Page 5 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Bride

CHAPTER 5

Maisie was surprised to find that she was nervous.

The first question came from a lanky man with thinning hair on his head and oval spectacles that did not seem to help him read his paper at all.

He looked about at the assembly, sweat adhering to his brow, the paper between his fingers shaking violently. Maisie wondered if he’d ever been asked to speak in public before; if he had, he was not naturally born to it.

“Question one… Ye are the lady of the house, and ye are holdin’ a dinner to celebrate the great houses of yer clan. Two men get into a—” he squinted at the paper, “disagreement. What would ye dae to stop them from ruinin’ the event, and sullyin’ yer name?”

Maisie almost applauded when he managed to finish...

The man folded up the paper and looked over the top of his glasses at the audience.

“Miss Guthrie, would you like to begin?”

Lillian stood up, looking even more dainty in the enormous surroundings of the hall, but she held the attention of the whole room.

“I would request that music be played, m’laird, and that more food be served to distract the men from their argument. When it was appropriate, I would ensure they were separated to prevent their disagreement from escalatin’ and then inform me husband that he might meet with them privately to resolve their differences.”

There was a smattering of applause, and Maisie’s father poured himself another glass of wine.

What nonsense is this? He believes he will find a wife from these questions, daes he? Well, more fool him.

She listened to the other girls’ answers and had the privilege of going last. Her father leaned across to her throughout, whispering in her ear, which she found most distracting.

She waved him off gently. She was determined to do things her own way. This contest was not unlike a chess game. You had to discover what your opponents’ intentions were and block their play. In this case, however, she aimed to let them reach the king before her.

She had come up with something unusual that she felt would certainly confuse and dismay the majority of the listeners.

When her turn came, she rose to her feet, cleared her throat, and looked MacLennan straight in the eye as she answered.

“Make them play chess.”

The speaker stared at her, his brow furrowed. “Excuse me, Miss Brown?”

“Make them play chess,” Maisie repeated. “They can sort out their squabbles on the board, and by the time either of them has won, they will have forgotten all about it.”

She moved her eyes to the speaker but was aware of MacLennan’s gaze burning through her. It branded her skin even from the other side of the room. She felt the familiar prickle up her spine as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She chanced a quick look in his direction. He was contemplating her, a glass of red wine in his hand. His eyes were half-lidded, his full lips brushing the thumb that hovered at the rim of the glass.

I wonder if he kens how to play chess, she thought. He probably sees such activities as trivial. I would beat him in any case. His strategy for findin’ a wife is this contest, after all. He wouldnae ken what to do on a chessboard.

The speaker glanced briefly at the laird before nodding.

“Thank ye, Miss Brown—most unusual answer.”

She sat down again, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. She turned to her father with an encouraging smile. She knew she was walking a tightrope. She wanted to answer badly enough that she had no hope of being picked, but she didn’t wish to embarrass him. It was harder than she had first thought.

The next man to step forward was in his forties, stocky and broad with a handsome, but benevolent expression.

“That is Bram Wallace,” her father whispered. “The head of the Council MacLennan. A noble man.”

“I thought Marcus Guthrie was the head of the council.”

“Nae. The Wallace house is the most important in the lands beneath the MacLennan’s. Yer answer will matter even more now, and he may question it.”

Wallace wasted no time, his voice booming across the hall; no sense of nerves from him at all. He was authoritative and bold, a similar presence to MacLennan, but far less impressive to look at.

“Ye have two servants in the house who dinnae work well together,” he bellowed. “They are disruptin’ the order of how things are done. When ye confront them, one of them accuses the other of bein’ too domineerin’ and commandin’. How dae ye resolve this dispute?”

Her father leaned over to advise her again, but to her surprise, the losing answer had come to her immediately. She nodded sagely as her father retreated to his seat.

As before, the solutions the other girls offered were fairly typical—all of them focusing on the authority they would need to have over their servants. One of them even suggested firing both of the servants on the spot.

“Give them a dual position,” she said when it came to her turn.

MacLennan’s brow raised in cold curiosity. Wallace cocked his head at her in puzzlement.

“Well,” Maisie said carefully, “ye have a battle of wills between the two of them. If it were this castle,” she mused, “there would always be more work to get done than is manageable. I would make them work together but divide the staff between them. That way, the domineerin’ servant has authority and is nae longer antagonisin’ the staff that are nae assigned to her, and the other servant doesnae have to deal with her all day.”

There was a little titter of laughter at that. She paused, glancing about her. “Conflict doesnae disappear. It is best to find a compromise—it is nae use pittin’ people against one another.”

She glared at MacLennan as she said those words, knowing full well he would understand her double meaning about the contest.

MacLennan was difficult to read. His calculating gaze was still examining her closely, and his expression was devoid of emotion. Bram Wallace, on the other hand, looked like he had eaten something unpleasant and was giving MacLennan a meaningful look.

I am sure if it were up to Bram Wallace I’d be leavin’ now. How much sway does MacLennan’s council have over him? She wondered nervously.

With her answer finished and her jibe at the laird complete, she took her seat again.

The third man to come forward was extremely old, rising from the table with a crippling bend in his back. He had gray hair down to his shoulders, with drooping eyes and a watery smile.

He took an age clearing his throat and unfolding the paper before beginning. Even MacLennan looked as though he was losing patience with him by the end.

“One of yer sons is avoidin’ his trainin’ and the man-at-arms has informed ye, that he shirks his lessons and runs away regularly. How would ye discipline him and motivate him to dae his work?”

The other girls talked about solutions such as giving a child a few lashes, a stern talking to, or depriving him of meals—that last from Lillian.

Maisie could only imagine that a laird like MacLennan with his size and strength would favor discipline over everything else. She was going to give an answer he would never approve of, then it would be done, and she could go home.

“Let him play games,” she said simply.

MacLennan stilled in his place and Maisie felt a thrill of triumph at the surprise on his face. There was no possibility he would favor her answer, a laird needed his house to fall in line.

“Could you… elaborate, my dear?” the elderly councilman asked.

“Indulge him,” she said with a shrug. “Let him play games, but only let him play games,” she continued. “He will be entertained at first, but if ye forbid him from work or study, eventually he’ll grow bored and desire the structure they would bring.”

It was not a scenario she had ever seen put into practice. Many of the few friends she had had growing up had spoken of the ‘sound lashing’ their father had inflicted upon them. She wondered what MacLennan’s childhood might have been like. He was certainly a stern and unemotional man.

By the look of the councilors, who all seemed thoroughly confused, Maisie was content that she had done enough. She relaxed with the satisfaction of a job well done. Thank goodness, soon this will all be over.

“Very well, Miss Brown,” the elderly man croaked. “what a notion indeed. We thank ye.”

Marcus got to his feet, his arms spread wide along the table.

“Aye!” he cried. “We thank all ye ladies for yer participation. We’ll discuss it with the laird, and we’ll announce his chosen bride shortly.”

The men all rose from their seats and marched out of a side door into another room to deliberate. Maisie sipped her wine, certain that she had lost. All of her answers were quite different from those of the other ladies, and she had received a fair few disapproving glances from several mamas. Surely, she had done enough.

She looked at the empty chair that the laird had left behind him and was surprised to feel something stir within her, something that felt almost like regret.

She tamped it down. I dinnae ken the man and I dinnae wish to.

“Maisie,” her father said, “I wish ye had let me help ye. Yer answers were a bit…”

“Unusual?” Maisie supplied, finally feeling as though she had enough of an appetite to eat a little more, picking at the meat on her plate.

Her father grimaced. “Well, yes.”

“I did take account of what ye said, and I am grateful for it, but I felt a different approach to the other ladies might be better.”

“Nae every boy wants to play chess,” he said reproachfully.

“And I am nae boy. Anyone who doesnae like chess just hasn’t been taught to play properly.”

Her father’s only response was a dry chuckle.

She tore off a piece of the bread, chewing on it as she thought over her answers. But it was not long before she felt a presence hovering behind her and turned in her chair in surprise.

Marcus Guthrie looked down at her with a cold expression, clearly having been sent to fetch her against his will.

Mr. Guthrie cleared his throat. “The laird would like to speak to you, Miss Brown. In private.”