Page 6

CHAPTER 6

“It’s nae a squirrel,” Anna muttered, glaring down into her bowl as she ate. “It’s a headpiece.”

Gordon knew he’d annoyed her, insulted her perhaps, but she’d asked for his opinion, and he’d given it. What was he supposed to do—lie? He had no doubt that the other Laird would have said whatever she wanted to hear to win her favor, but he would not partake in false flattery.

Although , he couldn’t deny that he liked the strange dress she wore: it was a daring feat of fashion, the side panels of the bodice replaced with a gauzy fabric that hinted at bare skin beneath. Upon that skin, she appeared to have written words that were blurred by the material. At a distance, it just looked like unusual fabric; it was only on closer inspection that it became obvious that there was only a thin layer between his eye and her skin.

I wouldnae mind seein’ what ye’ve spent so much time writin’. The temptation of those blurry words was a fascinating thing. For a lass who’d sworn she didn’t care about seduction, she was being deliberately sultry. The diaphanous sleeves and the silky skirts of the gown were further proof of that, forgoing the countless layers of the day’s fashions for something that showed more of her figure.

But he didn’t like the furry thing attached to the side of her head, mimicking upright feathers but resembling a series of squirrel tails. Her hair was exceptional enough without adding strange adornments.

But perhaps that’s the point. He was certain that her ‘tests’ had started, and this was the first, though he wasn’t sure if it was her tempting garments or the presence of the other Laird that had awakened the competitive beast within him.

“Was it a long journey, Laird Glendenning?” Anna asked abruptly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

Gordon watched her swipe that silky fabric over her lip, absently wondering which was softer: her mouth or the napkin. If her skin was smooth enough to use as paper, how easy would it be to leave his mark?

Enough. He sharply reined in his thoughts. Yes, he required an heir, but the creation of an heir didn’t need to be anything but perfunctory. And when he claimed Anna’s hand, the less she knew of his tastes, the better. He’d have more chance of having many children if his wife wasn’t afraid of being in a bedchamber with him.

“I’d have been here sooner if it wasnae for brigands on the road,” Ardal replied with a stern shake of his head.

Anna blinked. “Brigands, M’Laird? In our territory?”

“Nay, it was before yer lands,” Ardal said, puffing his chest like the feeble boy that he was. “Dinnae fret, I dealt with them swiftly. Indeed, I ought to send the Laird of those lands a request for payment, for dispatchin’ them so efficiently. Saved him the hassle of doin’ it himself.”

If ye have to boast, ye’re nay true man. Indeed, Gordon wasn’t sure he believed the story at all. Ardal seemed like the sort of Laird who had never had a drop of blood on his sword, wearing the weapon as an adornment, as unnecessary as the squirrel in Anna’s hair.

To his bemusement, Anna cast Gordon a sideways glance, rolling her eyes as if they were joined in a conspiracy.

“Do ye have much trouble with brigands, Laird Lyall?” Ardal asked with a strange note of urgency, as though he needed some manner of validation.

Gordon looked at the man blankly. “Nay, Laird Glendenning, for they’ve had far too much trouble from me.”

He meant it literally. For years, he’d made it his mission to ride the roads of his territory, picking off any brigands or thieves who dared to bother his people. It hadn’t taken long for word to spread and, for a long time now, his roads had been entirely clear of danger.

So it came as something of a surprise when Anna suddenly burst out laughing.

Awkwardly, Ardal began to laugh along with her. “An excellent jest, Laird Lyall!” he crowed, though Gordon had no idea what he’d said that was so funny.

I made her laugh… She’d dared him to try, and Gordon had managed it by accident. He didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed that it had been so simple.

“I can… just imagine ye… creepin’ up on them, unawares!” Anna wheezed, holding her stomach, drawing Gordon’s eye once more to the gauzy panels of her gown. “Och, they’d never steal a thing again if they saw ye comin’ for them!”

Gordon frowned. “That’s nae why they daenae steal again.”

She either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore what he was alluding to. After all, she’d stated plainly that she abhorred violence—the typical opinion of a lady who knew nothing of the world and its perils, and believed that everyone was inherently good and could just “ get along” if they wanted to.

She’s a lass of innocence, despite what she looks like. And, perhaps, that was as it should be. Perhaps, a woman shouldn’t know of the dangers and evils of the world, since it was a man’s job— Gordon’s job—to ensure she never learned.

“They think they’re lyin’ in wait to cause harm, and then along ye come,” Anna continued through chuckles, dabbing her napkin to her eyes. “Och, I’d pity them if they were nae doin’ bad things!”

Gordon sipped his wine. “It’s a Laird’s duty to keep his clan safe.”

“Aye, but most daenae go around terrifyin’ the miscreants of their lands,” Anna replied, grinning. “They’re too busy talkin’ about defendin’ their lands in the council chamber.”

She became extraordinarily beautiful when she laughed. It confused him, in truth, how laughter could transform her like that, making her glow somehow.

He wasn’t the sort of man who believed in witchcraft, despite the fear of it among his countrymen, but seeing that remarkable change in her made him wonder if there was some feminine sorcery in the world, after all.

“That’s why I have nay true council,” he grumbled.

Ardal seemed horrified by the notion, interjecting in a conversation that Gordon would have preferred he not be part of. “Laird Lyall, ye must have a council. It’s essential. A Laird cannae rule alone—that’s how ye get tyrants.”

“And havin’ a council means ye get nothin’ done,” Gordon replied stiffly. “All ye have is weak and useless men whisperin’ and plottin’ to benefit themselves.”

He had gotten rid of the majority of his council after his return from his imprisonment. It had been an unforgivable insult to find them all quarreling about who should be the Laird in his place, instead of sending out men— his men—to try and find him. Only his two uncles had bothered to keep hold of the hope that their nephew was alive, and had acted accordingly.

As such, now Gordon only had a “ council” of five: himself, his m an-at-a rms, his two uncles, and his cousin. But they were more like casual advisors than a proper council who was filled with personal agenda and self-serving behavior.

“Well, I couldnae be without me council,” Ardal said haughtily, shaking his head. “I rely on them entirely.”

Gordon leveled the man with a cold look. “Then, perhaps that’s why ye have a problem with brigands and I daenae .”

“I never said that me lands had a problem with brigands,” Ardal protested, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, awkward beneath the frost of Gordon’s intimidating stare.

“But ye do,” Gordon said, matter-of-factly.

Ardal shrugged, clearing his throat. “They daenae cause too much trouble. They stay awhile and then they leave, and only a handful of people get harmed.”

“A handful is too many.” Gordon curled his lip in distaste, intensely disliking this weak creature.

Anna nodded, her striking eyes narrowing as she looked at Gordon, as if she hadn’t expected him to say something like that. “I quite agree, and it’s always the most vulnerable: women, children, elderly.”

“Aye, I agree too,” Ardal insisted, his smile tight. “What I meant was, we’re dealin’ with the problem so that nay one is harmed and we daenae have the problem at all anymore.”

Gordon resisted the urge to snort at the pathetic nature of the reply, for the laird was clearly trying to cover his tracks. It was obvious that Laird Glendenning was the kind who didn’t care for the weakest in his pack, as long as nothing affected him personally. He was a pup, not a wolf.

“When are the other Lairds due to arrive?” Ewan interrupted, offering Ardal some relief from Gordon’s scrutiny.

“Tomorrow,” Anna’s father replied, flashing a look at Anna. A warning, like he expected her to say something she shouldn’t.

“We should practice for the ceilidh,” Anna said, avoiding her father’s eye.

Ceilidh? The word sent a shiver down Gordon’s spine. A rare feeling, for there were few things in the world that he feared. Dancing just happened to be one of them.

Her father’s jaw clenched. “The ceilidh will begin when all the Lairds are here.”

“Well, I would like to dance now ,” Anna replied, her voice a note too bright. “Is that so awful? There cannae be any harm in it.”

Ardal nodded eagerly. “I quite agree. I love to dance. There is nothin’ so compellin’ as?—”

“Laird Lyall,” Anna interrupted, turning to Gordon, as if she could sense his apprehension, “would ye accompany me in a dance?”

Gordon lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Another one of yer games, lass?”

“I daenae play games,” she protested with a sly smile. “I just like to dance, and ye look so tense that ye might benefit from a reel or two. But if ye daenae dare, then I’ll just dance alone.”

Smirking, she scraped back her chair and got up, sauntering toward the empty space at the front of the room. There were no musicians to play along, but Anna’s other brother, Jackson, took that moment to begin clapping, beating out the rhythm of the dance.

“Thank ye,” Anna said with a smile, laughing to herself as she turned and waited.

Gordon knew a trap when he saw one, and didn’t appreciate being manipulated in such a way, but he couldn’t leave her to dance alone. It was amusing now, but it would soon become embarrassing for her. And he didn’t want Ardal swooping in because he wouldn’t.

With a heavy sigh and a gulp of his wine, Gordon wiped his mouth and went to her.

Heaven help me… Evidently, this was another one of her tests, and it was probably the only one he stood a chance of failing.