Page 3 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Bride

CHAPTER 3

Maisie gaped at him as he released her and walked away through the gardens. He was so tall he was almost at head height with some of the trees in the orchard, and his strong muscles lengthened and bunched as he moved.

She became aware she was staring and dragged her gaze away.

He is right; I cannae escape with all of these servants around. They would just discover me and bring me right back where I dinnae wish to be.

With one last wistful glance at her would-be escape route, she went back toward the crowds. She had just faced down a giant who had forcibly prevented her from leaving, she was confident she could deal with a gaggle of simpering ladies.

What did he mean ‘taming’ women like me? She mused, feeling a thrill at the thought of it. How would a man like that tame anyone?

Her breath stuttered in her throat as she imagined those large hands gripping her body and physically preventing her from acting against his will. The thought was more arousing than it should have been.

Her gaze was caught by the sun as it crept out from behind a cloud and sent a shaft of light over the hills in the distance. Maisie sighed.

The thought of escape was still at the forefront of her mind, but now she had returned to the crowds; another thought blocked that desire.

If she were to run, it would destroy her father. She knew it with cold certainty. He would be devastated should she abandon him. Running from this world would not be easy—there were too many eyes upon her.

Momentarily out of options, she did her best to mingle with the other women and put on a brave face.

Mrs. Guthrie was flitting about amidst them all, introducing different parties to one another and generally enthusing about their gowns and how they looked. The only thing that matters is our looks, it seems, Maisie thought as she watched Mrs. Guthrie gush over a fan one of the women was holding.

She longed for her quiet bedroom at home with her books, or perhaps a quiet evening in her father’s study playing chess together. Chess was far simpler than society. There might be just as many rules, but if you were overwhelmed, you could at least resign.

Their quiet townhouse already seemed like a different life, a life that had been lost to her irrevocably. Deep in her mind, in a place where she had refused to dwell for too long, she understood the home she had known was gone forever.

Maisie had two options: to wed or to earn her own living. The first was unthinkable, the second held possibilities.

In the short term, she would endure the feast and play her part. She had no illusions that she would be picked by MacLennan and would go out of her way to ensure she was not. Then, they would return to Larkhill, and she would help her father to rebuild their business.

There might be a way for them to retain the house while she took work as a governess. Perhaps she had not been looking in the right places—there could be people in their social circle who knew of a suitable position closer to home.

With her help, she could buy him enough time to reestablish their contacts in Glasgow and build a new shipment. How long would they need, a year? Perhaps less.

As she made up her mind she attempted to look demure and capable, her head held high. All was not lost.

A tray of fruit cordial appeared in front of her, and she snagged a glass before it disappeared.

As the servant moved on she saw her father approaching and her shoulders squared unconsciously. Her fingers clenched about the stem of her glass. She was unable to suppress her anger completely It was he who had put her in this position, deciding that this humiliation was the only solution to finding her a husband. She could not believe that he had explored other avenues. He simply would not have believed her capable of assisting him. He did not see her as his equal—if he had he would have told her of their troubles long ago.

She felt her shoulders soften as she observed him, however. Her father always did what he believed was best for her, in his way. As he came toward her, she noticed with a pang of sadness that he looked older and more tired than ever before.

She offered him her glass, which she had yet to drink from, and he took it gratefully. He sipped the cloyingly sweet syrup and winced, handing it back as Maisie gave a huff of laughter.

“It is like swallowin’ a spoonful of sugar; ye have it,” he said softly. “Where did ye go?” he asked, eyeing her warily.

“I needed some air,” she said automatically.

“We are outside , Maisie.”

“Some space, then; I just wanted to be free of the crowds for a little while.”

“Hmm, I hope ye will dae yer best. I ken this isnae what ye would want, but we must make dae with what life has given us.”

“I ken,” she replied, sipping the cordial. She saw Lillian Guthrie coming toward her through the crowd, and her spine tensed. Bonnie she may be, but somethin’ about her sets me teeth on edge.

“Miss Brown,” Lillian said happily, “I was lookin’ for ye, is all well?”

“Aye, quite well. Thank ye. May I introduce me faither, Mr. Archie Brown? Faither, this is Miss Lillian Guthrie, Mrs. Guthrie’s niece.”

Lillian curtsied perfectly, and Maisie hid a scowl.

“Lovely to meet ye, me dear,” her father said, but there was a coldness in his tone. To her consternation, Maisie realized that her father’s attitude was due to this girl being the competition. She would have laughed aloud if she were not so furious with him.

“Me aunt tells me ye are a tradesman, Mr. Brown,” Lillian remarked. “That must be an interestin’ occupation.”

Maisie clenched her teeth. Lillian was very subtly putting her father down. The Browns were known for their acquired wealth. Her father had worked all his life to reach the heights that he had enjoyed in good society—at least until recently—and Maisie had always been proud of him for that.

For Lillian, however, a man who had worked for his money would be below her, and she was making that quite clear.

Maisie opened her mouth to say something, cutting to shut the conversation down, but before she could do so, Lillian suddenly straightened considerably to all of her five foot in height and squeaked excitedly.

“Laird MacLennan has arrived!” she hissed.

Despite herself, Maisie had been drawn into the fanfare of the occasion and turned to look.

She froze.

Walking over the lawns amidst the crowd was a tall, broad man, dressed in the MacLennan house colors. The dark green of his jacket somehow exactly matched Maisie’s gown.

His sharp eyes were flitting about the crowd with interest, but there was a brooding, almost feral quality to the way he looked at the women present. It was as though he were observing rabbits he had caught in a snare.

Maisie swallowed as their eyes collided across the crowd. She recognized him immediately.

The man she had met in the gardens—to whom she had said that the laird was a monster—was Laird MacLennan himself.

Her shoulders tensed as his stride faltered, and he changed his line and began walking toward her, his gaze predatory. He ate up the distance between them like a lion hunting its prey.

Maisie could feel the tension building in the air between them, like static before a thunderstorm. Her breath came thick and fast, his gaze seeming to brand her as he moved closer and closer—and then, just as it reached its peak it was shattered by Lillian.

To Maisie’s amazement, the other woman waved a hand enthusiastically at MacLennan, as though she had seen an old school friend.

“Laird MacLennan!” she shouted, waving madly. Maisie noticed several people around them glance at her looking scandalized.

Perhaps she is nae quite as faultless as I thought, Maisie wondered, or perhaps she loses decorum when she sees the laird.

As Maisie watched, something shifted in MacLennan’s expression, perhaps wariness or even boredom. He slowed his pace, his eyes becoming cold and emotionless again.

As he finally reached them, he nodded politely at Lillian.

“Miss Lillian,” he said coolly.

Maisie found herself desperate for him to look at her, I want to see the color of his eyes without the sun behind them.

Mrs. Guthrie chose that moment to push through the crowd toward them. She was beaming as if this were the best day of her life.

“Laird MacLennan!” Mrs. Guthrie said, panting slightly as she reached them as though she had sprinted across the courtyard to greet him. “Ye have arrived.”

To Maisie’s surprise, Mrs. Guthrie put a warning hand on Lillian’s arm. The girl had been practically fawning over MacLennan and even Maisie felt embarrassed for her.

Why does he nae want her? She wondered. She’s bonnie enough and clearly adores him. Why is he puttin’ himself through all of this? And why was he spyin’ in the gardens like a wee boy?

“May I introduce Mr. Archie Brown and Miss Maisie Brown,” Mrs. Guthrie said. “Both come from Larkhill Town.”

Maisie steeled herself before she looked at the laird. Will he expose me? She did not know this man, and his manner toward her had not been overly kind.

“Mr. Brown, Miss Brown,” he said stiffly, but his eyes lingered on her for a fraction too long. “Thank ye for comin’ to our little gatherin’.”

He looked even better in the bright sunlight, the rays bouncing off his bronzed skin. She was captivated by his eyes, desperate to find out their color again.

Stop this, Maisie. Ye’re better than that.

She shook herself. She was not going to be distracted by a man, no matter how handsome. Surely something was wrong with him. No one was that perfect.

The other girls all seemed so sweet, so beautiful around them. Any of them should end up with the laird, not her. She sincerely hoped that one of them would win, it was the easiest way for her to get out of this mess. She felt like a pawn amongst a group of queens.

“My laird,” her father was saying dutifully. “The castle is quite the most beautiful I have seen, our journey through yer clan was beyond my expectations. The loch is magnificent.”

At that, Maisie saw a spark catch in the laird’s eye. Clearly praising his land and the world in which he presided was a good strategy. Maisie paused as she saw an opportunity to rile him. She did not wish for this man to choose her, and she would have to play a dangerous game to ensure he did not.

“It reminds me of Clan Boyd when we visited last year,” she said blithely. “It is quite as beautiful but the hills stand a touch lower,” she mused, taking a sip of her drink and meeting his gaze with a hard stare.

I dinnae need yer approval, and I shan’t be chasin’ it.

Mrs. Guthrie was looking at Maisie in alarm now and laughed in that high, sharp way of hers to dispel the tension that had sprung up between them.

“Clan Boyd is half the size of Clan MacLennan,” the laird replied icily, his deep voice sending a thrill through Maisie as she drank it in.

His angry stare was being noticed by those about them now, and Mrs. Guthrie cleared her throat loudly.

“ Indeed , the Highlands have so many beauties, and we are blessed to live in one of the bonniest valleys in all the land, I’d wager.”

“Och, yes,” Lillian piped up. “It is quite perfect; I have always said so.”

Slowly, MacLennan’s furious look subsided, and he glanced away, not paying any mind to Lillian, his jaw clenched, his hands held behind his back. His shoulders were so tense it looked as though they might shatter in the breeze.

Maisie hid a smile. He would not be choosing any bride who criticized his clan. She glanced at her father who seemed deeply displeased. Joy leaped in her belly—she might still get out of this unscathed.

Nevertheless, she was drawn to MacLennan as he stood before them. Her skin felt too hot in his presence. He was looking outward now at the sharp peaks of the hills beyond. She took in his profile, the wind lightly buffeting the dark locks of his hair. He loved his clan; that much was clear. He looked like a warrior atop a hill surveying the world he owned.

What a lonely life, she thought suddenly. Why does that image make me feel so sad?

“I cannae wait to see who ye choose tonight,” Lillian said loudly with a pretty smile.

“I’m sure ye cannae,” James said, flatly. Maisie frowned at them. She could not understand why he was not drawn in by Lillian’s charms.

“I wonder what ye might be lookin’ for,” Maisie blurted out, the words dancing in the air between them like a warning.

MacLennan’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Already wantin’ to catch the attention of a monster ?”

Maisie sucked in a breath, but it seemed his words had not had the impact she expected. In fact, Lillian tittered slightly as though it were a joke.

“A monster, m’laird?” she asked innocently. “Och, ye are too harsh on yerself to be sure. I ken nothin’ about ye, but I am sure ye have many redeemin’ qualities.” She let her gaze wander over him slowly, taking in the thick muscles and breadth of his chest. “How can I best represent meself if I dinnae ken what ye want?”

Lillian laughed too loudly. “I already know what kind of lass the laird likes,” she said, sounding like an eight-year-old girl vying for a parent’s approval as she flicked her hair over her shoulders.

The slight curve of MacLennan’s lips fell back into a straight line. “Aye?” his voice could have shattered granite. “And what is that?”

Lillian perked up, putting her finger on her lips as she considered the question. There were a few women around them now, and it was almost comical how artless they were being in their attempts to eavesdrop.

“I think,” Lillian began, her voice lilting and drawn out as though to build the suspense, “ye like lasses that have a bonnie form, wear the finest dresses, and are good at takin’ care of yer house and children.”

Maisie sighed inwardly. She almost felt sorry for Lillian. If the girl had a thought in her head that had not been planted there by someone else she would be surprised.

Isn’t that what any laird wants, an emptyheaded lass who does his bidding?

She considered the glowering eyes and brooding gaze she had encountered in the gardens, the weight of command in every gesture the man made. What might a man like that need in his life?

“Thank ye, Lillian,” MacLennan said, and Maisie tried not to roll her eyes. “What dae ye think, Miss Brown?”

Maisie startled, looking up at him, surprised to see him watching her with interest. She felt a shudder ripple through her and swallowed convulsively.

“Excuse me?”

“What kind of lass dae ye think I fancy?” he repeated, the smirk back on his face.

Did Miss Guthrie not just outline the perfect woman for ye? Meek and accommodatin’?

“Is that nae what I asked ye ?” Maisie said, simply to be contrary. Mrs. Guthrie was going rather pink opposite her.

James cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her response. Once again, she felt compelled to fill the silence. She did not like the idea that he thought her simple, or that he expected her to answer in the same manner as Lillian.

I dinnae even ken this man, why dae I care what he thinks?

Maisie took a deep breath, searching her mind for the best way to respond.

“Well, while I think a woman should be capable of runnin’ a home and takin’ care of children, I think she is more than that.”

“Aye, then what should a lass be?” he asked. The women around them had dropped all sense of pretense now, their little group had acquired quite the audience.

“She should be well-read,” Maisie continued. “She should refine her mind with a good education, nae just so she can educate her children but also herself. She should be able to keep pace with her husband, and when he needs her, for whatever matter is perplexin’ him, she will be there to aid him in all things.”

She could tell her words had not been received positively by the fluttering women all about them, but, for once, she had spoken from the heart. The laird was harder to read, his head slightly to one side as though contemplating what she had said with genuine interest.

She did believe a woman should be equal to her husband, know his habits, understand his world, and support him, just as he supported her. She would not apologize for it—although she might have chosen the wrong forum to voice it.

“An interestin’ take,” MacLennan said. “And what is the extent of yer education?”

Maisie absorbed the derogatory looks from the other women all about them. She might be from trade, but her father had spared no expense with her education.

“I can read French, Greek, and Latin, and I’m well-read in histories and mathematics.”

“But how experienced are ye with children?” he asked.

Is he tryin’ to trick me now?

“What experience would ye like me to have, m’laird?” she asked archly, and there were a few gasps from behind her. She felt her father bristle beside her.

“I am very good with children,” Lillian interjected proudly. “I have several cousins I’ve helped in the carin’ of.”

“Ah, there ye see, there is a wife in the makin’,” Maisie quipped, and those black irises glanced back at her curiously.

There was some jostling from behind her, and the waspish-faced woman she had seen earlier came forward and asked a question. She looked as though she was a hair's breadth from being dragged away by her mother.

Maisie was glad when that piercing gaze moved away from her and focused on the other women in the group.

“What the devil are ye doing?” her father hissed beside her. “Dae ye want to earn yer bread on the streets?” His voice was so low only she could hear it, but his face was red and angry, his eyes severe as he looked at her.

“Why doesnae he just take Miss Guthrie for a wife?” she asked, bewildered.

“That is nae yer concern. Ye dae as I say and focus on the task at hand, nae more of this frivolity. Ye are here to win.”

“I didnae even ask to play, ” she murmured.

“Be quiet and dae as ye’re told, my girl.”

Maisie gripped the glass in her fingers so tightly she thought she might break the stem. She watched the laird as he conversed with the other ladies, looking as bored and disinterested as he had when he had spoken with Lillian.

I will make sure I am the last woman he would ever wish to wed.