Page 2 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Bride

CHAPTER 2

“Come! I shall show ye around and introduce ye to some of the other women ye will be up against,” Mrs. Guthrie said. “I cannae believe how bonnie ye all are; he will have quite the choice on his hands,” she said merrily and tugged Maisie away through the crowd.

Maisie looked back at her father desperately, but he stood his ground and nodded his head at her. She was on her own.

She wondered what might happen if she tried to set something on fire as a distraction. There were many torches about the place and far too many petticoats. She could use the smoke as a screen and run away, lost forever to the Scottish hills beyond.

Mrs. Guthrie bustled through the milling bodies of the guests with the self-assurance of a woman who was accustomed to such occasions. With her husband as a senior member of the council, Maisie could well imagine the status she held. She walked with an air of authority Maisie had rarely seen in women of her age.

Maisie was wrenched away from her thoughts when she almost collided with another girl who suddenly walked into her path. Maisie stepped back, halting Mrs. Guthrie as she attempted to barrel through another group of attendees, and Maisie ran her eye over the woman she had almost flattened.

She was petite—the only way Maisie could think to describe her was neat. Everything about her was in proportion and tidy. She looked elegant in her pale blue gown, which complemented her brown eyes beautifully. She was pretty, with long blond hair, much longer than Maisie’s, and wide eyes that gave her a demure expression.

“Miss Lillian Guthrie, this is Miss Maisie Brown from Manor Larkhill,” Mrs. Guthrie said turning to Maisie with a proud smile. “This is my niece, Miss Brown, who is also here today to see if she can win the laird’s hand.”

What kind of man pits women against each other like this? It is absurd.

“Hello, Miss Guthrie, I’m most pleased to meet you,” Maisie said as they bowed to one another. Lillian’s eyes swept over her in the same appraising way as her aunt's.

“A pleasure to meet ye, Miss Brown,” Lillian said. She had a lilting voice that was a little too quiet for her surroundings, but her eyes were sharp and assessing. “Yer dress looks bonnie.”

“Thank ye,” Maisie said with a smile. “As does yers.”

“Uncle Marcus got it for me in Glasgow. He said it cost a fortune.”

Maisie nodded, thinking of all the wealth they had lost at the bottom of the Firth in Glasgow’s port. “It’s stunning.”

“I have kent Laird MacLennan for a long time. Have ye e’er met him before?” Lillian asked, her small hand holding her glass of fruit cordial just so.

“Nae,” she conceded. “I havenae met him.”

Both women glanced at her quizzically, and Maisie realized she had not adapted her tone sufficiently to keep the resentment out of her voice.

“But I am most excited to dae so,” she said quickly.

Lillian’s smile never faltered, and she and her aunt exchanged a quick look that Maisie did not like.

“It will be quite an eventful evening, I am sure,” Lillian said. “Laird MacLennan is so committed to his people and everyone around him. He will make someone a wonderful husband.”

Why has the laird nae just wed this woman? Maisie thought. She is bonnie, and he has kent her all his life. Why this charade?

The heat she had felt in her cheeks had returned, and her stomach was clenching unpleasantly as she looked about her. Her head was suddenly spinning. Colors danced across her vision in a dizzying whirlwind.

“If ye will excuse me, Mrs. Guthrie, Miss Guthrie, I must return to my father for a moment,” she said swiftly, turning away and walking back the way they had come. She was aware she was being rude, but the world was closing in all about her.

She looked about frantically for a place to hide and compose herself. She took in a deep breath as the heat in her cheeks seemed to intensify.

Dinnae faint, dinnae faint, find somewhere to sit where ye can rest.

She repeated it like a vow, terrified that she would lose the battle and find herself unconscious in a courtyard full of people.

Finally, as her gaze skirted the edges of the courtyard, her salvation appeared before her. There was a small archway at the far end of the wall across from her. It looked like the entrance to an orchard of some kind, blissfully empty of people.

She made her way hurriedly toward it, hoping her father was not pursuing her.

She kept her composure all the way there, trying her best not to look as though she were in distress. But as she passed beneath the wall, she darted sideways to remain out of sight.

As she did so, she heard an exclamation of surprise. An instant later, she collided violently with a wall of muscle as she tripped over her feet and fell heavily to the ground.

Maisie looked up to find out who it was she had assaulted and was greeted with the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen, a chiseled jaw, and impossibly long, sturdy legs.

The man was tall, taller than almost anyone she’d ever met. His black hair was loosely tied back, and he had an intense gaze that made Maisie’s stomach curl up. His broad shoulders were strong, his hands large and imposing.

She swallowed, scrambling to her feet, trying to ignore the world swaying about her as she did so. He came forward to assist her, and she backed away, feeling horribly embarrassed.

“Ye should look where ye’re goin’,” he said briskly.

She stared at him. “I—yes, I didnae see ye. I am sorry.”

Is that any way to speak to a lady? She wanted to add, but she didn’t need to make any more of a spectacle of herself and kept her mouth shut.

As she looked about at where she had fallen, her eye was caught by the wall to her right. It seemed to lead onto the coach house. Coachmen were often intensely bored at such events; perhaps she could bribe one of them to take her back to Larkhill.

Without thinking, she started walking toward the exit.

“Nae so fast lass,” her companion said as an impertinent hand gripped her wrist and stopped her mid-stride. “Ye dinnae look too well.”

Her head snapped round to look back at him, but the swift movement made the dizziness return with a vengeance. She moaned, a hand coming up to her temple as she almost fell to the floor for a second time.

Before she could tell him to take his hand off her, he was pulling her to a bench just to the left of the archway she had entered through. He sat her down abruptly while he remained standing, looking down at her irritably.

“Sit there a moment, ye are fallin’ all over yerself,” he said firmly—it sounded like an order.

Maisie frowned up at him, but her head was thudding painfully, and looking up made it even worse. She squinted at his face, which was silhouetted against the sun behind him. He had a strikingly sharp jaw and high cheekbones that framed his rugged features.

“I am quite well, ye can be about yer duties,” she said softly, just wanting to be left alone.

“Me duties?” he asked.

“Aye. I dinnae need to be looked after. Ye can continue with yer day.”

To her surprise, he did not heed her request. He leaned his huge shoulder against the wall beside the bench, watching her carefully.

“Are ye sure ye arenae about to expire on me, lass? Ye’re as pale as a ghost.”

Maisie scoffed. “Aye. I am quite well. It isnae me that is the problem.” She bit her tongue, cursing herself for letting that slip.

“Och, aye?” He really did sound intrigued now. “Then what is the problem?”

“I just need to find an exit. Is that the coach house?” she asked, pointing to the door she had been aiming for. Her fingers were shaking violently. She placed them back in her lap, trying to calm her breathing.

“Aye. Are ye goin’ somewhere?”

“Anywhere but here,” she muttered, rising and making to walk away again. She staggered a little as she did so, however, and a large hand steadied her upper arm and then forced her back onto the bench. “Ye will unhand me,” she said emphatically, leaning away from him.

Her body, on the other hand, had betrayed her. The moment his hand had touched her and moved her in such a forcible way, a tremor of need skittered across her skin that surprised and alarmed her.

She had never been manhandled in such a way before. Indeed, these days, she rarely had another person touch her at all—and here was this stranger taking liberties and pushing her about as though he had every right to do it.

She would not have been surprised if he could lift her from the ground with one hand. She shivered slightly as she settled on the bench again, frowning at him. He smirked at her, returning to his position, leaning against the wall. As he did so, she noticed a small window above his head that looked out into the courtyard where everyone was gathered.

She raised her eyebrows. “Were ye spyin’ on the ladies out there?” she asked.

His eyes darkened, and she felt herself recoil. There was something quite frightening about his expression, with the hard set of his mouth and the sudden intensity of his gaze.

“And who says I was spyin’?” he asked.

“Why else were ye standin’ by the wall?”

“Maybe I was tendin’ to the ivy.”

Maisie glanced above her to see an abundance of purple and green ivy cascading down over the walls behind her.

“Why would ye be doin’ that?”

“Dae ye think the only plants worth tendin’ to are those with beautiful blooms?” he asked as his eye skipped over her face. “Some might agree with ye. Many only chase pretty things and leave the rest to rack and ruin.”

She frowned up at the darkness in his tone and glanced again at the ivy. Is he still talkin’ about plants?

“Ye havenae answered me question,” she said pointedly.

“How about ye answer mine? What were ye doin’ leavin’ the party? And what business have ye got with the coachmen?”

She gasped. “I wasnae goin’ to the coachmen , I was tryin’ to find me carriage.”

“And I say again, for what reason?”

“Ye are very impertinent.”

“Answer the question.”

She sucked in a breath at his tone; it was not to be argued with, steady and commanding. It made gooseflesh leap to life on her arms, and the back of her neck prickled at his proximity.

Who is this man?

She looked him over. He did not look particularly remarkable, wearing a simple kilt and a white léine, he could have been anyone. Perhaps a man-at-arms?

“I dinnae like to be kept waitin’, lass,” he said, and she was immediately compelled to answer.

“I was… tryin’ to get away.”

“Away?”

“Aye. If I can make it out of the castle, I willnae have to sit through this farce of a feast.”

He cocked his head at her. “Ye’re one of the potential brides then, are ye?”

She snorted. “I wish I wasnae. What kind of a monster makes women compete for his affections like that? It isnae proper.”

There was a long silence above her, and she looked back at him warily. She was not sure what had made her speak so brazenly to him, but now she was regretting it.

To her shock, he stepped forward, put his hands on her upper arms, and pulled her to her feet. He moved her back, so she stood just shy of the doorway she had entered through and gave her a long, penetrating stare.

“If ye go through with this plan, the servants will just bring ye right back to where ye came from, lass. If I were ye, I’d return to the crowd and see what comes of the feast. Monsters have ways of tamin’ girls like ye. And ye never ken,” he said with a smirk. “Maybe ye just might like it.”