Page 19 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Bride

CHAPTER 19

After they returned from the waterfalls, Maisie reassured a very worried Jean that all was well and left the castle to walk about the gardens to clear her head.

She wandered through the orchard, amazed at how much had happened since her stumbling, panicked flight from the party just over a week ago.

This is where I first met James, she thought idly .

He was such an enigma.

She was still uncertain how he felt about her, despite all that they had shared. The fact that they had still not shared a bed ate at her, but she had to press on with her duties and trust that it would happen in good time.

Besides, the day they had spent together was a pleasant one, for the most part. His dominance at the waterfall had been arousing, as had his treatment of her. Coupled with their quiet discussion about the issues in his clan, she felt that he might be letting her through the walls he put up against the world.

She walked through the orchard and into the rose garden, surprised to see Lillian and Bram ahead of her. Bram seemed to be murmuring quietly to Lillian, almost scolding her—he did seem to have a fatherly way of admonishing the girl.

As soon as Bram saw her, he straightened, smiling and offering Maisie a shallow bow. Lillian turned and gave her a thin smile.

Bram left before she had a chance to reach them, and Maisie looked at Lillian in query, but the girl just smiled wanly up at her as though she did not have a care in the world.

“My apologies, m’lady,” Lillian said, her eyes skirting back to Bram as she continued. “I wished to speak with ye, but I wouldnae usually wander yer gardens unannounced. I ken this is yer castle.”

Maisie chose her words carefully. Only a few days before, Lillian had been an active rival for James’s hand, and there was something odd about her appearing like this. Maisie didn’t trust it.

“Ye came to see me?” she asked. “What can I dae for ye?”

Lillian’s eyes finally pulled away from the retreating figure of Bram as he disappeared into the castle.

“Is all well?” Maisie asked.

“Och, aye. I merely wish to apologize to ye, m’lady.”

“Ye can call me Maisie, Lillian, it’s all right.”

Lillian’s eyes were imploring now. “I wasnae very pleased about what happened at the contest, and I feel that reflected badly on me and me family.” She sniffed. “I dinnae resent it now. I ken why he chose ye. I wish it to be forgotten between us.”

Maisie hesitated, searching her eyes for any insincerity but Lillian seemed very earnest.

“How long have ye kent James?” Maisie asked. Lillian looked tired – almost harried.

“Ever since I was a girl,” Lillian said as they began to stroll through the gardens together. “We oft danced at gatherin’s and such together. I really thought he might pick me, but I’m glad he picked ye and not any of the other ladies.”

“And why is that?”

Lillian laughed. “Ye’re nae like the others. Ye seem to actually care for Laird MacLennan”

Maisie almost stopped in her tracks at those words. Lilian had seen her with James at the wedding but not at any other time.

What is she up to?

The thought crystalized in Maisie’s head, and she tensed, glancing at Lillian suspiciously. Something felt off.

“Look, I ken ye dinnae have much reason to trust me, seeing as I was yer rival for a short while,” Lillian said. “But our paths will cross regularly with me aunt and uncle on the staff of the castle. Me faither is often away and I only really have them as me family. I wished to clear the air between us.”

Maisie faltered. In truth, she would have liked an ally her own age, even a friend who she could speak with, invite to visit, confide in.

But not her . Despite Lillian’s sweet nature, concern coursed through her.

“Of course,” Maisie said, forcing a smile onto her face. “I ne’er would have held it against ye.”

And just like that, the doe-eyed look left Lillian’s eyes, and she was quite calm again. Maisie walked beside her for a little while as they both admired the roses and flowers. Something was hanging in the air between them, and it was not too long before Maisie discovered what it was.

“Excuse me boldness,” Lillian said, “but ye daenae have the look of a happy, blushing bride.”

There it is. She is seeking confirmation that James and I are nae happy.

“Why dae ye say that?” she asked evasively.

“Och, I didnae wish to speak out of turn, it’s just that I have noticed he has been away a lot.”

“There has been trouble in the clan.”

“Och, Jamie would ne’er neglect the clan.”

‘Jamie’?

Maisie felt her ire rising as they continued. How dare Lillian insinuate herself into Maisie’s life only days after their wedding, poking her nose in where it was not wanted and asking impertinent questions.

“I assure ye, I am perfectly content,” Maisie insisted, feeling as though her defensive tone could only make things worse.

“Nae, nae, a happy wife doesnae say she is content,” Lillian said. “I am sorry, m’lady, ye just dinnae seem fulfilled. ”

The word was like a death knell in Maisie’s mind. She stopped walking, turning to face Lillian. She did not miss the slight quirk to her mouth, the fleeting smugness that passed across her face.

She knows. Lillian is aware that James and I have not consummated our marriage. How has she found out?

Maisie let her gaze turn cold and was gratified to see Lillian cower back. Despite the anger she currently felt, Maisie was not convinced that this sweet and demure girl had it in her to be so calculating.

Ever since she had met her she had seemed passive and submissive. It felt now as though Maisie were looking at a puppet and someone else was pulling the strings.

Maisie’s thoughts moved to Marcus—his thinly veiled hostility towards her. Maisie had put an end to any hopes he might have had that Lillian would become Lady MacLennan. Could he be so angry he meant to sabotage me?

She cleared her throat.

“What dae ye ken?” she asked.

Lillian shook her head, her eyes wide and baleful against. “It is hardly a secret that ye and James?—”

“Maisie.”

Maisie spun round to find none other than James approaching behind her. He was looking at them curiously but was far enough away that Maisie suspected he had not heard what Lillian had said.

Lillian was suddenly utterly still, watching James’s approach hungrily. Maisie pursed her lips, tempted to tell Lillian to leave before she struck her.

“Laird MacLennan”, Lillian said prettily. “It is good to see ye.”

To Maisie’s irritation, James smiled down at her warmly. “Good afternoon, Lillian, ye’re lookin’ well.”

Lillian bowed her head and Maisie watched the exchange with a growing feeling of concern. Is there something between them?

James turned to her.

“Ye requested that I spend time with ye, and here I am,” he said, the words light and clearly meant to be perfectly reasonable, but they made every muscle in Maisie’s body tense.

No bride would ask her husband, mere days after their wedding, to spend time with her if things were going well between them.

Lillian gave a hurried curtsy, shooting one final look at Maisie before she took her leave.

“I must return to me aunt, it was pleasant to see ye again, Maisie,” she said as she turned and walked away from them through the gardens.

When Maisie turned to James, he was watching her expectantly.

“Why did ye nae pick her?” Maisie blurted out.

James’s head snapped round to face her.

“What?”

“I ken she cares for ye,” Maisie said, her eyes lingering on Lillian. “Ye have kent her all yer life. Surely, she would have been a better match for ye than a strange girl from Larkhill.”

James frowned. He did not like her speaking of herself that way but was excited to think that Maisie was jealous of Lillian. That means she cares.

“I happen to like me strange girl from Larkhill,” he said, his voice thick with amusement, but at Maisie’s sad expression, he quickly tried again. “I dinnae want Lillian, ne’er have,” he answered truthfully.

“Why?” Maisie asked, and she seemed genuinely puzzled.

James smiled. “She has hounded me since she was wee,” he confessed. “She is a sweet girl, but she doesnae ken her own mind. She’s too na?ve. Too simple. Ye are nothin’ like her, ye’re a nuisance.”

“She called ye Jamie,” Maisie insisted.

He snorted. “Aye, well, that’s proof enough that she doesnae ken me. I hate people callin’ me Jamie about as much as ye hate people callin’ ye Thomasina.”

Maisie’s expression relaxed considerably.

“She looks more like Lady MacLennan than I do,” she finally said.

“What dae ye expect? She has been trainin’ for it all her life. But I didnae choose her, and I dinnae regret it.” As soon as he said the words aloud, he realized how true they were.

I dinnae regret choosin’ ye.

“ Would ye prefer Lady Thomasina MacLennan?” he asked with amusement. “For I can arrange the servants to call ye that.” Maisie hit him playfully on the arm and his heart soared at the teasing.

“Only if ye wish me to call ye Jamie,” she said playfully.

“Dinnae ye dare.”

She snorted as he offered his hand, and she linked their fingers together looking up at him quizzically.

“Why did ye come to find me?” she asked.

“I was asked to spend me meals with me wife, and that is what I plan to dae.”

“It is too early for dinner.”

“Aye, we missed lunch, and the cook is furious. We should go and make it up to her.”

James walked her back into the castle, his stomach growling as they made their way down to the kitchens.

The cook was, indeed, furious that they had missed their main meal. He knew her of old and had stolen bannocks from her kitchen as a lad. The old woman, spikes of gray hair coming off all sides of her head, was entirely unphased about scolding him like a schoolboy. Before he had even fully entered the kitchen she was on at him.

He attempted to pacify her, but it wasn’t working too well until Maisie made a comment about how wonderful her food was, and at that point, the cook could not do enough for them.

In moments, two plates were filled with cheese, bread, and all manner of appetizing treats. After a brief bustle of activity, he took the plates and told Maisie to follow him.

He took her to the same stone steps where they shared their first kiss, and she looked at him—perplexed.

“Three evenin’s a week, lass.”

“Two,” she countered, making him smile.

He handed her the plate, and she laughed as they took their seats under the curious and somewhat alarmed gazes of the cooking staff.

They sat amidst the hustle and bustle of the kitchen as though they were servants themselves, enjoying a simple meal and barely exchanging a word.

It was the most content James had felt in days.