Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid Read online

  “I don’t think any of them would dare,” she said truthfully, as the small horde of English began exiting coaches and traipsing noisily up the drive. “This is your kingdom.”

  “Aye, it is,” he agreed, taking Charlotte’s hand and gazing at his betrothed as though it had been far longer than a week since he’d last set eyes on her. “Welcome to Glengask, leannan,” he murmured, kissing her knuckles.

  “It’s beautiful,” Charlotte returned with a warm, excited smile. “Just as you described it.”

  “It’s more bonny with ye here.” Ranulf tilted his head. “And did ye know we favor beheadings in the Highlands?” he asked, raising his voice.

  “Since when?” Rowena put in, frowning. He was going to frighten everyone away before a single piece of luggage could enter the mansion.

  “I ken ye’re all aware there’re different rules in the Highlands than these soft English lads are accustomed to,” he continued levelly. “Fer instance, here we dunnae bother turning our backs on someone if they do something improper.”

  “Nae,” Bear took up, looking from his brother to the dozen coaches still spitting out ladies and gentlemen and servants. “Here we’ll bloody yer nose and set ye on yer arse.”

  “And then we’ll find ye a nice, deep bog to rest beneath,” Arran said finally, clearly understanding the direction of the pronouncement.

  Rowena’s cheeks warmed. “That’s quite enough,” she hissed. “My friends are not accustomed to threats and violence. And if you want to be seen as gentlemen,” she went on, stopping just short of jabbing a finger in Ranulf’s direction, “you can’t bellow at people who haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Ranulf lifted an eyebrow. “I can be a gentleman,” he rumbled in his deep Highlands brogue. “I have eyes, as well. Ye have a great number of Sassenach men with ye, piuthar. I dunnae think they’re all here to witness my wedding. I’m nae acquainted with most of them, fer one thing.”

  “That isn’t—”

  “And they’d best keep in mind that ye’re my only sister,” he pressed, “and that I’ve nae spent this long looking after ye to see someaught … unacceptable happen now.” Releasing Charlotte’s hand, he took one long step forward. “Nor do I mean to let ye ferget yer heritage, however prettily ye choose to talk,” he continued in a much lower voice. “Are we clear, Rowena Rose MacLawry?”

  It took a great deal of will to look up into his stony blue eyes. “Aye. Yes. I understand.”

  “Good.”

  Ha. This from men who wagered over the quantity of whisky they could consume. Well, her brothers and Lachlan had best behave themselves, too. Because she had a good idea that her new friends were not going to be the problem. After all, they’d all had governesses and tutors and dance instructors. They all knew how to conduct themselves at balls and formal dinners and house parties. And whether Ranulf realized it or not, she was very close to preferring that life to the one with which she’d grown up. It wouldn’t take much more to tip the balance. In fact, the right man could do it fairly easily. With a flounce of her skirts she continued on to where Arran and Mary stood a little apart from the crowd at the front doors.

  * * *

  Lachlan MacTier took a step backward to avoid having a trunk set on his toes. “Did ye know she was bringing half of London north with her?” he muttered at Bear beside him.

  “Nae,” Munro growled back. “Ran said his Charlotte’s family and a few of Winnie’s and the Hanovers’ friends are to attend the wedding. Nae this horde.” His brows lowered. “They’re all so … pretty. And breakable.”

  “Aye.” Lachlan gazed after a tall, spindly lad with high shirt points and blond hair that looked so smooth and shiny it could likely reflect the sunlight. “Breakable.”

  Whatever Bear said, this frilly lot didn’t look like the sort of folk Lord Glengask would befriend, much less invite beneath his roof. And given that bit of speech a moment ago, this seemed to be the youngest MacLawry’s idea. Lachlan shifted his gaze sideways. Black-haired Winnie MacLawry slid her hand around the arm of one of the taller fellows, smiling as she said something and gestured at the grand gray and white sprawl behind them.

  She’d invited these people—or at least a good share of them. Did she truly feel connected enough to the Sassenach after only three months in England that she needed to bring London back with her to the Highlands? Or was the lass who had traipsed after him for nearly two decades in her pigtails and too-lacy skirts trying to make him jealous?

  Perhaps he was rating her estimation of him too highly, but then perhaps he wasn’t. Both Arran and Bear blamed him for her flight to London in the first place. If gifting a lass with a pair of fine riding boots on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday could cause her to leave her lifelong home and her family, then he supposed it was his fault, but it all seemed very silly and overly dramatic. She’d thrown a tantrum, and now she was home. Nothing else had changed, except for the way she talked, apparently.

  “I hope we dunnae have to remember all their names,” Bear muttered.

  “They’re nae all men, Bear,” he pointed out, offering his friend a brief smile. “And here we are, two strapping bachelors standing aboot while we wait fer yer brother’s wedding.”

  “Ye’re nae a bachelor, Lach.”

  “I am a bachelor, and I’m fairly certain of that fact. I’ve nae wife, and nae a woman in mind fer one.”

  “Maybe so,” the big man mused after a moment, then angled his chin at his sister. “But does she know that?”

  “Fer Lucifer’s sake, Munro. It takes two to make a marriage, and I’ve nae made anything of the kind with yer bairn of a sister. Leave off. It’s bad enough with her writing me poetry all the time. Dunnae ye begin it again, too.”

  “Is she still writing ye poetry, then?” Arran asked as he joined them, his new bride, Mary, at his side.

  “Nae. She was too busy with shopping in London, I wager. Ye know she stopped a few weeks ago.” It had actually felt a little odd, at first, to not have a letter waiting for him each day, close-written lines telling him everything about her first days in London. He’d almost felt like he was there with her. He hadn’t written back, of course, because her brothers watched like hawks, and he was not going to be trapped into something simply for being kind. And so he’d been relieved when she’d stopped. Just as he was relieved that she hadn’t tried to throw herself into his arms when she left the carriage a few minutes ago.

  “Then I suppose ye are a bachelor,” Arran continued, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just keep in mind that Ranulf’s marrying the first Sassenach lass he set eyes on in London. Ye dunnae want that happening to ye, I reckon.”

  “Hm,” Mary put in, leaning into his shoulder. “If I recall, didn’t you swoon after the first Highlands lass you met in London? And wasn’t she a Campbell, of all things?”

  The middle MacLawry brother grinned. “I didnae swoon, lass.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “But ye do stop my heart.”

  She put her palm over the front of his left shoulder. “I saw you get shot, Arran,” she whispered. “No jesting about your heart stopping.”

  “Aww, the two of ye are making me weep,” Bear commented. “Come along, Lach. Let’s be bachelors and introduce ourselves to the lovely, delicate lasses.”

  “Just dunnae roar and frighten them all away, Bear.”

  That sounded like something he would say, anyway. Truthfully, the last thing Lachlan wanted was to find himself tangled up with some foreign lass who’d likely blow over in a stiff breeze, and who might turn out to be related to the MacDonalds on her father’s side or something. Sweet Saint Andrew. That said, the younger sister of Glengask’s betrothed was pretty enough, and obviously Ranulf had already approved her family bloodline. She might suit for a kiss and a giggle, as the Sassenach said, anyway.

  “Dunnae say I didnae warn ye, lads,” Arran called after them.

  By the time everyone, guests and servants, had found bedchambers and been reunited wit
h their luggage, Lachlan had managed a rough head count—though the servants dressed so finely he wasn’t entirely certain he’d put everyone into the correct category. Seven gentlemen, five lasses, four Hanovers including Lord and Lady Hest and both their daughters, and seventeen servants including an English valet named Ginger who’d been acquired by the Marquis of Glengask. For the first time … ever, Sassenach outnumbered the Scots at the MacLawry seat of power.

  Lachlan wasn’t surprised when Glengask hunted him down in the library, where he’d retreated with a glass of whisky. Bear might enjoy the turmoil, but Lachlan preferred conversations where he could actually make out what the other party might be saying. “Do ye hear that?” he asked, from the chair by the low fire. “The walls are humming with noise. More noise than usual, I mean.”

  “Aye.” Ranulf poured himself a glass and took the opposite chair. “And half the MacLawrys buried oot by the loch are spinning beneath the stones. All of Glengask could be swallowed up by a bog at any moment.”

  Chuckling, Lachlan glanced toward the closed door. “Was this invasion yer idea or Winnie’s, if ye dunnae mind me asking?”

  “The wedding in the Highlands was my idea,” the marquis returned. “I left the guest list to Rowena, since I had to ride ahead.” He didn’t elaborate, but Lachlan knew that he’d galloped north with one groom and a wolfhound for company and protection, and that he’d reached Gretna Green just in time to save Arran and Mary and prevent an all-out war between the MacLawrys and the Campbells.

  “They seem very … English,” Lachlan offered.

  “That, they are. And they expect us to be an English household. Which we arenae.” Ranulf sat forward. “I mean to see to it that they have a taste of Highlands hospitality, but at the same time I dunnae want us to be embarrassed here. I need to borrow some of yer staff.”

  Lachlan wasn’t surprised at the request, but coming from the marquis directly, it did seem unusual. However things proceeded in the south, up north of Fort William, Glengask’s word was law. His clan had the largest population—and the largest standing army—in the Highlands. Requesting servants seemed a bit trivial for him. “Whoever ye need,” he returned.

  “Thank ye. I’ll be hiring some cooks from the village, and more lads fer the stable, but I dunnae want Robert the miller’s lad dumping haggis on someone’s lap.”

  “Winnie should’ve sent ye word that she had half of Mayfair riding north with her.”

  Deep blue eyes sent him a speculative look. “I dunnae ken this was meant to surprise me.”

  Hm. “She stopped writing me letters weeks ago, Ran. And she barely shook my hand earlier, she was in such a hurry to greet Arran’s lady and her new friends.”

  “Even so, I think it’s time we had a chat, Lachlan.”

  That didn’t sound promising. Evidently the trap that had been hanging over his head practically since Winnie’s birth was about to be sprung. There was nothing as aggravating as a predestined life. And he didn’t want one. “Ran, I had naught to do with her tagging after me,” he protested. “I’ve nae given her cause to think anything. I mean, Bear and the rest of ye are closer to me than my own cousins, and I’ve nae brothers and sisters of my own. Nae but fer the lot of ye.” Not even that seemed clear enough for comfort. “Ye are my brothers. And she’s my sister.”

  “Very well, then.” Ranulf took a slow swallow of whisky. “Ye’re a good man, Lachlan, and I’d nae have an objection if ye’d decided to pursue Rowena. But I’m glad ye’ve made up yer mind aboot her, because I’ll nae see her dragging aboot hoping fer someaught that’ll never come to pass.” He finished off his drink and stood. “I do want to hear ye say it—that ye’ve nae intention to offer fer my piuthar. Because I have plans to make if I dunnae want her to wed some Sassenach lord with property at the opposite end of the kingdom.”

  Lachlan stood, as well. “I’ve nae intention of offering fer Winnie,” he said aloud, wondering now if escaping what had seemed inevitable had always been that simple. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t about to let this one chance pass him by. “She’s already my family.”

  “She may be yer sister in yer mind, but I can guarantee that she’s nae thought of ye as a brother. Ever. But I’m nae one to meddle.” With a heavy nod Glengask walked to the door. “I’ll tell her. I dunnae want any misunderstandings.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Lachlan countered, though he wasn’t entirely certain why he felt the need to speak up. Generally he avoided womanly hysteria and tears at all costs. “She’ll believe me. I hope.”

  “See that she does. And tell her today, if ye will. I’d prefer to keep any foolishness to a minimum.”

  “Agreed.” He hesitated, then set down the glass and craned his head to look over his shoulder at the marquis in the doorway. “I have told her before, ye know.”

  “Nae. Ye’ve talked around it. Say the words, and spare us all some mischief.” Glengask’s shoulders rose and fell. “And some grief.”

  Once Glengask returned to the chaos of the rest of the house, Lachlan finished his whisky. Over the years he thought he’d made it clear enough that he could never feel … romantic toward the bairn he’d had following him about like an eager puppy since she could toddle about on her own wee legs.

  He thought he’d danced on the edge quite well, really, rebuffing her girlish advances and at the same time keeping from breaking her heart. Apparently no one appreciated his subtlety—though in clan MacLawry subtlety had never been a prime weapon in the arsenal.

  But now, and for the first time, he felt like his future was his own. It was a giddy feeling, almost. No one had any expectations of him. Well, almost no one. Ranulf did expect one thing of him. Blowing out his breath, he stood. Best get it over with, and hope she didn’t begin weeping. The last thing he wanted was Bear breaking his nose because he’d made the granite mountain’s little sister cry.

  He found Winnie in one of the upstairs sitting rooms. She’d put on a pretty cream and blue gown, though he hadn’t seen anything wrong with the one she’d been wearing when she’d arrived. She was pretending to be English, though, and everyone knew the Sassenach changed clothes more often than a deer flicked its ears.

  She sat in the middle of her fluttery new friends, all of them laughing about something the tall fellow with the shiny hair had said. Lachlan couldn’t recall his name, but doubted the scrawny fellow could so much as lift a caber—much less toss one.

  “Might I have a word with ye, Winnie?” he asked, wondering why he abruptly felt … uncomfortable. He’d spent nearly as much time in this house as he had in his own, but with these people, the sounds and scents they brought with them, he couldn’t help the sensation that he didn’t quite belong.

  “Certainly, Lord Gray,” Winnie said cheerfully, rising. “Jane, don’t let Lord Samston begin another of his stories until I return.” She flashed a grin at the yellow-haired man by the window.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Rowena,” he drawled, sketching a bow that likely would have looked fancy even in a royal court.

  Lachlan followed Winnie into the sunroom at the end of the hallway. A handful of wooden benches and chairs lay scattered amid potted roses and lilies—plants too delicate for the changeable Highlands weather. “That lot’s like the monkeys in a menagerie,” he commented with a loose smile. “All chattering at once and being cozy with the top brute in the herd.”

  “And who is the top brute, do you think?” Winnie strolled over to one of the large, south-facing windows.

  “That Lord Samston. Nobody talks when he does.”

  “Very observant of you,” she returned, leaning her spine against the window and folding her arms over her chest. “But considering that he was introduced to you as the Earl of Samston, you already knew that.”

  “Nae,” Lachlan returned, though he knew he should likely be getting to the point of this conversation and not provoking Winnie. He’d teased with her for her entire life, though, and unlike those prissy lads down the hall, he h
ad no fear of her temper. “It’s nae aboot rank. Nae completely. Samston’s the fellow to watch.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She lifted a graceful eyebrow. “Thankfully he’s very easy on the eyes.”

  “Him? He’s too shiny.”

  Winnie tilted her head. “I’m a bit confused, Lachlan. Which word did you want with me? To tell me that Lord Samston is powerful, or that he’s shiny?”

  “Neither. And I still dunnae why ye feel the need to talk like a Sassenach,” he said, frowning. “Ye can fool whoever ye like in London, but ye’re home now.”

  She turned her back on him, ostensibly to gaze out at the sharp-peaked mountains around them. “Is that what this is about, then? You don’t like the way I talk? Because that’s really none of your business.”

  “I dunnae suppose it is. And nae, that’s nae the word I wanted, either.”

  “Then tell me what you want, Lord Gray, so I can return to my duties as hostess.”

  Lachlan frowned at the back of her head and her gracefully coiled black hair. A few months ago Winnie MacLawry would have gone to great efforts to prevent him from leaving a conversation. Once she’d even pretended to sprain her ankle so he would carry her from Loch Shinaig back to the house. He’d told Donald the stableboy to do it, and she’d abruptly recovered.

  But that was neither here nor there. And the sooner he could make his intentions—or lack thereof—clear, the sooner he could stop worrying that he would be trapped into something simply because Ranulf couldn’t refuse his sister anything she truly wanted.

  He took a breath. “Face me, will ye?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell, and she turned around again. “This sounds serious,” she mused, her expression still a bit annoyed. With him—which was unusual in itself.

  “I ken that fer a long time ye’ve had yer heart set on … on things being a particular way, lass, and I ken that I was one of the reasons ye scampered doon to London—so I’d see ye as a lady rather than a wee girl.”