "I… I like to dance. But I cannae say I'm very good at it."

"I'm a bit out of practice meself, but I'm thinkin' we can manage together." He bent closer and offered her a small, challenging grin. "We wouldnae disappoint the folk who've gathered here to celebrate with us."

She nodded and put her hand in his, and together they moved into place for the start of the dance. Duncan tried not to think too hard about the softness of her hand in his, or the gentle, yielding firmness of her frame as he drew her into the opening steps.

Then, as he'd half expected, she stepped on his foot. She promptly blushed at him with mortification that he wasn't sure was entirely feigned.

"Och, I'm sorry, Duncan. I'm just nae used to dancin' with someone so tall."

"'Tis all right. Ye'll be fine. Just relax and move with me." He almost bit his lip at his coaxing tone.

When had he become the sort of man who flirted so casually? What was the girl doing to him?

She stepped on his foot again. "Apologies. I'm fairly out of practice…"

"Ye dinnae dance often, then?" That surprised him.

For once, her face was clear of any guile as she replied, "I used to when I was younger. And I still dance sometimes, in the group reels. But since I came of age and Faither started pressuring me to wed, I've nae danced like this, save a very few times."

"Why nae?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. He found the gesture charming, whether she'd intended it that way or not. "Because if I did, it would be taken as a sign of interest by any unmarried laird or laird's son I danced with. And even if they didnae press it, me faither would. ‘Twas best to just refuse, unless I'm visitin' a friend and ‘tis a dance offered by her husband as a courtesy."

They separated for the next few measures, as the dance demanded, and Duncan watched her as she moved through the steps. She was graceful enough, and it was clear, as she moved through the ladies' steps with her sisters, that she enjoyed dancing. Her eyes sparkled, and her face was flushed with enjoyment, and perhaps slightly with wine.

The sight of her and the feel of her in his arms as they came together once again were as heady as a draught of mead. Her soft floral scent seemed to fill his lungs, and the heat of her lithe frame against his was nearly intoxicating.

Duncan swallowed hard and pushed the feeling away, determined not to allow himself to be entranced. He couldn't afford it.

When the dance came to an end, he bowed to her and then went to the table, after bidding her to stay on the dance floor if she wanted. Laird Clyde was there, talking to one of the older guests. Likely a village leader or someone of similar authority, judging by his grizzled hair and neat clothes.

He wasn't surprised to find Laird Clyde wasn't much for dancing. He was, however, surprised to find the red-haired lass, Freya, sitting alone. She was watching her sister with sad eyes.

On a whim, he moved to sit next to her. "Is this seat taken?"

She looked up at him and blushed, then looked away. "Nay."

He sat down. "Ye dinnae like dancin'?"

"Och, I like it fine, when it's just me and Ailis and Grace, and mayhap some of the other residents of the castle. But I'm far too shy to dance when there are so many people."

He took a chance to test one of his theories. "Is yer sister a good dancer, then?"

Brown eyes shot up to his. "Did she step on yer foot, Me Laird? She does that with new partners sometimes, but nae often. She's fairly graceful most of the time."

The girl's eyes turned wistful. "I'll miss her when she leaves with ye. She taught Grace and me how to dance. And how to sew, and how to read and write and do calculations for the kitchens and the stillroom. She always makes me copies of her books, especially the herbals and the pattern books."

He was a bit surprised to hear that Ailis would do so much. Such things were usually the duties of a mother or an aunt. He'd noted that there seemed to be no Lady Clyde, but it was clear that had been true for far longer than he'd supposed.

"Is she a good teacher?"

Freya's eyes lit up. "Aye. She's patient and gentle and makes it all good fun, even when Grace was bent on mischief more often than not."

"That's good to ken."

He couldn't imagine letting a stranger near his Lily, and Ailis was still that to him. But in a month, she'd be his wife, living in his castle. And soon, Lily would be old enough to start needing lessons of the kind he was ill-equipped to give her. He'd been increasingly worried about what would happen when she reached that age.

If Ailis was everything her sister said, then maybe, just maybe, Lily could have the life Daisy would have wanted her to have.

He smiled at the shy young lass beside him. "I ken ye'll miss yer sister, but I hope ye ken I'll nae prevent her from returning to visit ye. After we're wed, I'll make arrangements to let her come home as frequently as she likes."

The smile that lit up her face was worth the slight twisting in his gut at the idea of following through with that promise. But he'd given his word to Ailis that he'd not ask anything of her, and that certainly included keeping her away from her family.

He rose from the table, noting that the musicians were preparing for another song, and offered the lass his hand. "I may be betrothed to yer sister, but I'd be remiss as yer future braither-in-law if I didnae offer ye a dance."

Freya was no Ailis, and neither was Grace, with whom he danced the next group reel. They elicited none of the same heat in his blood that their sister did. The smile that graced Ailis's face, however, when she spotted him guiding her sisters through the steps of different dances, more than made up for it.