Page 39 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

"Explain to me why we're here," Isabella asked as she scanned the crowded dance floor. It looked as if everyone in the ton had come to the Baron's birthday. Yet, despite it being the occasion of the season, Isabella wished the whole thing was already over.

"We are here to enjoy the festivities," Isabella's aunt, Daphne said as she batted her fan vigorously, haughty eyes lingering near the fountain.

It was pathetic to watch her aunt fawning over the young Earl.

But then again, every eye was on him, even Isabella's, who was having trouble trying to figure out who in the Earl's cabinet thought it was a brilliant idea for the Earl to wear such a pompous wig.

What her aunt or anyone saw in the Earl went way over Isabella's head.

"Are you sure it's the festivities and not someone? And don't play coy. I can see the guilt creeping through that wretched smirk of yours," Isabella teased as her aunt pushed out her bosom and stood a bit straighter.

"I wasn't going to deny it," Daphne said as her smirk stretched to a smile. "It's not like I would even have a shot with such a young man."

"Has the Earl enchanted even you?" Isabella teased as she turned her back to the Earl to catch a glimpse of the evening stars. They seemed to sparkle brighter than any night she had seen before.

"Impossible to enchant me — I'm too old and far too round," Daphne said as the sound of her fan whipped through the air at such speeds, Isabella wondered how her aunt hadn't taken flight yet.

"Keep beating that fan as fast as you are, and you'll take right off with the birds," Isabella said as the sharp cackle from the garden below caught her ear. Peering through the shadows, Isabella's heart fluttered. Had she really heard something? Or was it merely the hour and she needed sleep?

Isabella craned her neck, leaning just a bit over the railing.

Straining her ears, she listened to the sounds of crickets and frogs between the long melancholic music.

How could anyone dance to such dreary music that made her cringe?

But it was her aunt's idea to drag her out of the house.

And for her favorite aunt, Isabella couldn't say no.

"I heard he's looking for a bride," Daphne whispered.

"Then maybe you should go and put your name in the hat," Isabella suggested playfully as she gave up listening for conversation below.

"That isn't funny," Daphne said despite the spark in her eye. "If I was younger, you bet I'd be right there with the rest of them. Say, why don't you go and welcome him here?"

"I don't think so," Isabella replied as a new melody filled the ballroom. The violins sang as the cello kept pace, and soon, Isabella found herself swaying to the delightful tune.

"Oh, let me live vicariously through you," she pleaded. "You and I both know if I went down there for a dance, the poor lad would have to grant it to me out of respect. But if you do it…"

"As fun as that sounds," Isabella answered as she tasted the bitterness of her sarcasm as it left her lips, "I think I'll pass. In fact, I think maybe the night has run its course. I'm tired, and I don't think that anything exciting is going to happen."

"But we can't go," Daphne objected as her attention shifted for a moment to the door. "The Baron has yet to cut his cake. And there's the matter of the presents. If we leave, we might miss out on something."

Isabella tucked her arm into her aunt's and pulled her to the railing of the balcony and out of view of the Earl. Pity filled her as she watched her aunt struggle to get back to her perch to spy on him.

"Aunt Daphne, please. I'm tired. This is the fourth party we've come to, and let us face it, no one wants to dance with me, let alone marry me. If that is why you brought me here, I told you, it's not in my cards. Father should just send me to a convent."

"Your father would never do that, and do you know why? Because he needs you to marry, and mark my words, child you will," Daphne explained. Her tone shifted to a more serious note as the lighthearted smile shifted to a scowl. "Now, stand tall, and look lively."

"Oh no," Isabella grumbled as she rolled her eyes. The Harpies of Yorkshire strolled through the crowd, making a beeline right for her. Isabella flexed her jaw, wishing she was downstairs or maybe in the garden — anywhere but on the balcony and certainly not so close to the Earl.

"Has he come?" Daphne asked, her voice pitched with excitement.

"Who?" Isabella asked as confusion riddled her face. Her aunt's sudden shift felt forced, but Isabella didn't have the time to explain the situation before Catherine, Josephine, and Margret meandered by, their gazes locked on her like wolves circling prey.

"Look who it is," Catherine said flashing a mischievous smirk. "Isabella. Oh my, well, you certainly picked the perfect color to be a wallflower. Or was it a specter you were hoping to emulate? It's no wonder the Earl hasn't spotted you; you're just so hard to find."

Isabella pursed her lips and glared at the three girls, practically pinning her to the balcony. She arched her eyebrow as she gave Catherine a once over.

"I'm sure you'd know all about being invisible," Isabella countered. "This is what? Your third season? Surely you have the record of most overlooked."

Catherine's jaw dropped, and her eyes widened as large as saucers. The rage burning in Catherine's gaze only made Isabella want to drive the knife deeper. If it weren't for her aunt standing next to her, she'd give Catherine a real piece of her mind.

"I was stuck in Italy last season if you must know," Catherine hissed as she stepped between Josephine and Margret as if they could back her up.

"I heard, and how is your cousin?" Isabella asked as she rubbed her belly insinuating the pregnancy that no one wanted to talk about. Catherine's cheeks flushed a deep rouge as heavy steps fell closer, thundering in Isabella's ears.

"Ladies, you seemed to have bloomed in the moonlight," the Earl said, his voice thick and seductive.

Isabella glanced to her aunt, trying to mask the disdain for the Earl and for even being at the party.

Yet, as much as she loved bucking the rules, Isabella graced the Earl with a proper, somber curtsy.

"Oh my," Daphne gasped as she fluttered her fan, trying to keep herself calm. "We are so pleased to see you here."

"Yes, well," the Earl answered as Isabella felt his direct gaze bore into her. It was as if he could read the script written on her heart. "I had to come and greet you all. Are you all well?"

"My lord," Catherine said through gritted teeth, "I was wondering if maybe you might have some time for me?"

Isabella watched the Earl's eyebrows arch for a moment as he reined in whatever dark thought was skipping through his mind. How Isabella wished she could read his mind. It would make the whole situation far easier to read.

"I think I might have a few dances in me for a young lady," the Earl said as his eyes shifted off Isabella and skipped over Josephine in her emerald dress and Margret, who seemed to be far too occupied with her pale orange skirt to notice the Earl right next to her.

"Perhaps you could be so kind as to humor me now?

" Catherine asked as Isabella watched her shamelessly throw herself at the Earl.

Rolling her eyes, Isabella wished she could leave already.

If it wasn't the harpies hounding her, it was her aunt's loaded glares that made her want to find someplace to hide.

"If that's what you wish," the Earl said as he flashed Isabella an apologetic smirk. "I do hope that we'll get a chance as well."

"She has two left feet," Catherine said, trying to curb the ire in her tone. "Surely you wouldn't want to waste your time with the likes of her."

"I think I can make my own judgment on the matter," the Earl answered, his tone sharp with authority and power.

There wasn't a girl in the room who wouldn't kill to be in Isabella's shoes.

Yet, as she watched the Earl stroll to the dance floor with Catherine, she couldn't help but think they looked like a cute couple.

"Did you see that?" Daphne gasped the second the Earl was out of earshot. "He was right there. Standing in that very spot. Oh, I do hope you get a chance to dance with him."

"And why wouldn't I?" Isabella asked as Josephine and Margret strolled off to watch Catherine and the Earl dance till morning. The thought made Isabella sick. To have Catherine rise so high would be like throwing pitch on an open fire.

"I'm going to go get something to drink," Daphne said, batting her fan as Isabella glanced about the room, wondering how many had seen the spectacle. To her luck, it didn't seem like anyone was paying any attention to her at all. Well, no one except the Scot standing at the staircase.

"Who is that?" Isabella asked as she grabbed her aunt by the shoulder, stopping her from leaving. Daphne froze.

"He's here."

"Wait, you know that man?" Isabella asked as panic set in the moment she realized his gaze was directly on her.

"Not exactly," Daphne mumbled as the brute of a man charged through the crowded dance floor, heading right for her.

With each step that drew him closer, Isabella's heart fluttered.

There was something menacing about the man.

It wasn't just the scars that riddled the left side of his face, making him look far more formidable than he was, but his green eyes bored into her as if they could drill out her deepest hidden secrets.

"Are ye Isabella Grant?" the man asked, his voice thick with the Scottish accent that grated on Isabella's nerves.

"And what if I am?" she answered as her aunt stepped away, leaving Isabella to stand before the wall of a man on her own.

"I thought as much, but where's the rest of ye?" he asked as he tilted his head and gave her a once over. "I was expectin' a bit more. Daenae all English have the heavy hips?"

Isabella's eyes widened with shock. Never in all her life had anyone talked to her in such a way. The fury flared through her like a wildfire.

"I beg your pardon," she growled as the man gave a shrug.

"If ye wish, but I daenae think ye can do much with it," he said as he pulled forth a piece of parchment and handed it to her. Isabella's chest tightened as she noticed the music had stopped and all attention had turned to her and the Scot who had crashed the Baron's party.

"Why are you even here? Don't you have some village to raid or something?" Isabella asked as she tucked the parchment under her arm, refusing to give it any attention.

"Can ye nae read? It's all in there," he urged with a nudge to the parchment Isabella had tucked away. "Oh, ye poor dear. I think I can help ye with that, if ye want of course."

"What are you going on about?" Isabella grumbled as she wished he'd find someone else to harass.

"Helpin' ye to read. If ye cannae, well, I can teach ye after we're married," he offered with a chipper smile that made every hair on the back of Isabella's neck to tingle.

"I know how to read," she snapped back.

"Oh, well, then that takes a load off my back. Then there seems to be nay reason to tarry; get yer things, and we'll be off," he urged as Isabella glanced at Daphne for some sort of answer. Daphne kept her head low and eyes off her.

"What is going on? I am not going anywhere with you.

Just who do you think you are by the way?

The king of a hill?" Isabella snapped as Daphne stepped closer, her eyes wide with fright.

The sting of Daphne's fan hitting Isabella's arm was more than worth it to Isabella.

Especially when she was faced down by a tall, broad shouldered, wiry brown haired Scot.

"Keep your voice down. There's already enough people watching," Daphne pleaded.

"You have some explaining to do," Isabella demanded. "Who is this man? Why is he here?"

"Oh, right," the man said and raked his fingers through his hair as he stood taller. "Aaron Wilson, Laird McNeil to some. I'm here due to the King's decree."

"What decree?" Isabella asked as Aaron glanced to the parchment under her arm.

"The one ye're holdin' that will tell ye, if ye ever get around to openin' it, that ye're to be me wife."