Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid

by Suzanne Enoch

  Lachlan stood again. “I thought ye already had her in yer bed. And her sister, Flora.”

  “Aye. And I might have called one by the other’s name, but I dunnae remember which one.” Bear shuddered. “One or the other of ’em swore to stab me in the heart.”

  “Ye’re lucky if that’s all they mean to stab.” He pulled open the billiards room door. “And Glengask’ll likely want ye with a MacAllister, since he knows the Campbell was after an alliance with them.”

  “A MacAllister? Nae Gormal MacAllister, I hope. She has but one eye. And—dammit, Lach! What aboot the game?”

  “I concede.”

  Otherwise ignoring Munro’s bellowing, Lachlan strode down the hallway and up the adjoining one toward the castle’s west wing where the family’s bedchambers were located. Arran and Mary had moved to a larger set of rooms on the south end to give them more privacy, but with all the guests arriving both Bear and Rowena had given over their adjoining sitting rooms to be turned into additional bedchambers.

  He knew all that just as he knew the layout of Glengask better than the back of his own hand—because he spent more time there than he did at his own home. Gray House was fine enough, but he much preferred loud, bustling Glengask and the MacLawry siblings to his own company. He’d sat on the floor in Rowena’s bedchamber for more tea parties than he could count.

  And now? Now he didn’t want tea parties. He wanted her.

  He stopped outside her bedchamber. If he knocked she would more than likely lock the door and tell him to go away, not necessarily in that order. Instead he quietly pushed open the door and closed it behind him again, then knocked.

  The mound of blankets atop the bed stirred. Tempting as it was to go peel them away one by one to get at the treat that lay beneath, he stayed by the door. The only way to win this game was to have her want him back, and he couldn’t win by frightening her.

  “Who is it?” she mumbled, her head still somewhere beneath the heavy covers. “Mitchell, I asked you not to wake me.”

  “It’s Lachlan,” he answered.

  The blankets stopped moving. “Go away.”

  “Nae.”

  Silence. “You’re already in here, aren’t you?”

  “Aye.” That taken care of, he went over to push open one of the sets of heavy green curtains covering the windows. The ones she’d selected because they matched his eyes, as he recalled.

  On the bed one gray eye, half obscured by disheveled hair the color of raven’s wings, slipped from beneath the covers. “You need to leave. Now.”

  The miniature tea set with which she’d once tortured him sat neatly on a shelf. Carefully he removed one of the blue and white porcelain cups. It had a small chip in the delicate curved handle. “This is the cup ye always gave to Munro,” he said, “so if he broke it ye’d still have three good ones.”

  “Don’t make me yell for help, Lachlan. Ranulf will ban you from the house. At least.”

  “Aye, he likely would.” He set the blemished cup back and picked up the one on the far end of the row. “And this one was mine,” he went on, turning it in his hand. “Ye thought the pattern opposite the handle looked like a valentine heart.”

  “And you always made a face when I said that.” Her right eye appeared as well, both of them glaring at him.

  “Well, ye were relentless, lass.” Returning the cup to its miniature saucer, Lachlan turned back to face her and folded his arms over his chest, mostly to keep them from doing something she’d consider ungentlemanly.

  “Then you should be relieved that I’ve set you free. You were glad on Tuesday, when I didn’t argue over you telling me we would never suit.”

  “Ah, that. It turns oot I was wrong.”

  Rowena sat up, girlishly holding the blankets tucked up beneath her chin. Was she naked under there? His cock twitched at the thought. Perhaps he should have folded his hands in front of him, to keep that fellow behaving himself.

  “It took me several weeks to realize how wrong I was about you,” she returned, her voice perfectly steady. “How did you manage to overturn eighteen years of thought in four days?”

  “I—”

  “Let me guess,” Rowena interrupted. “You missed having someone fawning over you. And then, to make it worse, you saw men fawning over me.”

  He narrowed one eye. “That second bit might’ve been part of what struck me,” honesty made him say. “But only because it made me look at ye. Nae, it made me see ye. Nae as ye were, but as ye are.”

  “And that’s why you decided to maul me yesterday, I presume.”

  There he stood, telling her his true deep feelings, at least as many as he’d presently figured out, and she continued to glare at him like he had horns. And warts. Which he didn’t. “That was a kiss, lass. Because I do care fer ye, and I do intend to woo ye.”

  Rowena burst into laughter.

  “What the devil’s so amusing aboot that?”

  “It’s just … We had this conversation a hundred times in my head, and it always sounded so much more romantic.” She sighed. “If you’re doing this because you miss my attention, then I’m sorry. There are several other young ladies here who’ve told me they find you handsome, though. If you’re sincere, then woo away, but please realize that you’re too late. I will not be wooed. Not by you.”

  Lachlan took a breath, frowning. This was not how this conversation was supposed to proceed. “I dunnae think I am too late,” he returned. “And I also think ye dunnae realize what ye want. Ye saw all the pretty, mild gents in London and decided ye’d have one fer yerself, because that’s what ye ken a lady does. But ye’re nae an English lady, Rowena. Ye’re a Highlands lass, and soft hands will never do fer ye.”

  Her chin lifted. “How insightful of you, Lachlan. I suppose it’s a good thing, then, that Lord Cairnsgrove is present. He’s not an Englishman.”

  He snorted. “So ye’d marry a man with a yen fer yer brother, just to spite me? I dunnae think ye’re as finished with me as ye say.”

  From her expression she’d already realized the earl’s preferences, but she wished he hadn’t done so. “I’m not spiting you, Lachlan. Ranulf asked me to choose someone. I’m assessing.” Her brow furrowed. “And this is for Ranulf, so I will not allow you to ruin it.” She took a breath. “You’re wrong, anyway. I was born here, but I don’t belong here. Not any longer.”

  It was even worse than he’d realized. “What, are ye English now?”

  “I was always half English.”

  They seemed to be at an impasse. And if Ranulf had made a request rather than an order, Rowena would try to honor it. “I’ll tell ye what, lass. Ye see if any of yer pretty lads stirs yer heart. I’ll nae interfere, as best I’m able to restrain myself. But at the end of each day I’ll come into this room and I’ll kiss ye good night.”

  “Nae. Absolutely not.” For the first time in this conversation she sounded unsettled, with her true, sweet brogue slipping into hearing.

  “Nae? Then ye’d rather I stomp on toes and punch faces? As ye will, then.” He took three long strides to the side of the bed. “I’m nae surrendering, Rowena. That’s a fact. I’m a part of this … competition, I suppose it is, and I intend to win.” He turned for the door.

  “And if I allow you to kiss me you’ll otherwise behave?”

  Lachlan stopped in his tracks, waited a heartbeat, then faced her again. “I cannae promise that. I’m a Highlander, and when I see what I want, I do what needs doing to get it.” He paused, knowing he needed to sweeten this arrangement a bit if he wanted her to agree to that nightly kiss—and whatever might come after. “I can promise to give ye time to chat with yer beaux, nae to kill anyone, and nae to begin any clan wars, but only if ye agree to my terms.”

  She stayed silent for so long he thought he might truly have missed his chance with her after all. And that … hurt, somewhere deep in his chest. If someone as alive and spritely as Rowena gave up on him, was she the one losing out, or was it him?


  “I suppose I have no real choice then,” she said finally. “One kiss each evening, in exchange for you not stepping between me and my future. And you will promise not to begin any fights.”

  “Fights with anyone?” he pursued.

  Her mouth twitched. “Fights with my guests. Brawls. Fisticuffs. You will not begin one.”

  “Aye. I’ll agree to that.” Especially since he was her future, whether she would admit it or not. And anyone else who went in pursuit of her, well, they were beginning trouble. Not him. “Shall we shake on it?”

  With a grimace she pulled her right hand from the blankets and held it out. Returning to the bed, Lachlan gripped her fingers, then lifted her hand to brush his lips against her knuckles. “I may be late to this soiree, Rowena,” he murmured, reluctantly releasing her fingers, “but I know ye better than anyone.”

  “Only if you were paying attention. As I recall you spent most of your time trying to escape me. And even if you know what I used to like, I’d wager you don’t know me now.”

  “We’ll see aboot that, won’t we?”

  * * *

  Once Lachlan left her bedchamber and quietly shut the door behind him, Rowena flopped backward on the bed again. However she felt about him, he certainly had a way of filling a room with his presence.

  A kiss every night. She should feel annoyed and angry that he’d used her wish for a few civilized weeks against her, that because she wanted Ranulf to have a perfect wedding she had to break her own oath to stay far away from the so-called charms of Lachlan MacTier. Annoyed, though, didn’t quite describe the shivering, unsettled sensation traveling through her gut and up her spine.

  What he’d just said to her was the answer to a young girl’s romantic dream. Her dream, until a short three months ago. She supposed it couldn’t be all that surprising that hearing it now was perhaps just a little thrilling. As for the rest of it, he absolutely didn’t know everything about her. How could he, when he’d done nothing more than humor her when she was little, and avoid her when she was old enough—or thought she was—to know what she wanted? And he knew nothing of London and its sophisticated amusements. That was what she truly enjoyed now.

  Twenty or so minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. “Who is it?” she called, hoping it wasn’t any of her brothers. She didn’t feel up to the task of explaining to Ranulf why she wouldn’t be marrying Cairnsgrove, or why Lachlan had abruptly decided to pursue her. To woo her.

  “It’s Mitchell, my lady,” her maid’s voice came. “Ye said nae to wake ye, but yer brother’s taking some of the Sassenach lads fishing, and I thought ye’d want to know.”

  Oh, dear. Rowena threw off the covers and slid off the bed to her feet. “Come in!” She sat at her dressing table to brush her hair and her teeth as Mitchell went to the wardrobe to find her something suitable to wear. “Which brother?” she asked belatedly, though she could guess.

  “Laird Munro. He and Laird Gray walked into the breakfast room, Cooper said, and offered ten pounds and bragging rights to whichever man of them caught the biggest trout by sunset.”

  “So the ladies have been left behind?”

  “Some of ’em have refused to go doon to the loch, but the rest decided to have a picnic luncheon on the shore.”

  Mitchell held up a pretty white muslin walking dress dotted with red and black flowers. Rowena had chosen the material in London because it bore the MacLawry colors, and she nodded her approval.

  “That sounds quite fun, really,” she said, standing again to shed her night rail and pull on a light shift, then lifting her arms so Mitchell could slide the gown on over her head. Since Lachlan had gone directly from barging into her bedchamber to organizing a fishing expedition, she was rather surprised it sounded so … civilized.

  “Aye. Cooper’s sent a half-dozen of the footmen doon to the shore to put up a canopy and tables and chairs. I haven’t seen so much bustle since the last clan gathering.”

  “They needn’t go to so much trouble,” Rowena countered with a frown. She seated herself again so Mitchell could put up her hair. “I’ll tell Cooper all we need are some blankets to sit on.”

  “The brown-haired miss, Lady Edith, isnae? She said the ground was too wet fer sitting doon, and they must have shelter from the Scottish sun.” The maid leaned closer. “What’s so frightening aboot the Scottish sun? We dunnae even see it that often.”

  “Ladies need to protect their complexions,” Rowena replied with a smile. “Men don’t like a lady to have red, blotchy skin.”

  “I remember ye coming home burned by the sun more than once,” Mitchell commented as she finished the single thick braid and began coiling it atop Rowena’s head. “Ye looked fine and healthy to me, even if ye did smell a wee bit like fish.”

  Rowena laughed. “That doesn’t sound very ladylike.”

  It was only since she’d visited London that she’d realized how unusual her childhood had been. Since her fifth birthday she’d been raised entirely by her brothers and her uncle Myles. As far as she’d known, young ladies all went fishing, wore trousers so they could ride astride, learned to use a pistol and a rifle and a sword, and donned very frilly gowns for tea parties.

  She knew better now. And so those things Lachlan claimed to know about her didn’t signify as anything but a source of embarrassment. If he meant to use them against her, well, she knew a few unsavory things about him. She didn’t want this to turn into a war, but neither would she ever—ever—waste another moment mooning after Lachlan MacTier.

  In fact, just these few moments were too many. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled open her bedchamber door and strode for the stairs. She could walk daintily once she reached the main floor and her guests. Perhaps she hadn’t organized today’s excursion, but she could keep it from dissolving into MacLawry chaos.

  “Ye look very determined this morning,” Arran said, pausing at the top of the stairs to wait for her.

  “Evidently I’m late for a fishing expedition,” she returned, hurrying past him.

  “The men left but five minutes ago, and the lasses are still choosing their wee parasols.” The middle MacLawry brother descended the stairs behind her. “I’ve a wager with Bear over which lass gets blown into the loch first.”

  With a scowl she stopped, whipping around to look up at him. “That is not amu…” She trailed off as she caught sight of his easy grin. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Aye. Ye had a serious look aboot ye. And since ye’re arranging fer a horde of Highlanders to attend a gathering and a wedding, I thought ye could use someone telling ye what a fine job ye’re doing of it. Because ye are doing a grand job.”

  Rowena caught up his uninjured arm and let him escort her the rest of the way down to the main floor. “The Highlanders are just beginning to arrive. No doubt we’ll have our first brawl by dinner.” And if Lachlan caused it, she wouldn’t have to worry about kissing him again, and the unwelcome, fluttery feelings that came with it.

  “It wouldnae be a proper wedding withoot a scuffle.”

  “Hopefully less of a scuffle than you went through.” She sighed, hugging his good arm. “I was so worried about you, you know. You might have told me what was afoot. And angry as Ranulf was, he was twice as terrified that you would never reach Scotland alive.”

  “I ken that,” he returned. “Before I met Mary I wouldnae have ever contemplated eloping, much less with a Campbell. Love’s an odd beast, Rowena. When it catches hold of ye, ye’ll do anything to keep it wrapped aboot ye, whatever the cost.”

  The mere fact that her clever, logical brother had fled London with Mary Campbell, knowing full well that a horde of angry Campbells was directly on his heels, was proof enough for her that love was mad. In fact, it made her decision to find a calm, cultured man to marry seem all the more sensible. “Where is your Mary, this morning?”

  His warm smile returned. “Her stomach’s a bit unsettled. I’m on my way to fetch some toast and peppermint tea.”

  R
owena kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so happy for you, Arran. You’re going to make me an aunt.”

  “I reckon I’m happy fer myself. Give our excuses to yer friends, if ye will.”

  “Of course.”

  The moment Winnie grabbed up her own bonnet and parasol and left the house, Arran’s smile dropped. “Is Glengask aboot?” he asked Cooper, as the butler sagged against the door. Having so many proper Sassenach about the house was no doubt exhausting.

  “Aye, m’laird. Ye’ll find him in the stable. Debny says we’ll be oot of horse feed by the end of the week.”

  Nodding, Arran headed back into the depths of the house and then exited by the side door nearest the stable. He tolerated all these English here, but he didn’t intend to spend any more time with them than he had to. Not when he had a new bride to keep company. Aside from that, he didn’t want any of Winnie’s friends, old or new, overhearing his conversation.

  He found the marquis standing beside the head groom as two of the other stableboys finished hitching up a wagon. Howard Howard, the one-eyed former London hack driver who’d helped Mary and him reach the Highlands, sat on the plank seat, the reins in his hands. Arran grinned. Whatever was afoot, he owed Mr. Howard a great deal.

  “How are ye liking the Highlands, Howard?” he asked, reaching up his hand.

  The driver wiped his fingers off on his trousers before he shook it. “It’s as fine as you described it, Lord Arran. And Glengask here has a fine stable. Very fine. I’m honored you found me employment here.” He brushed a hand across his good eye. “You’re fine folk, you know.”

  “Once we get to where we ken what the lad’s saying, we’ll all be happy as clams,” Debny put in with a chuckle.

  “Mm-hm. You just keep telling yourselves that I’m the one who talks funny.” Howard sniffed. “Are we driving into the village, or aren’t we?”

  “Ye are,” Ranulf put in, stepping back as Debny climbed onto the wagon’s set beside the driver. “Dunnae let Tom MacNamara overcharge us fer grain. Remind him we keep his mill in business.”