Page 8 of Hope in the Highlands (Seduced in Scotland #1)

Hope swallowed hard as Graham neared. No man had ever looked at her the way he was watching her now, and though she couldn't explain why, her entire body felt hot. He wore a green and blue plaid, shirtsleeves, and a formal jacket, and Hope was convinced she had never seen a more handsome man.

Hope's eyes drifted down as his bare shins kicked out from beneath his tartan and she had to steel herself to keep from shivering. The crowd seemed to part as he moved, and she held her breath. Though she had seen plenty of kilt-wearing gentlemen that evening, the thought of touching Graham's muscular legs…

Oh no. Not touching. She could never do that.

“What?” she squawked as he halted before her.

“Excuse me?” His brow furrowed. “I didn't say anything.”

“Oh no, not you,” she said, shaking her head.

He smirked at her.

“Then who?”

She shook her head again.

“I'm sorry, I'm… I'm just a little overwhelmed by this soiree,” she said, surveying the ancient room. “It's very beautiful here.”

“Aye,” Graham agreed, glancing around. “This was my mother's childhood home.”

“She was the laird's daughter?”

“Aye, the chieftain of the Clan McTavish. It was once one of the largest clans in the highlands.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not for a long time,” he said, focusing back at her. “But McTavish kept his people as close as he could, and while others fell away, this one stayed. Diminished, but still strong.”

“And from what I understand, you help employ quite a few people from the clan, correct?” she remembered what Rose had told her at the market.

“Who told you that?”

“Rose.”

“Did she now?” He glanced around.

Hope followed his gaze, but she couldn't quite see over everyone's heads with the ease that he could. Instead, her eyes fastened on the tartan sash that he wore diagonally over his shoulder. “You're wearing a kilt.”

Graham gazed back at Hope, and one of his brows arched slowly.

“Aye.”

Heat crawled up Hope’s neck.

“I thought you didn't like kilts.”

“I ne'er said that. I said it was impractical to wear them year-round. I wear it when it's appropriate.”

“Like at balls?”

“Aye, and formal occasions.”

The green and blue was different from the MacKinnon plaid, and she frowned.

“I thought you were to wear your father's tartan?”

He nodded.

“That is the general rule.”

“But you wear the McTavish plaid. Not MacKinnon.” She gestured towards his sash. “You're supposed to be wearing red and green.”

His eyes narrowed as her hand drifted absentmindedly to the brooch at the center of her neckline.

“And how would you know about the MacKinnon plaid?”

She fumbled slightly with the brooch and gently popped the hidden latch on the side. The locket opened up in her hand, but she did not reveal its contents. Instead, she looked into his eyes and saw an ocean of emotions that she couldn’t decipher. It occurred to her that he might be offended by what she’d done. Perhaps it was poor etiquette to have a piece of his family's tartan into jewelry.

Hope snapped the locket back together, suddenly unsure. She didn't want to upset Graham, and she worried for a moment that he might try and take it from her. He would be well within his rights, she supposed, but she wouldn't let him.

Her hand dropped from the brooch.

“Oh, I made the mistake of asking a shopkeeper in the village about tartans and how they worked. He was very well informed,” she said. “Besides, the painting of your grandfather is rather, well, menacing. I'm afraid the MacKinnon plaid has been burned into my mind.”

His eyes lingered at the spot her hand had been, and there was a new emotion on his face that made Hope's cheek flush.

Just then Faith, Grace, and Rose appeared on either side of Hope. Faith handed Hope a glass of lemonade while Grace nodded along with the music, smiling. Rose wasn't smiling. Her attention seemed focused on a group of boisterous lads not too far away, listening to Jared McTavish speak.

“It's terribly exciting, isn't it?” Grace said as she watched. “I never dreamed we would be invited to a clan banquet. It's wonderful.”

“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” Graham said.

“It is rather interesting,” Faith said, sounding more apprehensive than enthusiastic. “I've never seen so many kilts in one place. It's a fascinating piece of fashion. Don't you think, Hope?”

“Faith,” Hope said under her breath as she took a sip of lemonade, praying silently that her sister would stop teasing her.

“Do you like kilts, Miss Sharpe?” Graham asked Faith.

Faith smirked.

“Well, not as much my sister here, but—”

“So, this is your uncle's home?” Hope interrupted quickly, taking a step forward, so that Faith was partially blocked from Graham's view. He raised his brows, but he didn't pursue the topic.

“Yes. It was built in the tenth century, originally. Actually, there's a bit of a romantic origins story. And considering how much you enjoy romance, I suppose I should tell you about it.”

Hope's cheeks warmed. He was teasing her, but not in a cruel manner. Rather, it was like he was inviting her to be in on the joke.

“How did you know Hope likes romantic stories?” Grace asked.

Graham shrugged.

“All women do, don’t they? Besides, I owe your sister a story,” he said and to Hope’s utter embarrassment and delight, he winked.

“Not all women,” Faith muttered, taking a sip of her beverage.

Faith had often proclaimed that romance was nothing more than fanciful fluff. Hope couldn’t understand why her sister was so determined never to fall in love.

“We would be very happy to hear your story, Mr. MacKinnon,” Hope said, elbowing Faith ever so gently.

“Yes please,” Grace added, coming forward.

Graham smirked at Grace's eagerness, and Hope’s heart fluttered. The stubble that the men wore on their faces this far north had seemed unkempt to her at first, but when standing in the middle of a Scottish stronghold, surrounded by men and women dressed in traditional Scottish wears, it seemed charming, in a rough sort of way.

As he began to tell his story, Hope relished the chance to stare at him, noting the gentle creases at the corner of his green eyes. His nose was average in size, and his hair had been combed back to reveal a slight widow's peak. It fell to the side of his head in a decidedly roguish fashion. His mouth was full and Hope had to fight to ignore the way her stomach seemed to flip when he spoke.

“Legend tells of a lass who fell in love with a man deep in these woods, long ago,” Graham, said. “The man loved the lass very much, but he had been captured by the fae people and the fae queen would not let him free.”

“Fae?” Grace repeated. “Like little people?”

“Aye,” Graham said, as a few others overheard his story and came to stand with them. “The fae are a mischievous and tricky bunch.”

“Excuse me,” Faith said. “I think you mean to say they're supposed to be a mischievous and tricky bunch.”

His brow creased.

“No, I mean they are .”

“Mr. MacKinnon, you cannot expect us to believe that you believe in fairy creatures.”

Everybody that had been listening to Graham's tale craned their necks to stare at the middle Sharpe sister. She blinked back at them, utterly confused by their reaction.

“Faith, it isn't polite to interrupt,” Hope said hastily, hoping to avoid offending anyone. Though fairy tales were commonly believed to be fiction, it wasn’t unheard of for country folk to believe in the old stories, especially those that had been passed down from generation to generation. It wasn’t courteous to disregard their beliefs, even if she didn’t share them, herself. “Please, Mr. MacKinnon, continue.”

“Well, this man who had been captured by the fae queen needed to be rescued.”

“Aye, and only a bonny lass could do it,” said a handsome, stout man with copper-colored hair. He looked rather similar to the McTavish men. “Tam Lin!”

“Tam Lin!” others said, smiling and nodding at the mention of a beloved folk heroine.

“Who is Tam Lin?” Hope asked.

“Tam Lin was the brave lass who outsmarted the fae queen and won her true love's freedom,” Jared said as he elbowed his way into the group.

“You mean a woman was the rescuer?” Grace asked, bobbing slightly up and down on her heels. “That's brilliant.”

“Och, who is this smart lass?” a woman with fiery red hair asked, coming up.

“Grace Sharpe,” Grace said with a quick curtsy. “And these are my sisters, Hope and Faith.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I'm Mrs. Jeanne Carlyle,” she said. “So, you lot are living in Lismore Hall?”

“Yes,” Grace replied.

Hope watched Jeanne's gaze land on Graham and she could have sworn a tension was growing in him.

“Well, go on, Graham,” Jeanne said after a stilted pause. “Finish the story.”

“Is there more?” Hope asked him. “What else is there to say other than that Tam Lin saved her love?”

“Aye, she did,” he said slowly, tearing his eyes away from Jeanne to focus on Hope. “But it was how she did it that makes the tale truly grand. See, the fae queen insisted that Tam Lin wasn't strong of heart and couldn't manage her tasks. She told Tam Lin that if she could hold onto her love, she would set them free. Then the queen used her magic to change the man's form.

“He turned into all manners of beasts, but he warned Tam Lin that no matter his form, he would do her no harm and she was to hold on tight. He also warned her that when he changed into a burning coal, she was to toss him into a stream and he would appear.”

“Naked,” an older woman said saucily, causing everyone to laugh.

“Aye, naked,” Graham said, smiling, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “And Tam Lin was to hide him from the fae. Well, she did, and though the fae queen was furious at her loss, she accepted defeat and they lived happily ever after.”

Several people cheered while some lifted their glasses in honor of Tam Lin.

“That was a delightful story,” Grace said with a clap.

“But how does it relate to this stronghold?” Hope asked.

“Well, Tam Lin and her beau decided to leave the enchanted forest where the fae lived. They travelled far and wide until they came upon the mouth of the river. They followed it up into the highlands and came to a grove in the pines where a red calf grazed. Taking it as a sign, they built their own home and a stable for their calf. The rocks they pulled from the earth were all red sandstone, which,” he said, stretching his hand out towards the closest wall, “is the very stone that made this stronghold.”

A slow smile pulled at the corner of Hope's mouth. What an enchanting man , she thought as everyone clapped.

“That really was a wonderful story,” Hope said, taking a step towards Graham. “Thank you for sharing it.”

He stared at her for a moment and was just about to speak when Jared spoke, his eyes on Hope.

“It’s grand to have you and your sisters at Elk Manor, Miss Sharpe,” Jared said with a deep bow. “May I introduce you to the rest of my family?”

“Yes, please,” Hope said.

“You already know cousin Graham,” he said before he pivoted towards the red-heady woman. “This is my sister Jeanne, and those two,” he nodded his head towards two identical copper-haired men. “are Michael and Jamie.” Jeanne smiled and the other two grinned. “This is Miss Hope Sharpe and her sisters, Miss Faith and Miss Grace Sharpe.”

Hope's cheeks warmed. She was glad to make everyone’s acquaintance, but the scowl that appeared on Graham's face made her curious. Why did he look so cantankerous?

Just then, two sharp whacks caught everyone's attention. The group that had been listening to Graham’s story spun around and saw Belle waving her cane from several yards away. Apparently, the noise had been her banging it on the floor to get everyone’s attention. She pointed it at Graham. Though he appeared peeved to be summoned so, he took a deep breath.

“If you'll excuse me,” he said to everyone as he left.

“Of course.”

When he was out of earshot, Jared spoke.

“It amazes me that he lets the old bat order him around,” he said as he leaned closer to Hope.

Her smile faltered, displeased with the moniker he had used for Belle. She was about to defend her aunt when Rose spoke up. Hope had nearly forgotten she was with them.

“You'll watch your tongue regarding Lady Belle, Jared McTavish,” Rose said, a slight tremor to her voice. Her cheeks were bright red and while her words were loud and clear, she couldn't quite seem to face Jared as she spoke. “She's a right decent woman and you’ve no business calling her such names.”

Jared stared at Rose, giving her his full attention for the first time that evening.

“Aye, Miss Rose, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he tried. “Lady Belle wouldn’t be offended if she’d heard me, I promise. I call her much worse to her face during her visits when she insists on play cards with me and the lads.”

“She plays cards with you, Mr. McTavish?” Hope asked.

“Aye, sometimes. She’s a shark, that one, and I’ve told her as much.” He winked. “She’s not your average sort of lady, you know.”

“Yes, I do know that,” Hope said, making yet another personal note about her aunt. Rose however didn’t seem pleased with Jared’s explanation.

“Call her anything you’d like, but not behind her back,” Rose said stiffly.

“Don’t be angry,” Jared continued. “I only meant that say that she’s too heavy handed with ordering Graham about.”

“Are they not friends?” Hope asked. “From what Belle says, I was under the impression that she and Mr. MacKinnon have a very close friendship.”

“They are, but he gives that woman too much rein.” Jared said. “It's not healthy for a man to take orders from a woman.”

Hope tilted her head. That sounded like exactly what a man would think.

“Is that so? And I suppose your wife agrees with such sentiment?”

“I'm not married.”

“Nor will you be with that attitude,” she countered, much to the glee and giggles of the others who had overheard. Everyone except Rose.

“I've never known such intelligent Englishwomen,” Jeanne said, smiling widely. Her green eyes sparkled with delight. “Tell me, were you all this entertaining in London?”

Though none of the Sharpes moved, Hope knew each of her sisters had the same false smile plastered on their faces.

“London was a dreadful bore compared to this,” Faith said. “But we did not receive dance cards. How do we know when a gentleman wishes to dance?”

“Like this,” said the redhead Jamie, who dragged a protesting Faith onto the dance floor.

Grace squealed as Michael seized her hand, and before she knew it, Hope was being tapped on the shoulder by a smiling Jared.

“May I have this dance? So that you might teach me more of your radical ways that I might find a proper lass?”

Hope laughed and took his hand. “Absolutely.”