His voice sent a sensual shiver down her spine.
"Although," he continued, "I can't say I like your dress."
Gillian knew exactly why he didn't care for the gown, but she pretended to be affronted. "What is wrong with my dress?"
"There's not enough of it." His gaze dropped to her dipping bodice. "This whole scheme to shore up the Macleans's marriage might come to naught. If he gets too bold with his gaze, I might have to kill him and then the rest won't matter." He paused, considered it for a moment, and grumbled, "Maybe that's the best plan anyhow."
She laughed. "Oh, Texas, I truly do love you."
"Well, keep it in mind when you're doing your playacting with Maclean. Speaking of which, looks like Cole just raised the curtain."
Gillian followed the path of his gaze and spied Cole Morgan leading Annabelle Maclean out onto the dance floor. "Yes, this is it, then. Kiss me once for luck?"
He kissed her twice. "A person never can have enough luck. Although I still think this whole effort is a stupid waste of time."
"Assisting the course of true love is never a waste of time."
A wicked light glimmered in his eyes. "In that case, why don't we find an empty room and take fifteen minutes to assist the course of our own true love."
Gillian rose up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick, hard kiss, then a wanton wink. "I dinna have fifteen minutes right now, but hold the thought, handsome."
"Ten minutes?"
"Later."
"Five. I can be quick."
She let her fingers trail suggestively across his chest. "Aye, but why should you? Slow is more fun. Patience, Texas. Now, we each have work to do. The sooner begun, the sooner finished."
"You're an evil woman, Gillian Delaney." So said, he waltzed her off the dance floor and left her standing a few feet away from her former lover.
Gillian kept her gaze trained on the dancing as she eavesdropped on David's conversation with Reverend Gregor. She smiled as she watched Robyn beg a turn around the floor from her husband, then make a game of stomping on his toes.
She knew the exact moment David noticed her. She braced herself, preparing to adopt her chosen role for the evening.
"May I have this dance, Gilly?"
"Yes, I'd like that."
They joined the other dancers in a waltz and took only two steps before he spoke. "You must know how surprised I was to receive the invitation to attend tonight's festivities. Your husband claims to have his reasons for inviting me, but what about you, Gilly? Dare I hope to read a hidden meaning behind my being included?"
You hardheaded man. How dare you dishonor Annabelle this way. A hidden meaning in the invitation? Count on it. Choosing her words carefully, she said, "You've always been observant, and this case is no exception. I needed to talk with you and this seemed the most expedient way. David, you must do something about your wife."
His grip on her hand tightened reflexively. "What do you mean?"
"After you interrupted our meeting the other day, my husband's sister grew quite distraught. Apparently, she believes her husband has developed an interest in your wife. Have you been aware that your wife goes riding with Mr. Morgan almost every afternoon?"
David looked past Gillian, a grim set to his mouth. "I am aware she disappears. But I have decided I don't care what Annabelle does. She matters not at all to me. I told you that. I don't love her, I love you."
She wanted to kick him in the shins and tell him to stop being so stupid, to recognize that he did, indeed, love his wife. Instead, she shook her head and sighed. "I don't understand what has gotten into Cole. Chrissy Morgan is a beautiful woman."
"So is Annabelle."
Ah hah. Quick defense there, David. I hope you noticed. Gillian shrugged. "Aye, that she is. Cole certainly seems mesmerized by her."
Encouraged by the set of her dance partner's jaw, she continued, "It takes more than mere beauty to captivate a man like Cole Morgan. What is Annabelle like, David? Help me help my sister-in-law. You may not care about holding your marriage together, but she cares about saving hers."
"Annabelle is—" He broke off abruptly, scowled, then cleared his throat. "I don't wish to talk about Annabelle, especially not when I am holding you in my arms."
Stubborn Scot. "Indulge me."
His gaze drifted downward, alighting on the expanse of bosom displayed by her dress. "Anytime, anyplace."
Oh, really. Mentally, Gillian rolled her eyes. "Tell me about your wife. Look at how she sparkles."
He followed the path of her gaze to where Annabelle was laughing and batting her lashes up toward Cole. It's a wonder she hasn't started a windstorm in the Hall.
David purposely turned his back toward Annabelle.
Gillian frowned, surprised and a little worried. She hadn't expected this level of resistance from him. Had something happened between him and Annabelle since his wife's last visit to Rowanclere? Were they on even less favorable terms than before? Judging from his reaction, she feared it might be so.
Lovely. As if this job wasn't difficult enough as it was. Looking over David's shoulder, she searched the room for her husband.
She hoped he was having better luck than she was.
* * *
It's a wonder Maclean hasn't killed her.
Courageously. Jake maintained a smile despite the ringing in his ears and the throbbing of his feet. Robbie was an amateur toe-stomper compared to this ol' gal. If he'd known the level of pain involved, he wouldn't have asked Mrs. Lehrman to dance.
As it was, he'd made that suggestion in an effort to shut her up long enough to lead the conversation around to the topic he needed to cover. He'd never met a person so adept at eating and complaining at the same time. Actually, he found it an amazing feat to witness. She never spoke with her mouth full—yet she never seemed to stop whining-—and she went through a bowl of Chrissy's chili faster than a hungry cowhand.
As he executed a turn, she landed an extra heavy step on his right little toe and Jake felt his eyes cross in pain. That's it. He'd suffered enough for this cause. A cause he wasn't all that hot to support anyway. When this was all said and done, Gillian was gonna owe him big.
He couldn't wait to get her alone to tell her so, either.
He waltzed Mrs. Lehrman toward the edge of the dance floor, then interrupted her mid-whine. "I'm dry as dirt. How about I grab us a lemonade and show you around the castle a bit?"
Having learned his lesson, he headed for the drink table before she had the chance to reply. Moments later, he escorted her from the Great Hall. The nod from Angus assured him that Robbie, Chrissy, and Flora stood at the ready to do their appointed tasks.
Ever the gentleman, he bit his tongue to keep from commenting as Annabelle's mother rattled on incessantly about surly Scots and inhospitable lodgings and an overall dislike of everything. He led her slowly, but surely, toward the library. Once there, he decided a subtle approach wouldn't work with Henrietta Lehrman, so he broke into her soliloquy about the accommodations she'd suffered during the ship's passage from Boston and asked, "Do you believe in ghosts?"
She stuttered to a stop. "What?"
"Ghosts. Poltergeists, goblins, and ghouls. I never believed in them myself—not until I encountered my first one right here at Rowanclere."
She blinked. "A ghost? You saw a ghost here in your castle?"
"Actually, I've seen two of them. I'm told we have a couple more. They have different personalities, you see. Take Young Fergus, for instance. He's full of mischief, likes to make lots of noise and send stuff flying around."
Jake could tell he had her attention now, the big clue being the way her jaw gaped open but no sound came out. "Now, the Laird's Lady is different. She's more serious in her haunts. She likes to make a man... sweat."
Behind his back, he signaled with his hand. The lamps on the fireplace mantel flickered out. Mrs. Lehrman's eyes went wide. "Did you see that?"
"What?"
"The lamps. They went out
."
"Maybe a draft blew them out."
"Both at once?"
Jake glanced over his shoulder toward the mantel. "That or Young Fergus. Although that's a tame trick for him."
The portrait crashed to the floor. Jake winced as his guest let out a shriek. Too hard again, dammit. That's the third frame in a month. "Now that's more like Young Fergus."
Henrietta Lehrman cowered in her chair. "Is he dangerous?"
"Oh, no." Jake sauntered over to the whisky decanter and poured a pair of stiff drinks. Handing her a glass, he said, "Rowanclere's ghosts are never dangerous... well, except for the Headless Warrior."
She tossed back a healthy swallow. "The H-h-headless Warrior?"
"Yes. He's our more unsavory spirit. Legend has it that he lived at Rowanclere in the fourteenth century. He fell in love with a MacGregor maiden and they married. They were happy for a time, but then her mother came here to live with them. She didn't approve of the warrior and she wasn't shy about letting him know. Finally, in a fit of anger one night and wanting to put a stop to her tongue, he drew his broadsword and lopped off Mrs. MacGregor's head. Though no one who knew her could blame him, clans being clans, this started a war. As fate would have it, he was beheaded in battle and has haunted this manse ever since."
Henrietta gasped. "Have you seen this Headless Warrior?"
Jake shook his head. "No. He only appears to women. Mothers-in-law who bring trouble to their daughters' husbands, in fact. What makes him so dangerous is that once he has chosen a woman as his prey, he not only haunts her while they're at Rowanclere, he haunts her until she either dies or leaves Scotland."
"Oh, my." Mrs. Lehrman giggled nervously. "If that is the case, I'm surprised anyone ever visits this castle of yours."
"You know, I said the same thing to my wife. She told me I needn't worry, that the Warrior hasn't haunted anyone to death in almost fifty years. Still, I can't help but worry. Seems to me if it's been that long, we're ripe for trouble."
He sipped at his own whisky, allowing the echo of the tale to hang in the air. All in all, he thought it had gone quite well. He'd been a bit worried about this part of Gillian's scheme, to be honest. What if Henrietta Lehrman didn't draw the parallels between the story and herself? What if she didn't identify with a mother-in-law a son-in-law couldn't abide? From his point of view, it was the weakest link—well, except for the part where Gillian thought she would be able to convince Maclean he loved his wife more than her. What man in his right mind would prefer that feather-headed female over his Gillian? Sure, Annabelle was pretty, and she was rather sweet, but compared to Gillian? He held up his glass and gazed at the amber liquid.
Hell, Annabelle Maclean was a sweet little white wine compared to the finest Scots whisky, that smooth, sultry kick to the senses that tasted like heaven and made a man burn.
Mrs. Lehrman bolted back her drink, then set the glass down hard on the table. "I think it's time we return to the ballroom. You are an honoree, Mr. Delaney. You should attend your own party."
As Jake followed her, he gestured again. Just as the woman reached the door, it slammed shut. Jake looked at her, his eyes wide. "I sure hope this isn't the Headless Warrior playing all these tricks."
David Maclean's mother-in-law screamed loud and long. Then she gasped and swayed, and Jake worried that they'd gone too far. If she passed out and he had to carry her somewhere, he might strain his back. He had plans for his back, later on. Plans with his princess.
Hell, he could always just roll the windbag out of the way.
Robyn inadvertently saved the day. Eyes glittering with mischief, she stuck her head in the door and said, "Uh-oh. I didn't know anyone was in here. Sorry to slam the door on you."
"You!" Henrietta exclaimed. "That was you? What about the portrait, the lamps? Were those your doings also?"
Robbie shook her head, her expression the picture of childhood innocence. "I don't know anything about lamps or pictures."
She could go on stage, Jake thought.
"Oh, my," Henrietta fanned her face. "I must find my son-in-law and insist we leave. I do not approve of the idea of communing with spirits, and we certainly cannot sleep here as planned."
Jake dragged his hand along his jaw. "Well ma'am, I hate to see you leave the party early, and I don't like the idea of you traveling at night, but if you think that's what you need to do...."
He led her back to the ballroom, then trailed her as she searched the room for her daughter. She found Maclean first, however. The damned fool Scotsman was still sniffing after Gillian. As mother-in-laws were wont to do, Henrietta Lehrman pecked at her daughter's husband until he agreed to leave, then continued to search the Great Hall for Annabelle.
The woman wasn't to be found.
Gillian managed just the right note of concern when she pointed out the fact that Cole seemed to be missing, too. Maclean's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Good, Jake thought. Everything appeared to be going as planned.
* * *
Gillian tried to pinpoint exactly when the plan began to unravel. Was it when David proved to be so granite-headed about admitting his feelings for Annabelle? She'd poked and prodded, but the man simply refused to admit he loved the girl. For that matter, he refused to admit he even liked his wife very much.
Still, he'd caught Gillian unaware by the tepidness of his response upon learning Annabelle had gone missing at the same time as Cole. A flash of temper in his eyes and a thinning of his lips had been the extent of his reaction. She'd expected a jealous furor. She'd anticipated some ranting and raving.
She never guessed he'd calmly inform his mother-in-law that they'd be leaving for home shortly, with Annabelle or without her, he didn't care which.
At that point, Gillian realized she'd made a major miscalculation.
"I don't understand it," she told Flora and Chrissy in the salon being utilized as a ladies' retiring room. "I know him. This isn't like David at all."
"It's the influence of Mrs. Lehrman," Flora said knowingly. "I've seen it at Laichmoray with Alasdair's aunt. Don't underestimate the destructive power of a single unpleasant female relative. Mrs. Lehrman is quite unpleasant."
Chrissy nodded. "I haven't always seen eye to eye with my mama, but even in the worst of times, she never held a candle to that one. Poor Annabelle."
"Why poor me?" the young woman asked when the salon entrance to the secret passageway swung open and she stepped into the room. "What happened?"
Gillian rubbed her temples and said, "David intends to go home."
"What? But I'm missing."
"That doesn't seem to matter. He told your mother to gather her things, that you knew your way home. Annabelle, what happened? Why is he being so hard-headed? Did something happen between the two of you?"
She grimaced and dipped her chin. "Maybe. He said something especially mean to me, and I... well... I said something I probably shouldn't have said."
"What?"
"I told him mmpht mmpht mmpht mmpht." She kicked at the carpet with the toe of her slipper.
"Don't mumble, Annabelle. What did you say?"
"I just might possibly have made mention that in comparison to your Jake he comes up a little... short."
Flora and Chrissy looked puzzled. Gillian's chin gaped in shock. "You didn't."
She shrugged. "It's the truth."
"What's she talk—" Chrissy's eyes went wide. "No. Jake? You saw his... no, never mind. I don't want to know."
Gillian rubbed her temples. "No wonder he's furious. Annabelle, what possessed you to say such a foolish thing as that?"
"He compared me to you and it wasn't a favorable comparison. If I didn't like you so much, Gillian, I'd want to shoot you again. I'm very tired of hearing about how wonderful you are."
"Guid fegs," Flora breathed.
Gillian threw out her hands. "Well, we might as well give up. Ah our planning has gone for naught. He's leaving and—"
"You've got to stop him, G
illian." Annabelle clasped her hands to her chest and begged. "You must. I know I can fix the problems if I can get him alone in the dungeon like we've planned. I know I can. I've been practicing with the feathers, just like you told me to do!"
Chrissy and Flora exchanged interested glances, then turned their attention on Gillian.
"Please, Gillian. Stop him from leaving. Do anything, just give me a chance!"
"Oh, all right. I'll try. But I don't know what I'll say. This isn't what we had planned."
"You'll think of something," Flora encouraged. "You always do."
Gillian proved Flora right. She thought of something, just not anything very smart. Her efforts to mend the Macleans' marriage appeared to be causing more harm than good. At least, that's what a furious and tearful Annabelle declared when she learned David had agreed to stay the night at Rowanclere, after all.
He'd agreed to stay because Gillian Delaney had promised to meet him for a romantic assignation in the dungeon bedchamber at three a.m.
* * *
"If he touches you, I'll kill him. In fact, if he looks at you, I'll kill him. Maybe all he'll have to do is say 'howdy' and it'll be off with his head."
"Haud yer wheest, Texas," Gillian said as she adjusted the pleats of the feileadh mor around her husband's hips.
In a temper, he ignored her. "I should have put a stop to this idea of yours the first time I heard about it. I knew it was stupid from the git-go. You're no matchmaker, Gillian Delaney. You're a matchbreaker."
"What a terrible thing to say!" She gave his plaid a sharp tug. "It was a simple plan that would have worked fine had Annabelle not been so cat-witted as to tell her husband his quhillylillie is smaller than yours."
Jake arched a brow. "Quhillylillie?"
"Your manhood."
"Oh." He proudly squared his shoulders. "Of course I'm bigger."
Gillian rolled her eyes, then slapped his behind. "Oh, hush and go haunt Henrietta."
"Aren't you coming? Aren't you gonna watch? This won't be any fun if you're not watching."
"I'll be there. I'll hide in the passageway and watch. I wouldn't miss this for anything. First I want to make a quick run down to the dungeon to check on the chamber room and Annabelle to see if she has any last questions."
Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 26
