Page 17 of Highland Fire

It had come as no surprise to him when the fair Fiona had intimated that she had been introduced to his cousin on the steps of the church after Sunday services.

It confirmed what David had told him. And if that were not enough to convince him he had the right girl, her obvious confusion in his presence had stilled every niggling doubt.

She could hardly bear to look him in the eye.

It was as though she were terrified that he was going to betray her to her mother.

He could well imagine the effect on Charlotte Randal if she ever discovered that her innocent young daughter went gallivanting about the countryside in the dead of night.

Having sisters of his own, Rand considered himself more sanguine.

Girls might be young. They might be virgins. But they were anything but innocent.

Thoughts of Fiona led inexorably to thoughts of her incorrigible cousin. Here, Rand felt on firmer ground. David and Caitlin Randal? The idea was preposterous. That shrewish miss was indubitably not the stuff of which a young man’s fancies were made.

As the recollection of the scene in that dusty, cluttered bookroom came back to him, Rand’s expression hardened.

No woman had ever spoken to him in such terms. From the time he was in short coats, females had pandered to him.

He was used to yielding looks and sweet words, as was fitting in the softer sex.

He told himself that she was an officious busybody who would be better served employing her talents, such as they were, in caring for a husband and a brood of children.

When he thought of the hapless gentleman who would one day find himself shackled to the fiery termagant, he could not help shuddering in sympathy.

He knew her type. She was a managing female who must see to the ordering of everyone’s life. Such a wife would not do for him.

His initial response to the girl, that rush of the senses, he now saw as an aberration, one of those odd tricks of nature which defied logic.

To be forewarned was to be forearmed. He’d be damned if he’d permit a dowd with no claim to distinction to run rings around him.

This hurly-burly slip of a girl with the air of a maiden aunt…

He gritted his teeth. Those damnable pictures were beginning to flicker behind his eyes again.

He could not understand the girl’s appeal unless it was because she was different.

There wasn’t an ounce of affectation in her.

Dammit to hell, there wasn’t an ounce of anything in her, neither beauty, nor address, nor breeding, nor style—nothing, in fact, to warrant any man’s interest, and he was considered a connoisseur!

At this point, a small twinge of conscience pricked the bubble of his anger.

The girl’s position in her grandfather’s household was extraordinary to say the least. The difference between Caitlin and Fiona was astounding when one considered that they were both Glenshiel’s granddaughters.

He had mentioned his perplexity in as inoffensive a manner as possible to Charlotte Randal.

Her response, an odd mixture of embarrassment and affront, had left him with as many questions as it had answered.

“Do not be running away with the idea that Caitlin is an unpaid drudge,” Charlotte had told him.

“That girl has too much pride for her own good, yes, and Glenshiel lets her get away with it. If she were my daughter…but that is neither here nor there. Suffice it to say that Caitlin does as she pleases, and there is no correcting her.”

He believed it. Still, deriding her as “the poor relation” was not well done of him.

He wasn’t sorry that he had taken her down a peg or two.

Far from it. She had brought it on herself.

But he regretted the manner of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed anger to master him.

It was one more annoyance to lay at Caitlin Randal’s door.

Caitlin’s reflections were no more comfortable than Rand’s.

From the moment her aunt had carried him off, her brain had teemed with a score of brilliant ripostes which would have cut the arrogant lord down to size.

She was still furiously perfecting them a good half-hour later when she heard his step in the hall as he departed.

Moments later, the door opened and Fiona slipped into the room.

The younger girl went on the attack immediately. “It was not very mannerly of you, Caitlin, to remain in here when we had company. Your place was in the parlor, taking tea with our guest. Lord Randal remarked upon it.”

After one comprehensive glance, Caitlin grinned. “That bad, hmm?”

Fiona flopped down on the opposite chair. “It was painful,” she agreed glumly. “Well, you know Mama. When she started extolling all my accomplishments, my many accomplishments, I wanted to crawl under the sofa. I almost did.”

“I don’t see why,” Caitlin began loyally, then changed tactics when she caught Fiona’s disbelieving look. “You are fated to be one of the beauties. Beauties don’t need accomplishments.”

“I thought you told me that beauty is as beauty does.”

“Brat!” There was so much affection behind the word, no offense was given or taken. “That was an entirely different conversation. At that time, we were discussing character. Both beauty and accomplishments are adornments. Character is what counts.”

“According to Daroch, I am deficient there too.”

Caitlin’s smile slipped a little. She was perfectly aware of her cousin’s crush on their dashing neighbor and could not like it.

As fond as Caitlin was of Daroch, she did not consider him an appropriate suitor for any girl, least of all her young cousin.

Fiona’s confidence was a fragile thing. When Daroch’s interest waned, as it was bound to do, Fiona would be crushed.

Her voice betrayed nothing of her misgivings. “What does Daroch have to say about your character?”

“My lack of character,” corrected Fiona. Her smile was overbright. “He says I am shallow and frivolous, with not a sensible thought in my head.”

“Well! If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what is!

Oh dear, that did not come out the way I meant it to.

You are not shallow. If anything, you take things too seriously.

And even if you were frivolous, which I don’t allow, what of it?

A girl who has not yet attained her eighteenth birthday has a right to be frivolous, and you may tell Daroch that I said so. ”

Fiona leaned her elbows on the table. Cupping her chin in both hands, she looked up at Caitlin with an arrested expression. “Were you ever frivolous, Caitlin? Somehow, I can’t quite see it.”

“What? Do you think I was born a confirmed spinster?”

A wicked light danced in Fiona’s eyes. “In a word, yes.”

“You are a horrid brat, and this time I mean it.” Caitlin couldn’t help chuckling.

Fiona was ignorant of the double life she led, and she had no wish to enlighten her.

Fiona looked up to her. Her opinions, her view of things carried weight with the younger girl.

Though Caitlin had yet to think through all the implications of her position, she knew that she did not want Fiona to follow her own path.

Coming to herself, she said, “I’ll have you know that in my salad days, my mother was wont to call me a flibbertigibbet and despaired of my ever keeping one sensible thought in my head.”

Fiona laughed. “Were you…were you happy as a child, Caitlin?”

“Sublimely happy. Does that surprise you?”

Fiona’s eyes dropped away. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean…that is, I had no right…”

Breaking into this convoluted apology, Caitlin said gently, “My mother was a remarkable woman, and don’t let anyone tell you differently.

If she was bitter, I never knew it. To me, she seemed always gay and vivacious, except of course when her temper got the better of her.

Then she was like a lioness. Strange to say, she never lost her temper with me, and I was thankful for it. ”

Though Fiona was silent, there was a question in her eyes, and Caitlin was moved to say, “As for my being a confirmed spinster, well now, my looks had something to say to that.”

“You are pretty too!” To Caitlin’s look of amused skepticism, Fiona returned hotly, “I am not the child you think I am. You don’t wish to get married, that’s what it is.

I know you have too much sense to be swayed by anything Mama might say.

Yet, there must be some reason for your antipathy to marriage, and I wish you would tell me what it is. ”

Fiona, Caitlin reflected, not for the first time, was sometimes too acute for comfort.

She had come pretty close to divining the truth.

Marriage had lost its allure since the day Caitlin had inadvertently overheard a conversation between some neighboring ladies who had come to offer their condolences on the death of her mother.

As though it were yesterday, she could hear the driving rain beating against the window panes. She had paused to compose herself before entering the front parlor. They were talking in hushed tones about her future, unaware that she was on the other side of the door.

Unlike Fiona, their confidence in Caitlin’s ability to attach some eligible gentleman was negligible.

It wasn’t so much that she was born out of wedlock.

What damned her chances in these ladies’ eyes was the fact that her father could be anyone—a rapist, a felon, a murderer, or worse.

Her bloodlines must always be called into question.

Only one thing could mitigate the blot of her birth.

Money. Glenshiel must be prepared to put down hard coin to secure a husband for his unfortunate granddaughter.

A shiver ran over her. She was too proud to accept a husband on those terms. Since she had no wish to debate the point with Fiona, nor to embark on a web of lies and half-truths, she said at length, “When you are older, I shall explain it to you.”

Fiona compressed her lips, then burst out indignantly, “That is just the sort of remark Mama would make.”

A laugh was startled out of Caitlin. Refusing to pursue this turn in the conversation, however, she said pointedly, “When I finish up here, why don’t we walk down to the ford? The air will do us both good.”

It seemed that Fiona would argue with her, but after a moment, she said meekly, “Fine. I shall see you later then.” She was at the door before a thought struck her. “Lord Randal mentioned his cousin, David. He seemed to think that David and I had struck up a friendship.”

“Oh?” Caitlin’s voice was carefully neutral. “And what did you tell him?”

Fiona made a face. “You know Mama. I hardly got a word in edgewise. She made it sound as though David and I were fast friends.”

Caitlin could well imagine that her aunt would seize on every little opening to advance Fiona’s chances with Lord Randal.

“I tried to correct Mama a time or two, but it was impossible. I…I hope you don’t mind?”

“Why should I mind?” Caitlin’s look was artless.

“I thought, that is, I wondered if Lord Randal had confused us, since I scarcely knew David Randal. I won’t question you, if you don’t wish to confide in me. I just thought you should know.” And with great dignity, Fiona swept from the room.