Page 9 of Highlander’s Lust

4

A Wake and a Wooing

Charlie judged the time was right for him to spring his trap. He gave a deep sigh.

“Ah, Miss Jean Macanroy, it makes me heartsore to ken ye are visiting the kitchens when there is no lady of the house to show ye its hospitality. Me mither passed away from the plague when I was but a wee lad, and even though I will see eight and twenty summers this year, I have no’ yet found the perfect mistress to take me mither’s sacred place as Lady of Brisbane Castle. Do ye p’raps see any improvements that could be made about the place? Yer assistance in this matter would help me greatly.”

Charlie felt satisfied his tale of woe had been received just the way he wanted it. He watched Jean’s sapphire blue eyes carefully, lowering his lashes so she would not be aware of his keen stare.

Jean did not simper and wink like all the other women Charlie had met in his life; the serene way she had of listening to him gave her a gravitas he was surprised to find in someone so young. Her cool contemplation of his request was so opposite to the way other women behaved when he looked at them that Charlie wondered if she was too haughty to reply, but somehow the regal silence she maintained only served to add to her allure.

Eventually, she said, “Did ye come here to praise the food, or did ye follow me?”

He burst out laughing. The lass had outdone him in crafty deduction. And he adored her all the more for her candor.

“Miss Jean, I confess...I followed ye. It occurred to me ye did not enjoy the feast, and I wanted to discover why.”

With any other woman, Charlie would have continued his sentence with a flattering statement guaranteed to make the lady weak at her knees. But in truth, he was a little scared of Jean’s acuteness and did not put it past her to chastise him if he tried to cajole her.

Jean was completely disarmed by Laird Brisbane’s reply and the smile and laugh that accompanied it. She no longer saw him as a dangerous predator, lurking in his castle corridors to pounce on innocent maidens, but as a man who was brave enough to follow his natural inclinations. She returned his lairdship’s smile willingly.

“I am sorry to hear about the sore loss of both yer parents, me laird. D’ye really want me opinion about how to improve things? If so, I must warn ye, I dinnae have much experience in such matters. My passions lean more toward horses and whisky distilling.”

Mistress Peyton interrupted them, “If it’s all the same to ye, me laird, I need this space to carve the meat joints. The spit roast boy tells me the chickens are ready to come off.”

Charlie proffered Jean his arm. “If ye would be so kind...I can show ye the way back to the banquet hall.”

Jean ignored Charlie's offer to escort her, waving the lavender in his face. “Nay, I thank ye, me laird. I must hasten to me mither’s bedchamber to bathe her forehead. She suffered a malaise after the coach journey.”

Charlie put on his most pleading manner. “Miss Jean, ye cannae depart and leave me so unfulfilled.”

Her eyes widened at this remark, and her body stiffened. “Whatever do ye mean, me laird? What fulfillment could ye possibly be expectin’ from a maiden?”

Charlie became acutely aware of Mistress Peyton standing beside them, listening to the exchange with keen interest.

“Och, lass,” Charlie laughed, “if ye would only allow me to explain…,” As Jean stood tapping her foot, one eyebrow raised with haughty condemnation, he continued, “Ye mentioned distilleries, lass, and I want to ken if ye’re part of the Macanroy whisky clan.”

Now it was Jean’s turn to laugh. “I understand completely, Laird, and forgive ye. Whenever a man hears my clan name, their eyes widen like hounds on the scent, and who can blame them? A Highlander and his whisky is an inviolate pairing. And to answer yer question, Laird Callum Macanroy is me faither.”

The cook smiled as Jean hooked her fingers over Charlie’s arm and walked out of the kitchen. No woman was immune to Laird Brisbane’s charm.

Charlie begged Jean to delay her mission to Lady Macanroy’s bedside with the promise to show her his stables and brewery. He was impressed when she agreed with unrestrained enthusiasm; other women would have been appalled to leave an elegant banquet to go and walk around straw-strewn stables. Jean picked her way daintily around the horse stalls, asking him intelligent questions about breeding and foaling, and even gave him advice on where to obtain the best barley hops. If she was shy about being alone with the master of the castle, she did not show it. Her fingers fluttered lightly over the rock-hard arm muscles hidden under his coat sleeve, and when he grabbed her by her waist to lift her over a shallow puddle, the only sign she gave of a quickening heartbeat was the soft pink flush that flooded her cheeks.

Charlie forgot about how strange it would seem for the host to leave his guests to dine alone. He was enthralled by Jean, taking pleasure at every little gesture she made with her right hand as they strolled around the castle's formal gardens. He reveled in having a tall woman by his side, not having to crane his neck when he leaned his head down to listen to her soft voice; he found intoxicating the scent of summer flowers mixed with the gentle perfume rising from her smoothly rounded shoulders.

Thus, it was with a great show of reluctance that Laird Brisbane escorted Jean back to the suite of rooms assigned to the Macanroys. He had to return to his guests.

“Can I see ye again?” he asked. She nodded, her blue eyes shining in the darkness of the corridor, “When?” he wanted to know, afraid that if she left his sight for one moment, she would disappear into the summer sky like one of the butterflies in the formal garden.

She gave him another one of her deliciously enchanting smiles. “I am no’ about to make an assignation with ye, Laird. I can only do such things with the knowledge of me parents.”

Charlie tried not to let the frustration show on his face. He bowed and then held his hand out for her own. Jean thought it would be impolite to refuse him, so she placed her fingers on his outstretched palm. For one delightful moment, his lairdship rubbed his thumb lightly over her fingers before raising her hand to his lips. When she felt the prickle of his stubble on her skin, it created a frisson of excitement that ran all over her body, and as his mouth pressed against her fingertips, she shivered—but it was not from cold or fear.

“I will speak to yer faither after the wake, Miss Jean Macanroy,” Laird Brisbane told her, and on those words, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Jean watched him stride down the passage. He was a strapping man, a true Highlander. Even if all the stories about his unbridled lust were true, she could not stop herself from feeling that everything about Charlie Brisbane was wild and untamed. From behind, he looked intimidating. He was all rippling muscles under the taut white cotton of his shirt; the draped plaid carelessly thrown over his shoulders was not able to conceal the sheer bulk of his honed torso. Unlike the other more well fed, elderly lairds and chieftains Jean had met in Edinburgh, Charlie’s broad shoulders dipped down to trim hips, around which the Brisbane plaid was neatly pleated. The thin wool fabric swung from side to side with the pace of his stride. The design etched into the back of his belt was worn slightly away in the middle; Jean knew this was caused by his sword swaying and rubbing against the leather belt when the scabbard was slung behind him.

All the images Jean had previously had of rakish men were shattered forever. She had always imagined that seductive men would be laughingly persuasive and full of witty eloquence. Never would Jean have imagined a rake to give off such a definable air of danger as Laird Brisbane did. For all his charm and good humor, she got the feeling that it was used as a mask to conceal a very serious threat.

What bigger threat could there be to any woman than for her to lose her virtue to a man who did not care one jot for her?

Jean gave herself a hard shake and had to admit to herself she was half excited and half frightened about how she would feel when meeting up with Laird Brisbane again.

She went into the bedchamber and found Lady Kirsty looking extremely ill.

“Mither!” she exclaimed. “Why did ye no’ pull the bell rope for a maid?” The thought of her mother lying helpless in bed while she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor made Jean angry. “Come, let me help ye up.” Jean looked around the bedchamber while she helped the groaning Kirsty make herself more comfortable on the pillows.

Kirsty whispered out of dry lips, “Fetch yer faither an’ yer brither from the feast. They must ride to Carnachscallie Village and bring back an apothecary.”

If her strong, unflappable mother was ordering her to fetch a healer to her bedside, things were far more serious than travel sickness. Jean prayed that Kirsty had not picked up some deadly ague at one of the taverns they had stayed in. She gave the bell rope in the corner a hearty pull. When the maid arrived, she ordered the girl to stay with her mother while she ran down to the banquet hall.

By suppertime, the Macanroys were gathered around Lady Kirsty’s bedside, awaiting the apothecary’s verdict after his examination. The healer had taken his time, asking the lady many questions and pressing certain parts of her body with a keen, knowledgeable expression on his wrinkled face.

The man let Lady Kirsty’s hand drop down to the covers and straightened himself up. He looked at the three anxious faces around him and smiled.

“If I'm not mistaken, me laird, Lady Macanroy is with child! Congratulations!”