Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I—”

  “Ye spoke with Lachlan, aye?” he interrupted, before she could conjure an alternate story. “He told ye that—well—he—”

  “Lachlan told me that he would never offer for me,” she finished, touched by his obvious reluctance to cause her pain. “You needn’t worry about sparing my feelings, Ran. I truly have none to injure where Lachlan is concerned. I was young and silly, and he was … present, I suppose.” And handsome and tall and lean, of course, but he was far from the only man who could fit that description. She knew that now.

  Ranulf blew out his breath and finally took the chair on the far side of the desk. “I’m relieved to hear it. I would have welcomed a match between ye, but only if ye both wanted it.”

  “He isn’t worth the tears I wept over him, my bràthair.”

  “If he couldnae see ye fer who ye are, then he didnae deserve ye.” He sat forward, dark blue eyes assessing her. “I’ve someaught to tell ye, and I dunnae want ye to hammer at me until ye’ve listened to it all.”

  Oh, dear. “I agree,” she said slowly. If he was going to tell her that none of the English lords were acceptable before he’d bothered to become acquainted with any of them, they were definitely in for an argument.

  “A few weeks ago I meant to have Arran marry Deirdre Stewart, to give us an alliance with clan Stewart. Then our brother went and lost his head over Mary Campbell, and I thought we were aboot to step into open warfare again.”

  “But we have an alliance with the Campbells now, do we not?” she asked. “Her grandfather declared peace, and you agreed to it.”

  “Aye. I agreed to peace. I’d nae call it an alliance. More of a mutual decision to leave each other be.” He scowled, then wiped the expression from his face. “I have people to watch over. Cotters who’ve fled the MacDonalds and Campbells and need homes and employment, education fer the young ones, mills to run, a hundred other things. What it comes down to is … I’ve three lads in mind fer ye. Lord Robert Cranach and James MacMaster of clan Buchanan, and Niall Wyatt, Viscount of Cairnsgrove, from clan Watson.”

  Her heart thudded sickly in her chest. “An arranged marriage? But—”

  “Nae. Not in so many words, anyway. Fer most of yer life I thought ye’d be marrying Lachlan. There was naught to consider aboot it. Now, though, I ken ye’re looking fer a love match. If ye’re willing to consider all those Sassenach lads, could ye nae consider a Highlander or two, as well?” He looked down at his hands for a moment. “I didnae pick their names oot of a hat. All of them have spent time in London. Two of them have houses there.”

  That touched her deeply. A few months ago he’d all but sworn that he would never allow her to set foot outside the Highlands, and now … this. “I’m listening,” she said aloud.

  “I’d nae force any of them on ye, piuthar, but clan Buchanan is missing some prime opportunities to expand their presence, and the Watsons could grow their shipbuilding with a bit more money and manpower.”

  He was asking. Ranulf wasn’t ordering or dictating, or forbidding her to do as she pleased. That in itself set her off-kilter, as did the way he’d just spoken to her—like she was an equal. An adult. “Do you have a preference?” she asked, pleased that her voice remained cool and level.

  Her brother cocked his head. “Honestly? Or so ye can kick him in the man parts?”

  That made her grin. “Honestly, if you please.”

  “Lord Robert Cranach. He’s four-and-twenty, and from what I hear more progressive-minded than most of his clan.”

  Rowena nodded. “I won’t promise anything, but other than admiring Lord Samston’s manner and his fine dancing, I’ve no real attachment to any of these gentlemen. Not yet, anyway. So I’ve no objection to meeting Lord Robert or any of the other men you named.”

  For a long moment he gazed at her. “Ye continue to surprise me, Rowena,” he said finally, “even when I’ve come to expect more of ye.”

  She’d never received a better compliment. “Thank ye—you—for saying that.”

  “I’ll say one more thing, piuthar, that I should have said weeks ago.” Abruptly he stood and moved around to the chair beside her, where he took one of her hands in his. “I thought I had the right of it, keeping ye away from London. I worried that ye’d prefer that soft life and the pretty, pampered men there. Ye both proved me wrong, and led me to Charlotte. Ye’re nae a wee bairn any longer, Rowena, and I’m pleased and proud of the true Highlands lass ye’ve become. That ye are.”

  But that wasn’t who she was. She did prefer London. But she’d looked up to this man for her entire life, and to hear him say he was proud of her … “Bring me your bonny Highlands lads, bràthair,” she managed, her voice shaking a little. “I’m ready to be swept off my feet.”

  Ranulf lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Just keep in mind that there’ll nae be sweeping withoot my consent or permission.” With a grin he released her again. “Now off with ye.”

  “We’re walking down to An Soadh today, if you want to join us. Arran and Mary are coming. And Bear.” She sent him a sly smile. “And Charlotte asked to be introduced to some of our cotters.”

  “And ye saved that fer last, did ye?” Blowing out his breath, he rose and strolled over to pull open the office door again. “I’ll join ye. And I’ll be introducing my lady to our people, thank ye very much.”

  Now she only needed to go tell Charlotte that Ranulf wanted to go down to An Soadh with them, and she would have the entire London party joining her. And to think, she’d never hosted anything before. She was beginning to believe she had a knack for this sort of thing.

  She turned up the hallway—and slammed into a broad, hard chest. Staggering backward, she looked up with an apology on her lips as two strong arms grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t … Oh. Good morning, Lachlan.”

  He looked down at her, his hands still on her shoulders. “Good morning, Winnie. I hear ye’re leading yer herd into the village today. I thought I’d join ye.”

  If he meant to misbehave as he had yesterday, she didn’t want him along. She didn’t want him along anyway, because it was much easier to ignore someone when they weren’t present. But telling him that would only widen the chasm between them. “You don’t need my permission.”

  “Well, I thought I’d ask ye anyway. We did have a few words yesterday.”

  “Did we? I’ve had so much to see to lately. It must’ve slipped my mind.”

  “Has it, then? How fortunate fer me.”

  When he didn’t show any inclination to move, she shrugged out of his grip. “Yes, I suppose so. Because if I did perchance remember, I’d likely be annoyed that you were behaving like a petulant child.” She walked past him. “Just try not to embarrass me again.”

  Before she could even blink her back was against the wall and his finger jabbed between her breasts. “Look at me,” he murmured, his voice low and angry.

  She lifted her gaze to meet his long-lashed green eyes. Whatever had happened to his usual good humor, this version of Lachlan MacTier—the one she’d encountered over the past two days—left her … unsettled. Nothing like the sweet, pillowy, giggly feelings she’d always had around him before. “I’m looking at you,” she retorted, keeping her voice flat.

  “I’m nae a fool, lass,” he continued in the same hard tone. “I’m nae a dog ye can pat on the head and send off to the kennel. If ye dunnae want me aboot, then say so, and I’ll decide if I agree with ye. But I will speak my mind, and I will say someaught when one of yer Sassenach beaux acts in a way that’s unworthy of ye.”

  Her heart skittered a little, and she didn’t like the sensation. “Since you are the very portrait of someone not worthy of me, you’ll have to expect that I am not going to take your opinion into consideration.”

  With a half growl he leaned a breath closer, looming over her like a living statue of granite, hard and heated. Then he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway.

  Rowena
sagged against the wall. When Lachlan had finally told her what she already knew, that they had no future together, she’d thought they could remain friends. After all, they had eighteen years of mutual history. She knew him to be good-humored and affable. Perhaps, though, that had only been when he considered himself to be a fourth brother to her.

  As she’d said, she didn’t need another brother. She’d certainly never seen him that way. What had just become clear, however, was that he truly had viewed himself as just that. And now he’d altered the way he looked at her, and whatever indulgence he’d felt seemed to have vanished. Lachlan MacTier wasn’t quite who she’d thought him—and that in itself rather upended things. If her own perceptions were wrong …

  She shook herself. Ranulf had just handed her three new suitors, and she had to herd fifteen Sassenach about An Soadh while keeping them all entertained and happy. If Lachlan meant to make trouble, she would put a stop to it. It didn’t seem they could be friends any longer, and if he meant to make himself an enemy she would be sad, but she would treat him as one.

  “Did I hear Lachlan?” Ranulf said, making her jump as he emerged from his office.

  “Yes. He headed toward Bear’s bedchamber.”

  “Good. I’ve nine chieftains coming fer the wedding, and nae the inclination to allow my celebration to turn into a brawl because I’ve nae enough whisky to hand.” He grimaced. “My head’s already pounding at the thought of all the pipers competing to wake us in the mornings.”

  “Perhaps you and Charlotte should have followed Arran and Mary’s example and eloped,” she suggested, forcing a smile. If there was one thing Ranulf didn’t need added to the plate it was her feud—if that’s what it was—with Lachlan.

  “Dunnae tempt me, lass,” he rumbled, and kissed her on the cheek as he passed.

  Still trying to shake off the idea that she didn’t even know the man with whom she’d been obsessed for nearly two decades, Rowena went to find Charlotte Hanover.

  * * *

  “Ye look like thunderclouds,” Bear MacLawry commented.

  Lachlan glanced sideways at his friend, then returned to glaring at Loch Shinaig as they walked the path along its shore. “Yer sister ordered me nae to embarrass her,” he said stiffly.

  “She warns me aboot that at least once a day,” her brother said with a shrug. “That Sarah Parker keeps sending me looks. What do ye think?”

  “It doesnae trouble ye that she’s ashamed to be aboot ye?” Lachlan persisted.

  “She wouldnae let go of my arm last night. I dunnae think that’s shame.”

  “Yer sister, ye amadan. Nae Sarah Parker.”

  “Keep yer damn insults to yerself. Winnie’s a lady now, Lach. She curtsied to the queen to make it so. Ye’re only rattled because she’s done nae but sigh over ye until now. Ye’ll have to get accustomed to being nae better than the rest of us.”

  Perhaps that was the rub; yesterday she’d surprised him for perhaps the first time ever. And the way Samston kept putting his hand on her arm, like he bloody owned her or something—no, he didn’t like it, and he didn’t want to become accustomed to being … catalogued and dismissed as someone unworthy of her time.

  He could parade former lovers in front of her, he supposed, and show her just how much her opinion of him mattered. But over the years he’d been so careful not to let her know he had lovers, or anything else that might needlessly hurt her, that it seemed cruel to shove it at her now just because she’d annoyed him.

  A hand wound around his arm, and he just barely kept from flinching. Instead he took a breath and glanced sideways. “Lady Jane,” he drawled, an odd combination of relief and disappointment running through him.

  Jane Hanover smiled up at him. She definitely seemed less inclined to go about with her nose in the air than the other Sassenach lasses, which spoke in her favor as far as he was concerned. She’d become Winnie’s dearest friend, which made him wary, but he’d also been warned to stay away from her, which today made him feel contrary.

  “Everyone seems so excited by Charlotte and Glengask’s wedding,” she said, gesturing toward the front of the group where the couple walked arm in arm. “When was the last grand wedding held up here?”

  Lachlan had to think about it for a moment. “The Stewarts had quite a to-do aboot eight years ago, but I cannae recall another where the MacLawrys would have been invited to attend. We’ve had smaller gatherings, but there’s nae a thing like the clan chief marrying.”

  “It’s to be very like a royal wedding, isn’t it?”

  “Aye. Here, Glengask is royalty. None of the other clans can match him fer power in the Highlands.” He took a breath, brief uneasiness running through him. “And fer this wedding we’ll have two clans here—the MacLawrys and the Campbells. The Duke of Alkirk himself, and his retinue. The Campbell.”

  “Goodness. I had no idea any of the Campbells were coming. One of them shot Arran just a week ago.”

  “Ye dunnae have to remind me of that, lass. But Ranulf wants a lasting peace, so we’ll help him forge it.”

  She lowered her lashes a little. “That sounds very brave.”

  A very different warning began sounding in his skull. He shrugged. “If it goes well, it’ll be a fine gathering we’ll all be too drunk to remember.”

  “Oh, but I want to remember this. The Highlands are magnificent.”

  “Aye, they are. They say ye can walk oot yer door every morning and never see the same sight twice. To—”

  Someone bumped him from behind, sending him a step sideways. “We’ll have to find you a wrap or a scarf with the MacLawry plaid, Janie,” Winnie broke in, moving between them and taking her friend’s arm. “Charlotte will be presented with our clan colors.”

  “My father said Ranulf wants him to wear a kilt,” Jane returned, giggling. “He’s prepared to be mortified.”

  “There’s naught embarrassing aboot wearing a kilt,” Lachlan protested. “Ye Sassenach are beyond sense.”

  Even as he spoke, though, his attention was on Winnie. Was she trying to protect Jane from his evidently irresistible conversation? Or despite what she’d now informed him on several occasions, was she jealous that he was chatting with her friend? If it was the latter, someone needed to figure out what they wanted. And he wasn’t entirely certain that confused someone was her. It was damned annoying; she’d never occupied his thoughts like this before. Trouble. That’s what she was. Trouble.

  “Lachlan,” she said, her voice cooling, “did Bear tell you we’re holding a gathering the week of the wedding? Ranulf approved; he thinks it’ll keep everyone too occupied to cause trouble. I asked Bear to make the arrangements, as I’m occupied with my guests and the wedding events.”

  “Aye, he told me.” Though he had his doubts that putting cabers and claymores and hurling stones in the hands of Highlanders was a way to avoid trouble.

  “You should go tell him you’ll help. Or do you prefer tagging along with the lasses while we go shopping?”

  He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it had been indigestion rather than a momentary confusion. His head cook was on loan to Glengask, after all, and the cook’s helper had developed an obsession with lard. He straightened to look over Winnie’s head at Jane. “I enjoyed our conversation, lass,” he drawled. “Anything else ye wish to know aboot the Highlands, I’ll be pleased to tell ye.”

  “Thank you, Lord Gray,” she returned, blushing prettily. “I shall likely take you up on that very kind offer.”

  “I look forward to it.” He sketched a shallow bow, then deliberately glanced at her clearly annoyed companion. “Winnie.”

  “Lachlan.”

  Before she could come up with some other task for him, he lengthened his stride to put some distance between himself and the two women. Going directly to Bear felt too much like being ordered about, so he slowed beside Arran and his Campbell bride where they walked close to the middle of the group. “Yer sister is damned annoying,” he rumbled.

  “This is
her first time playing hostess,” the middle MacLawry brother said with a faint grin. “And since the occasion is Ranulf’s wedding, it’ll also be her last time playing hostess. Here, anyway. Have a wee bit of patience. Or bite down on a twig. That works, as well.”

  “Rowena is doing remarkably well, I think,” Mary Campbell MacLawry put in. “To be only eighteen and balancing foreign guests, a wedding, a clan gathering, and an influx of my kin—I’m not certain I could manage all of that at her age.”

  “‘At her age,’” Arran mimicked in his deep brogue. “There’s nae but three years difference between ye. And ye made me a Campbell lover. I’ve nae doubt ye could manage a wedding and a gathering.”

  She leaned closer against his shoulder. “I’ll help her as much as I can, but I’m still glad not to have all this on my shoulders.”

  Lachlan took a breath, trying not to vomit at all the excessive sweetness. “Whatever’s on her shoulders, I’m nae going to have her bellowing and ordering me aboot like I’m some drover.”

  “She’s been ordering all of us aboot,” Arran returned. “Yer kilt’s twisted because she’s nae cooing and fawning over ye any longer. Ye’re just one of the lads, now, Lach.”

  That couldn’t be it. Winnie had never been so aggravating or unpredictable as she had been since she’d returned from London. All those soft days and compliments from soft-handed men had changed her. Of course Arran didn’t see it, because he’d been seduced by London, as well. And so had Ranulf, even; a few months ago the marquis would have burned his own house down before he’d see any Sassenach sleeping beneath his roof. Now, he was marrying one of them.

  “Ye’ve lost yer senses, Arran,” he grumbled. “Ye’re in love, so everywhere ye cast yer eyes ye see naught but gold and rainbows. I’m going to talk to Bear.”

  Arran snorted. “If Munro’s yer last hope fer logic and evenhanded discussion, ye might as well throw yerself into the loch.”

  Ignoring that and the chuckles continuing behind him, Lachlan made his way forward through the herd of padded shoulders and impractical shoes to find Bear escorting not just Sarah Parker, but her sister Susan, as well. The big man did like a challenge, but two English lasses with their cousin present seemed a mite dangerous, even for Munro.