Page 8 of Highlander’s Lust

And now, for the first time, it was Jean watching intently as someone walked by. Callum was not a superstitious man, but when he saw the way Jean was staring at Charlie Brisbane, as a father, it felt as though a specter was crossing his grave.

“I hear only naughty stories about the man, Jean,” Laird Macanroy said, “and wouldnae put it past Brisbane to act the knave in the presence of a lady—if she be beautiful enough to tempt him.”

Jean did not look at her father when he spoke but continued to watch Laird Brisbane as he strode to the dais in the middle of the hall and signaled for the minstrels to begin playing. Only when the pageboys and servers blocked the tall man from her view did Jean reply, “I like him. He has laughing eyes.”

Callum said cautiously, “Och, Jeannie, the man has plenty to smile about. He’s the new Brisbane chief and a feared warrior in his own right. Since he took over the command of the late laird’s soldiers, the clan has been free from unrest of any kind.”

She bent her head and waited for the food to be served to her. Callum gave a sigh of relief. Jean did not look as though she found Charlie Brisbane as devastatingly attractive as most ladies swore on their pearls he most definitely was. Instead of watching the man with a lovelorn gaze, she began to eat a roll of soft white bread spread with honey and butter, occasionally taking a sip of the warmed mead from the goblet beside her plate.

But Callum did not understand the mechanisms of Jean’s heart. Men might have called her the ice maiden, but a fire burned fiercely deep inside her. Jean had been waiting for someone to ignite the smoldering embers of her heart, but only a man who stimulated every facet of her being would be able to do so. She wanted more than wealth and status from a husband; she wanted him to overwhelm her mind, her reason, her body, and her senses. Or else why bother calling it love?

Still...when she remembered the way Laird Charles Brisbane made her stomach flip when he had walked past, Jean knew she had been given a glimpse of what true desire could mean.

Lachlan came over to their bench and sat down between his father and sister.

“Mither requests we eat and drink without her, Faither,” Lachlan said, “and she doubts whether she will be in a fit state for much else besides lying abed for a while.”

Callum thanked his son for the news and continued eating. Traveling always made him as hungry as an ox. Jean was made of sterner stuff. She dotted her mouth with a kerchief she kept in her bustle pocket, pushed her plate away, and rose up off the bench, saying, “I will go and sit with Mither. She might need her forehead bathed. I will descend into the kitchens and ask for some lavender.”

The other gentlemen and ladies dining around her moved sideways for Jean to make her way back out of the banqueting hall. As if they were the parting of the seas to show a great wonder of the world, Laird Brisbane was afforded his first look at Miss Jean Macanroy. It was such that he forgot about his dinner entirely.

“Who is that?” he asked Sorley, Chieftain MacTavish, and Gavin MacTavish, who were all seated on the same side of the dais as he.

Gavin, his mouth full of meat, said, “I don’ ken. Plenty of time to go chasing lasses when this wake is over and done with.”

Sorley swallowed his food with a frown. “She is obviously a maiden of high standing, Charlie, so leave her be! Ye can tell at a glance that she has no need of yer gold or yer lascivious attentions, so settle down and finish yer food!”

Chieftain MacTavish had scowled at his son. “Gavin, if ye were half the man ye think ye are, ye would try to fix yer interest with the girl! She's the daughter of a great Highland laird.”

Charlie Brisbane had lost his appetite. When he saw Jean stand up and walk out of the banquet hall, it felt as though the light had gone out of his life.

He pushed back his armchair and set his plate aside.

“I-I must find out who she is. How can I dream about the lass when I don’ even ken her name?”

For the first time in his life, Charlie was stuttering and unsure of what to say. All he knew was that if the tall, slender, auburn-haired maiden walked out of the hall and he never saw her again, he would likely pine away and die with frustrated longing. Not wanting to draw attention to his hasty departure, Charlie snuck out of the banquet hall through the minstrels’ gallery and ran like the wind back to the great hall whence the guests entered and exited.

The maiden was not there.

Charlie whipped his head around from side to side but saw no one. Finally, he ran downstairs to the main hall entrance to see if the girl had summoned a footman to fetch her coach.

“D’ye seek the red-haired beauty, me laird?” a small pageboy asked him. He was seated on a narrow bench adjacent to the guards’ room, waiting for the guests who lived in the village to call for their coaches and depart.

Charlie thanked his good fortune that his servants understood where their master’s priorities lay.

“Aye, Wickham, good boy. I thought she was an angel who had ascended back up to heaven. Where did she disappear?”

The pageboy grinned and pointed to the backstairs. “Kitchen.”

Charlie took a shilling out of his sporran and flicked it at the page, then ran down the stairs as quickly as he could.

He pulled up short before running into the kitchen. For the first time in his life, Charlie wondered what the best way to make a favorable impression was. The situation perplexed him; no magnificent Highland laird would be caught dead in a castle kitchen! Such places were the domain of the lady of the house.

Immediately, Charlie was inspired by a story that would provide him with an excuse.

When he walked down the last few stairs and into the kitchen, the staff reacted as if Auld Nick himself had popped out of a dungeon trapdoor. The cook gave a small scream, and one of the scullery maids dropped a large copper pan of water onto the flagstones.

Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw the beautiful girl standing just outside the scullery doorway, bent over a large bush of lavender. When she heard the commotion in the kitchens, though, she stood up straight and turned around to see what the fuss was about.

Charlie launched into his speech, but he aimed it at the servants.

“I ken this is very unexpected, me comin’ down here to the kitchens…”

The cook felt encouraged by this apologetic stance to make her feelings clear on the matter of masters entering her territory. “Aye, me laird, ye caught us all unawares. Is aught the matter?”

Charlie shook his head. “Nay, Mistress Peyton, naught is wrong. The food is all excellent. I only came here to congratulate ye on producing such a delicious feast and...and to tell ye that everything will stay the same—as it was in me faither’s time. I dinnae come down here afore, b-but I felt inspired...by the food.”

It was not the most eloquent of speeches, but it was the best Charlie could come up with in such a short space of time.

He saw the girl come back into the kitchen, a sprig of lavender in her hand. He bowed low.

“I dinnae ken much about how me faither kept his kitchens,” Charlie said, after standing up straight and flicking his long hair out of his eyes, “but I ken enough to understand ye don’ belong here in it. May I be so bold as to know yer name? I am—”

The girl smiled. “I ken yer name, me laird. And I am Jean Macanroy.”