Page 5 of Highlander’s Sloth

2

Act Like a Lady

Since Lady MacGill had partitioned the old castle’s great hall into smaller, more refined rooms, dinner was meant to be a sedate affair at Mac an Goill. But not today.

“Where is that blasted minx?” Laird Gilbert, Chief of the MacGill clan, roared to no one in particular. His two children were dining in the nursery, and the only other people gathered in the room were his wife, one footman, and two serving maids, who decided the best course of action would be to ignore the laird’s outburst. He had never been tolerant of his youngest sister’s unladylike behavior, and he disliked tardiness as much as the next man.

“Is it too much that I ask for?” Gilbert turned to his wife, an irate, injured look on his face, “All I demand is for the family to sit down at noon each day and break bread together.”

He did not have to add that it was also a good way to keep an eye on what Miss Kirsty MacGill was up to. If he commanded the family to gather around the table halfway through the day, it would mean Kirsty would not be able to gallop her pony too far over the hills, go out on the small rowboat she had, or wander into the woodlands around the river.

“She’s incorrigible!” he exclaimed.

Lady Christine knew how to reply. “She has no hourglass, Husband, nor has she the skill to look at the sun for guidance. If she has walked beyond hearing distance of the noontime bell, never fear that Kirsty will return when her stomach begins to rumble.”

Laird MacGill signaled to the serving maids to start bringing in the first course. He did not worry that his sister would have to eat cold soup or go hungry; what he cared the most about was his orders being disobeyed. And ever since he had been left as the sole guardian of his young half-sisters after his father had died, Kirsty’s willful disregard of rules and etiquette had been a thorn in his side.

“Perhaps we should dine in the great hall on the dais?” Lady Christine suggested. “Kirsty has mentioned that she feels no sense of urgency when she kens she’s to eat in the same room as we serve breakfast.”

Laird MacGill scoffed, “This is no’ a castle keep no more, Christine. The clan keeps cottages in the village and farmsteads in the surrounding countryside; we gather for feast days and seasonal celebrations. Me sister’s desire to maintain auld traditions is hardly suitable when there’s just the three of us dining.”

“Then we should give thought to finding her an establishment of her own to run as she sees fit, don’ ye agree?” Lady Christine murmured.

Laird Gilbert nodded and then went back to spooning soup, a thoughtful expression on his face. His wife knew he was making a recital of all the influential lairds in the Highlands and how many unwed sons they had.

The second course had already been placed on the table when Kirsty breezed into the room.

“A thousand apologies for me lateness, Brither,” she said blithely, not waiting for the footman to pull out the chair for her but dragging it out and plonking herself into it without even bothering to arrange her skirts around her first.

She grabbed the nearest platter, scraped some of the food onto her plate, and began to shovel it into her mouth.

Lady Christine winced when she looked over at Kirsty. The girl never failed to bring out the fussy side in her finicky sister-in-law.

“I see the grass has stained yer bodice again, Kirsty,” Christine commented drily. “Ye ken that over robe cost me a great deal?”

Kirsty replied with her mouth full of food, “Ven don’ buy me vem. I’m fine wiv what I have...don’ need more.”

Christine knew it was the wrong time to bring the subject up, but there was something so irritating and irresponsible about Gil’s youngest sister. Kirsty acted as though she were still in short petticoats instead of being a young lady ready to take on the responsibilities of running a household. Lady Christine had tried to get her interested in visiting the linen closet and counting the silverware before it was locked away, but whenever such assignments arose, Kirsty would be nowhere found, even if she had promised to help. It was most frustrating.

“I do have to buy ye new dresses, Kirsty, an’ don’ pretend ye dinnae ken why!”

The truth was, over the last year, Kirsty had changed from a gamine, skinny young girl into an undeniably pretty woman, and not one of her old robes fitted her anymore. She had become bonny, buxom, and beautiful in the space of six short months.

She was the shortest out of the three MacGill girls, but her sharp pixyish features and scrawny limbs had undergone a distinct change as the last twelve months slipped past. Her breasts had plumped and filled out, and her hips had widened, causing her figure to develop the most delicious hourglass shape.

Her girlish face had lost its acute angles; her features had softened into wide, blue-grey eyes—the same color as to where the sea meets the sky—a classically shaped nose, and lush full lips which promised the possibility of long nights of lingering kisses.

The only things that had stayed the same in Kirsty’s appearance were her determined chin and the light dusting of pale freckles she had sprinkling her nose and cheekbones. As if to spite all signs of her womanly developments, Kirsty had chopped off her long golden ringlets and refused to tie back her curls with so much as a riband. The hair had grown back a little since then, and it now clustered around her shoulders in a myriad of shining spirals. And Laird MacGill had told the servants to hide the shears from his sister on pain of dismissal.

Kirsty continued to spoon food into her mouth as though there was a fire threatening to burn it off her plate. When Christine asked if she knew how much it cost to keep the sister of a laird dressed according to her station, she simply shrugged, swallowed, and replied, “Tell the maid to let out the sides of me auld ones,” and then carried on eating.

Gilbert had heard enough. He slammed his fist down hard enough on the table to make the cutlery jump and rattle.

“Ye will show yer sister-in-law—me wife—the respect she is owed! Have ye forgotten that no’ three years ago we faced a deficit in gold? And here ye are acting as though ball gowns grow on trees.”

Unperturbed, Kirsty chuckled, “Then tell yer wife nae to hold so many balls. Then I would nae need the blasted gowns.”

Kirsty’s teasing and mocking had a way of making her brother’s blood boil.