by Stobie Piel
Her sorrow dampens my joy and makes me uneasy. Things are looking almost too good. I will keep myself alert for possible threats to my new station . . .
"You've got it on backwards." Miren stood in the doorway of Nathan's room, shaking her head. The Duke of Argyll had provided traditional Highland dress for Nathan's use, all in the blue and green MacCallum tartan plaid.
Nathan stood at the wide, arched window of his room, glaring over Oban to the harbor. He'd gotten as far as his kilt and, apparently, gave up. "I see no need . . ." He turned from the window, and his words trailed. His dark eyes widened as he scanned her new dress.
Miren felt shy. Glenna had helped her prepare and assemble her elaborate new gown, but it seemed so different from her usual dress. The bodice was snug over an even snugger corset, and her undergarments required a bustle, which seemed the equivalent of wearing a small coach.
Despite its cumbersome weight, she liked the dress. Her bodice was attached to a matching overskirt, which flared open to an ivory satin skirt beneath, both with green trim, an ivory fringe, and a wide, square neckline. Her hair was piled into a chignon, with tendrils left loose to frame her face.
"Miren . . . you're beautiful." Nathan's mouth remained open. Miren blushed.
"Thank you."
"Why aren't you stuffed into some ridiculous Highland costume?"
"Only the gentlemen assume the official dress, Nathan." She eyed the sorry state of his wardrobe. "But most of them have more success fitting it correctly."
Nathan glanced at his disheveled kilt and twisted plaid, then turned his gaze back to her. "You are beautiful."
Miren kept her eyes down. "You said that."
"It warrants saying."
Molly sat beside Miren's feet, looking proud. "Did you notice Molly's bow? It's the Lindsay plaid."
Nathan glanced down at Molly. "Majestic."
Molly looked even more proud.
"The queen sent me three trunks of dresses. Green ones as deep as the forest, ones the color of red wine and mead, and one the exact color of Loch Fyne. And Nathan, there's a whole trunk of plaids, both Lindsay and MacCallum." She paused. "I suppose she expects me to adopt your plaid when we marry."
"I'd thought to initiate you into the Clan of the Wolf."
Miren peered up at him. His smile faded when he realized what he'd said. Their engagement was a ruse to serve a greater purpose. Nothing more. Miren cleared her throat. "The sporran goes around your waist, not over your shoulder. You do not wear tight black trousers beneath a kilt . . ."
Nathan seemed relieved to have the subject changed. "I have to cover up these stockings with something."
"A shoulder plaid is not a cape." Miren went to the large black trunk and rummaged through the Highland dress.
She sorted through his clothing and laid it out on the bed. Molly hopped onto the bed and curled up on a large, soft pillow.
Miren held up a short black jacket with gold trim. "Here is your coat. You wear this over an ivory shirt." She found a loose shirt with full sleeves. "This will do." She placed it beside the jacket, then scrutinized Nathan's current appearance. "You can't wear your pirate shirt, Nathan. The collar is wrong."
Nathan turned back to the window, stubborn. Miren peered over his shoulder. The Oban port bustled with vessels, from small fishing boats to large cargo transports. "Can we see your ship from here?"
Nathan pointed to a ship with a black hull. It looked sleek and fast. "There. Simon is on board making sure it's ready. Daniel knows my ship better, but the old man wanted to check it for himself."
"Perhaps he misses the sea."
"Or he's found a good reason for avoiding this banquet." Nathan dropped his shoulder plaid, frowning. "I will wear my own clothes."
Miren turned her attention back to Nathan's new wardrobe. "Just for tonight, Nathaniel. We are attending a party. It was your idea to accept the duke's invitation, so you must dress accordingly."
Nathan eyed the articles of clothing and decoration strewn across his bed. "Not in that."
"You can't wear your pirate costume to a nobleman's party. You're supposed to be a laird now."
"It's impossible. I have no idea what to do with that . . . gear."
"I'll help you." Miren unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. She lingered a moment to view his chest. Nathan noticed her fixed gaze, and he smiled.
"Having you as my valet has its appeal."
Miren cleared her throat. "We don't have time. We would have had time, but you were off with the duke, and now you're being stubborn." Miren frowned. They hadn't been alone together once since Nat came to her cottage. Now they were in Oban, and she would be leaving. Unless he changed his mind at the last minute. Miren didn't want to hope, but she couldn't stop herself.
A practical woman keeps hope in its proper perspective.
Yes, she hoped he would decide to keep her. But she would assume they had one night together, and make the most of it. Unfortunately, they were to spend the evening at a banquet hosted by the duke, and for the benefit of the queen. "What were you doing so long with the duke?"
"It couldn't be helped, Miren. The duke has arranged support for the Games, in case Edgington gives us any trouble."
"Will Brent be at the party?"
"Ah, there is an interesting development. Lady MacCallum received a message from him when we arrived. He won't make it to the party, but he will join us at the Games."
"Why?"
"A good question. He may be planning something. Which is why the duke has arranged for several disguised guards to be on the premises."
Miren stood back. "Take off your trousers."
Nathan sighed, then removed his snug black trousers, exposing a fine pair of green and blue argyll socks. Miren nodded appreciatively. "They look good. You have good, strong legs." She bit her lip, thinking of his naked body stretched out before her. Nathan caught her expression and grinned.
"What do I wear beneath this . . . skirt, if not trousers?"
Miren hesitated. "What are you wearing now?"
"Nothing."
"That's it." She coughed to distract herself, then found a pair of low shoes with a silver buckle. "See if these fit."
Nathan put the shoes on, wiggled his toes as if looking for something to complain about, then shrugged. "They'll do. What next?"
"The coat, I think. Yes." Miren helped him with the coat, holding his sleeves. He grumbled through the whole procedure. Miren kissed his shoulder. "You are a trial, Indian."
"I see no point to any of these bits of cloth . . ."
Miren buttoned his coat and stood back to view her progress. "This is a Scottish chieftain's uniform, Nathaniel. Didn't you wear a uniform in the American war?"
''Yes. When I had to."
"What do Indians wear?"
"Practical clothing. It depends."
"For ceremony, they wear nothing of interest?"
"Tribal customs dictate certain . . . Wampum belts, perhaps."
"Earrings, feathers, and beads?" Miren chuckled. "And what do you call that pirate costume you wear? The leather vest, the big white shirt, the incredibly tight trousers. Those black boots." Her voice trailed, and Nathan's brow angled.
"A lure to women."
Miren's blush deepened. "You've worn many uniforms, Indian. One more won't hurt."
Nathan touched her cheek. "No, I suppose not."
Their eyes met, and Miren saw something she hadn't seen before. Confusion. He didn't know where he belonged, and he was afraid. Afraid he would choose the wrong path, afraid of what he didn't know.
Miren wanted to help him, but she remembered Glenna's words. He'll find his strength on his own. "Now, for the decorations . . ."
Miren seized the long plaid and wrapped it around his waist and up over his right shoulder. "Do you have a brooch? I didn't see one in the trunk."
Nathan gestured to his old coat. "In there."
Miren fished around in his pocket and found the MacCallum badge. She
pinned the plaid over his shoulder, then seized the sporran. It was made from light fur, with Celtic designs lining the silver clasp and hung with black tassels. "Impressive."
"Is there anything else?"
"We have your badge, the sporran . . . You need a dirk and a sgian-dhu."
"What for?"
"Well"Miren tapped her lip thoughtfully"Lady Sarah is among the duke's guests. When she sees you looking likethis, knowing what you're wearing underneath . . . you may need a full arsenal."
Nathan crossed his arms over his chest. "It's your intentions that concern me, woman."
Miren peered up at him from beneath lowered lashes. "That remains to be seen." She hooked the sheathed dirk onto his belt, then picked up the small sgian-dhu. Three amber stones decorated its sheath and hilt. Miren fingered it with interest. "I've always wanted one of these."
"I shudder to think why."
Miren bent and tried to reach his legs. She puffed an impatient breath. "Tight corsets are an inconvenience. Place your right foot on the trunk, please."
Nathan obliged, watching suspiciously as she stuffed the sgian-dhu into his stocking. Miren stood back to survey her handiwork. He stood before her, frowning, his foot still resting on the trunk.
His dark hair fell to his shoulders. Broad, strong shoulders that filled his black jacket to its capacity, offering good evidence of musculature. Miren swallowed. Her gaze lowered to the crisp, pleated kilt. It was woven with both dark and light blue, squared with a deep, rich green. Strands of white thread and black crossed the fabric.
Miren's eyes filled with sudden tears. "You are so beautiful. You look . . ." Her gaze lifted to his. He looked . . . surprised, and still confused. "You look like a laird. A real laird. Just as I've seen them in my dreams."
One dark brow angled. "You've seen lairds in your dreams?"
"I have, many times. Leading battles, they are. They've got swords, which you don't. The basket hilt variety, naturally. In my dreams, I'm following"she paused and coughed"herding my sheep, and Molly is with me. Men are fighting, the way men often do. And just when I decide to pass by, a chieftain turns and sees me. He looks just like you."
"Prophetic. Maybe you should have passed by, after all. Men at war are dangerous, Miren."
Miren's gaze shifted to her feet. "A life wandering is nothing compared to seeing my laird up close." She didn't dare look at him. He was too perfectly tall and handsome. All that filled her dreams. Dreams she'd forgotten, shoved aside in favor of reality. Nathan brought them to her in warm, strong flesh, in a sweet embrace.
Maybe it was enough to taste the dream, even if only for a little while.
Miren closed her eyes until the threat of tears passed, then turned back to the trunk.
"What are you looking for? There isn't any room left on me."
Miren found a small pin, strained to reach it without splitting her corset, then held it aloft. "This!"
"What is it?"
"A pin for your kilt. See, it looks like a wee claymore." Miren pointed to the bed. "You'll have to stand up there. I can't bend over to pin this on."
"Let me pin it, then."
"You won't get it right." Miren pointed. "Up."
Nathan drew a long, weary breath, then climbed up on the bed. Miren stole a quick glance at his thighs, and her nerves tingled. Amazing, how every muscle moved in accord, defined to perfection.
Nathan cleared his throat meaningfully. He stood on the bed, arms folded over his chest, legs apart. His lips curved in a smile, his dark eyes twinkled. "If you're ready . . ."
Miren's blush soaked from her neck to her cheeks. "I was simply checking to see if you had everything on correctly."
"And do I?"
She ignored his leading tone as best she could. "Yes." Miren fixed her attention on his kilt, pinned the tiny claymore on the fold, then backed away slowly. His beauty stole her breath. Molly rose from her soft pillow and positioned herselfbeside Nathan as if she intended to enhance his image.
"Do I pass your inspection, Highlander?"
Miren gazed up at him and sighed. "You do."
The banquet passed quickly, because the plates were removed as soon as Queen Victoria finished eating. The first course's early departure alerted Nathan to the necessity of eating first, talking later. It wasn't easy. He sat across from the Duke of Argyll, who talked and ate with no interference.
Miren sat beside him, but she didn't eat much. Maybe her corset was too tight. But it looked good. Nathan took a hurried bite of roast pheasant, then turned to watch her. Her fingers curved delicately around her fork, but she took only a small bite.
"Are you well, Miren? I've never seen you eat so little."
She peered up at him, her blue eyes soft. "I'm not so very hungry." She glanced at the table, then lowered her voice. "Which is good, because the footmen just removed your plate."
Nathan sighed as the footmen carted away the remainder of dinner. Queen Victoria was a heartyand fasteater. "I don't know how she tastes anything eating that way."
Miren elbowed his ribs. "There's always dessert. But I was thinking of a sweeter pleasure."
Nathan's heart slammed against his breast. He checked her expression to see if she meant what she seemed to mean. Her lips curved at one corner, her eyes darkened to the blue of midnight loch. She meant it. She dampened her lips, subtly and purposefully. Fortunately, his kilt was loose enough to conceal his reaction.
"What's next?"
He spoke too loud, from tension, and the duke overheard. "You won't be disappointed, Laird MacCallum. After dinner, there's a fine ball appointed for Her Majesty's enjoyment. Should keep us all enlivened until the wee hours of morn!"
Nathan tried to smile. "An enjoyable evening." He waiteduntil the duke directed his conversation to his dinner partner, then turned to Miren, keeping his voice low. "How soon can we leave?"
Miren bit her lip. "It's customary to wait until the queen departs, I believe."
Nathan glanced at the queen. She sat at the table's head, speaking with her daughter. "After what's she's eaten, she's bound to be tired. Good."
Miren eyed him reproachfully, but he knew she fought a smile. "I'm not tired."
She was teasing him, letting him know that whenever they reached his bedroom, or hers, she would be ready. Nathan drew a tight breath and forced his attention elsewhere. Lady MacCallum sat at the far end of the giant table, her face strained with a false smile as she listened to an old Scottish colonel discussing his venture to the South Seas. His voice rose and fell with the excitement of his tale.
"Ship went down near the isle of Java. Half the crew drowned or got eaten up by sharks!"
Nathan heard Lady MacCallum's tense reply. "How dreadful." No feeling revealed itself in her words.
"I, myself, only just survived. Ended up on a cargo ship. Whole thing stank of sheepmerinos bound for Australia, they were."
"Australia." Nathan caught Lady MacCallum's grimace. She even shuddered. "I can think of nowhere more loathsome than Australia."
"Well, it's bleak, I'll tell you. Hot and wet like a dog's tongue in one place, and dried up like roasting bones in another. The Australian outback . . . now, there's a place . . .
Nathan turned his attention away from Lady MacCallum and her dinner companion. He guessed that the queen had chosen the seating placements and kept Irene MacCallum as far away from her as possible. Even the good-natured duke admittedunder the influence of shared whiskeythat he'drather put her behind the coach than travel from Inveraray to Oban with Irene.
The footmen delivered large platters of pastries and creams to the guests. Queen Victoria abandoned her conversation and concentrated on her dessert. Nathan noticed that Miren seized a shortbread pastry and devoured it in good speed, despite her lack of appetite.
She caught his knowing glance and smiled. "I needed something to maintain my energy." She paused, and one brow lowered. "For later."
Miren licked her fingers, and her eyes sparkled. "I think you shoul
d have one, too, Nathaniel." The footman retrieved the plates, and Nathan sighed.
"Too late."
Nathan liked dancing. Simon had often said it was in his blood, from native rituals. His mother said it was Scottish. Miren liked dancing, too. They glided across the floor to sweet music, and their gaze never left each other. Nathan forgot who he was, where he came from. For this night, he was whatever Miren Lindsay wanted him to be.
He remembered when he first saw her, picking her way through her sheep, wedging Blossom aside as she came to face him. Wearing a sackcloth dress, a small pack slung over her shoulder. He'd thought her lovely then. The loveliest thing he'd ever seen. He wondered if he'd told her then how much he admired her.
They spun through the other dancers as if floating on air. He remembered her pacing back and forth in the Inveraray Jail exercise pen. Her dog at her heels, her hair slick from the rain. She moved his heart then, too. And he'd said nothing.
She was dressed like a queen. Nathan caught a vision of Queen Victoria from the corner of his eye. She wore black, as always, with a white lace cap covering her hair. No, Miren wasn't a queen. She was as beautiful in burlap as satin, and as much at ease in either. She was happy, because she waswith him. He realized with a cool shock that he was happy, too.
I can't lose you.
The music stopped too soon. Ladies applauded with soft claps, the men went to fetch cups of punch for the women, and Nathan decided the evening had gone on long enough.
He eyed the queen as she sat in a corner, her daughter beside her. "She doesn't look eager to leave."
Miren sighed. "No."
"Would you like some punch?"
"No."
Miren looked thoughtful. Her small, flushed face was scrunched to one side as if plotting. "Nathan . . ." She spoke his name slowly.
"I'm almost afraid to ask . . . What?"
She watched Lady Sarah, who held demurely to an older man's arm. The marquess, her future husband. Nathan caught a surreptitious glance his way, directed at his legs.
Miren tapped his shoulder. "I warned you. I hope you have the sgian-dhu ready."
