Page 9

9: A PLEASURE TO MAKE YER ACQUAINTANCE

LIKE TWO HINDS cornered by hunters, the twins stared back at the lyrist.

An instant later, Morag dove for the steps.

Panic kicked in Alba’s chest as the minstrel lurched in her direction and made a grab for her.

Reeling backward, Alba narrowly avoided the man’s grasping hand before she half-stumbled, half-fell down the wooden stairs.

Curse Morag, she was nowhere to be seen.

Her sister had fled without a thought for her twin.

Breathing hard now, Alba reached the foot of the stairs.

She slipped around the edge of the hall and through the servant’s entrance.

Outside, a full moon sailed high in the sky, illuminating the inner close where the light from the blazing torches hanging on brackets around the perimeter didn’t reach.

Hand placed upon her chest, as she willed her galloping heart to slow, Alba hurried toward the kitchens.

That was where her sister would have headed—and when she found her, she’d give her a piece of her mind.

Alba wouldn’t have abandoned Morag like that.

“Where are ye off to in such a hurry, Alba Fraser.”

A man’s voice, young and faintly amused, intruded then.

Alba skidded to a halt, looking wildly around.

An instant later, a well-built young man with sandy hair stepped out of the shadows.

Alba’s lips pursed, her panic subsiding.

“Rory Comyn,” she muttered.

“What the devil are ye doing sneaking up on folk?”

The man’s mouth quirked.

“Sorry if I startled ye … but I just saw yer sister race past and worried there was trouble.”

Placing her hands on her hips, Alba frowned.

It was a discomforting fact that Rory always knew who she was—even when she and Morag dressed identically.

Comyn, who’d been apprenticed to the blacksmith at Stirling Castle for a year now, folded heavily muscled arms over his chest. “Ye look all flustered, and yer cheeks have gone a bonnie shade of pink.” He then inclined his head, his smile widening.

“What were ye up to, lass?”

Heat flushed through Alba.

She barely knew the blacksmith’s apprentice and didn’t appreciate his teasing.

Trying to ignore her burning face, she drew herself up.

“None of yer business,” she snapped.

With that, she swept past Rory and stalked back to the kitchens.

“Apologies, but I need a breather,” Bonnie gasped.

The last of the jigs had ended, and the minstrels now struck up a slow, lilting tune.

It was time to bow out.

Her dance partner flashed her a grin.

“Ye don’t wish for a courtly dance?”

Bonnie’s belly fluttered at that smile, yet she wouldn’t be swayed.

Unlike the ladies surrounding her, she didn’t know the steps of the basse danse —trying to fumble through was too risky.

“Later perhaps,” she replied.

Bonnie had exchanged only a few words with this man, and she was careful to speak formally, not to let the rough vernacular used by the servants in this keep slip in.

Her partner dipped his head and held out an arm to her, indicating that he’d lead her from the floor.

Bonnie took it, keenly aware of the heat of his body, of the iron-hard strength of his arm against hers.

“I think we should introduce ourselves,” the man murmured as they reached the crowd looking on from the fringes of the great hall.

“I’m Iver Mackay, laird of Dun Ugadale … whom have I had the pleasure of dancing with?”

Bonnie met his dark-blue gaze, and for an instant, she longed to blurt out the truth.

I’m Bonnie Fraser, a chambermaid in this castle.

Fortunately, she had the wits not to do anything so idiotic.

Instead, she used the identity Ainslie had created for her.

“I’m Lady Adair Farquharson … of Braemar,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.

It was impossible to hold his eye while lying, and she hoped he’d merely think her shy.

Her pulse quickened then.

What if this laird knew the Farquharsons of Braemar?

If he did, she was in trouble.

“It’s a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Lady Adair,” he replied.

Bonnie glanced up to see Mackay smiling down at her.

There was no suspicion in his gaze, only appreciation.

She was safe.

“Pardon my ignorance,” she murmured then, “but I have no idea where Dun Ugadale is.”

His sensual mouth curved once more.

“It’s on the Kintyre peninsula … my stronghold is an ancient one that looks out to sea.”

Bonnie’s gaze widened.

“I thought the Mackays resided in the far north of the Highlands.”

“Most of my clan do, but the Mackays of Dun Ugadale have held lands in Argyll for the last hundred years.” There was pride in his voice, and Bonnie was intrigued.

It made her forget her nervousness and how out of place she was here.

Her world was narrow indeed, and this man was an opportunity to learn about another part of Scotland, somewhere far beyond the walls of Stirling Castle.

She was fascinated to discover more.

“Ye said yer stronghold is ancient,” she began hesitantly.

“Do ye know just how old it is?”

He shrugged.

“My grandfather told me that the people who dwelled here, long before the Norsemen started raiding, built a stone roundhouse to watch over the sea. It was a ruin when my great-grandfather was gifted the lands, but he repaired it, added on to it. Dun Ugadale is a blend of old and new now.”

“Dun Ugadale,” Bonnie murmured the name.

“Valley of the Owl.”

“Aye, although ye see more seabirds than owls these days,” Mackay replied.

“The land is bare and windswept.” He paused then, his expression softening.

“But it’s home.”

His tone turned wistful then, those midnight-blue eyes shadowing just a little.

“Ye would rather be there right now than here, wouldn’t ye?” she asked, forgetting herself for a moment.

His gaze widened at the directness of her question before he huffed a wry laugh.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only just then,” she admitted, suddenly shy.

Bonnie wasn’t sure what had come over her, only that there was something about Iver Mackay that made her feel comfortable, almost as if she’d known him forever.

What an irony that before meeting him properly this evening, she’d been unable to even look at him squarely.

Now that they’d shared a few words, her timidity had eased.

After all, she was in disguise.

She had to keep reminding herself that she was Adair Farquharson, not Bonnie Fraser.

“I was wishing I was back home,” he admitted then.

“The Mackay clan-chief asked me to attend these celebrations on his behalf … but I’m not overly comfortable at court these days.” He paused, his gaze fusing with hers.

“But that was before our paths crossed.” He favored her with a slow smile then, one that made Bonnie’s pulse stutter.

“For now, this eve has taken a turn for the better.”

Bonnie smiled back.

She was enjoying his flirtatious manner and being the object of admiration.

When she’d stepped into this hall, she hadn’t imagined for an instant that the man she’d admired from afar would ask her to dance, or that they’d be standing here on the edge of the hall talking afterward.

Around them, the dancing continued, but Bonnie barely noticed.

Mackay took two goblets of wine from a passing page boy and handed her one.

Bonnie was grateful, for she was thirsty after the dancing.

She lifted the goblet to her lips and took a couple of sips, aware that Mackay was watching her.

“And what of ye, Lady Adair,” he asked after a brief pause.

“Do ye enjoy these events?”

“Well, I’ve never attended a masquerade ball before,” she admitted, taking another sip of wine.

The warmth of it sliding down her throat and pooling in her belly helped to settle the nervousness that still fluttered there.

“Neither have I,” he replied.

“Although I hear it is a first for the Scottish court.”

“It really is something to behold.” She gave an awkward laugh then.

“I feel a little underdressed.”

“Aye, there are some spectacular costumes and masks,” he agreed, his gaze never straying from hers.

“Yet I prefer yers.” To her surprise, he reached up then, his fingertips tracing the detailing on the edges of her mask.

“Thistles remind me of home … there are clouds of them carpeting the hills behind Dun Ugadale in summer.”

They were standing close, so close that Bonnie inhaled the scent of him: he smelled of woodsmoke and leather, with a fresh hint of something like pine.

His nearness was heady, and Bonnie couldn’t help it: she sucked his scent deep into her lungs.

A man had never smelled so good.

“And yer gown is the color of heather,” he continued.

“It’s bonnie, indeed.”

Bonnie.

Heat flushed through her.

Bonnie’s name was a dying gift from her mother.

The tale went that Greer Fraser hadn’t survived long after birthing her daughter—yet even in her weak state, she’d managed to bestow a name upon her.

It was pretty, yet it wasn’t a fashionable one among the high-born.

She wondered then if he’d think it low-class.

“Aye, well … like I said, it’s a simple dress compared to some in here,” she murmured, taking another fortifying sip of wine.

In truth, she was starting to feel out of her depth.

She wasn’t used to flirting with men.

She’d fought off a number of wandering hands over the years, but most men weren’t interested in talking to her, let alone flattering her.

Mackay drank from his own goblet, his expression turning thoughtful.

“Are ye here with yer kin, Adair?”

Bonnie’s pulse quickened.

Lord, she and Ainslie hadn’t come up with a story about that.

She’d have to think on her feet.

“No,” she replied, favoring him with a tight smile.

“My father sent an escort with me.” She made a gesture.

“Our steward is somewhere in here, amongst the revelers.”

Mackay inclined his head.

“The laird didn’t accompany ye?”

Bonnie cleared her throat as nervousness assailed her.

“Aye, well … he’s keen for me to find a husband,” she replied, using the first excuse that came to mind.

“And thought I needed a little freedom to do so.”

To her surprise, a shadow passed over Iver Mackay’s gaze then.

It was like watching a cloud dim the sun for an instant.

Likewise, the fingers wrapped around his goblet of wine tightened, and his tall frame stiffened just a fraction.

Warmth flushed across Bonnie’s chest. Did he think she’d set her sights on him?

Mackay had been attentive and flirtatious, yet he clearly hadn’t attended these celebrations in search of a wife.

In fact, the very notion appeared to panic him.

“Fear not,” Bonnie said quickly.

“My father may be desperate to see me wed, but I couldn’t care less. I love living at Braemar too much to ever leave.”

She was surprised how easily the lie slid from her lips.

Mackay’s gaze widened just a fraction, the tension easing in his broad shoulders.

“Aye, well, it’s difficult to be uprooted from everything ye know,” he replied.

“Folk should leave well alone. There are plenty of us who don’t wish to be shackled to another.”

“Shackled?” Bonnie’s mouth curved.

Suddenly, the urge to challenge him a little, to know why he’d say something so cynical, rose within her.

“Is that how ye see marriage, Mackay?”