Page 45 of To Defy a Highland Duke

She turned to look behind her to see who Lady Abercrombie meant the friendly upsweep of her mouth for. When she found no one behind her, she produced a tentative smile in return. Perhaps Marjorie had misinterpreted the starchy glances from her ladyship.

Didn’t some people’s resting face look cross or grumpy, when, in fact, they were nothing of the sort? Hadn’t she been accused of that very thing herself a time or two, often accompanied by unsolicited advice for her to smile?

Had she misjudged the woman?

Nae, that first night, Lady Constance had regarded her like fresh dung. Marjorie trusted her about as much as a beggar with her purse.

“Graeme, Lady Kennedy, Camden.” Keane gave them each a polite nod, displaying his strong chin, before turning the full force of that mesmerizing hazel gaze upon Marjorie and flashing a dazzling smile. “Marjorie.”

The sound of her name on his tongue caused her stomach to flip over itself, and only with supreme effort did she keep her face impassive.

At the use of Marjorie’s given name, Berget gave Keane a sharp look, her intelligent gaze flicking back and forth between him and Marjorie.

Marjorie could almost hear the wheels grinding in her sister-in-law’s head. A nearly imperceptible smile bent her mouth as she leaned into her husband.

“Graeme,” Berget said, “I’m rather famished. Shall we see what succulent treats await us? I vow I’ve never tasted more delicious black bun anywhere. I must have the recipe if I can persuade Roxdale’s cook to part with it.”

She knows.

Graeme also eyed Keane, though his expression suggested more befuddlement than amusement. “I’m hungry myself,” he admitted, still regarding Keane warily.

Likely, he didn’t know if he should object to Keane’s use of Marjorie’s Christian name, which suggested a familiarity reserved for relatives and close acquaintances. But then, they were related after a fashion, and to cause a stir over the matter seemed excessive and pointless.

“Black bun, say ye?” Camden looked eagerly to the groaning tables. “Och, I missed my mid-day meal, and I’m starvin’.”

That a certain raven-haired beauty—the ward of their host, no less—also happened to be meandering along a loaded table in a nearby tent couldn’t have inspired his appetite.

“I’ve yet to witness a day ye arena starvin’, Camden,” Berget quipped, her lips twitching. “Ye and yer brother are hollow to yer toes.”

“Aye. ’Tis true.” Puffing his chest out, he patted the broad expanse with both ham-like hands. “It takes a good deal of food to keep this warrior fueled.” With a mischievous wink and brief nod, he made straight for the nearest tent.

The Kennedy brothers had that in common as well. The mountainous Scots were always ravenous, and their ability to consume vast quantities of food amazed her. Sion had been no different.

It took a heartbeat for Marjorie to realize the melancholy that generally accompanied recollections of Sion were absent. What was more, no sense of betrayal engulfed her, but, rather, anticipation about a possible future with Keane.

A future far different than she’d imagined for herself, but nonetheless quite splendid.

Had she at last finally laid the sorrow and regret caused by Sion’s passing to rest? She’d loved him with a youthful love full of sweet innocence, and theirs had been a peaceful relationship without conflict. Certainly, not this tumultuous onslaught that winged through her whenever she saw Keane or thought about him.

Did she dare hope for a future with Keane?

In short order, Marjorie found herself alone with Keane. Well, as alone as one could be in a crowd of hundreds. Yet Keane’s regard never strayed from her, making her feel as if they were truly the only two occupying this space.

Again, as their gazes met and meshed and the world went still around them, she tried to put a name to whatever this connection was passing between them. She couldn’t identify it, and she scarcely breathed, not wanting the powerful, intriguing link to break.

“Would ye like a cup of mulled wine?” Keane spoke low into her ear, one hand resting on the small of her back. The possessive gesture branded her as his, even through the many layers of clothing she wore.

She wanted to be his. In every way.

“Yes, please,” she said, putting into her smile what she wasn’t prepared to say in words just yet.

“I should very much appreciate a cup as well, Your Grace.”

As one, Marjorie and Keane turned to find Lady Constance smiling at them. Well, her lips curved upward. Marjorie searched for any signs of animosity on the other woman’s features and found only genial regard. Either she was a consummate actress or Marjorie had truly misread her.

Except, she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation, which revealed much.

Keane angled his head, though a glint of suspicion tightened the outer edges of his eyes and mouth. “Certainly. I’ll be but a moment.”