Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

As soon as the musicians finished setting up their corner, she knew the ceilidh would be a roaring success. The visitors would leave with many fine memories of their Highland experience, and the villagers would be more united than ever.

Anticipation made the room hum with excitement. Peering around heads and shoulders, Daisy looked for Cassandra and Mr. King in the crowd. Although Charlie had warned her that rich, powerful men typically entertained themselves with many women, flirting shamelessly with them and pretending devotion to their every need and want, Daisy didn’t want to believe it of Mr. King. She hoped he’d come to care for Cassandra.

The pipes began their droning. The fiddlers practiced a few notes.

The crowd grew louder than ever.

In a moment, Charlie would call the room to order and open the ceilidh with her.

But first, where was Cassandra? Daisy saw Hester in the corner, speaking with Perdita, who sat docilely in her chair, far away from the action. Next, Daisy swung around and saw the Spanish marquis, at the other end of the ballroom. There was Mr. Woo and every single other visiting gentleman except Mr. King. Joe was ensconced in a group of men obviously talking shinty, as one of them swung an invisible shinty stick.

All the village women were there, including a new mother who looked dazzling in her crisp new gown from Mrs. Gordon’s shop.

The footmen and maids were scattered about the room, already serving punch and various savories and sweets. Charlie was speaking to the head musician.

Daisy stood on a chair. She was starting to get a tad worried.

Cassandra was missing. And where was Mr. King?

They weren’t in the ballroom. She hastened out into the hall. But there was no butler. The man she’d assigned that position had joined the festivities, and why not? He wasn’t a real butler, after all.

She went back through the ballroom and through a door leading to the back gardens. No one was there, either, save a young lad and lass from the village. Daisy caught them kissing, and they both drew apart.

The girl gasped. “I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery.”

“It’s quite all right,” she said. “I mean … you should probably come inside, both of you.” She was beginning to panic. “You haven’t seen Miss Cassandra, have you?”

The girl shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”

“I saw her with Mr. King,” said the boy. “Just a few minutes ago.”

“Where?” Daisy could hardly breathe. She had no idea why she was panicking. Mr. King was foolish and prideful, but he was also clever and accomplished. She wasn’t bad to have hoped for a match between him and Cassandra.

Yet at this moment, she felt as if she’d made a huge mistake—and possibly thrown her half sister to a lion.

“He was walking her to the stables,” the boy said. “I caught a glimpse of them as I was coming round the east wing of the castle.”

Daisy pushed right past them and ran to the stables.

But when she got there, it was too late.

Something terrible had happened—and was still happening—at the stables. Cassandra lay sprawled on the ground, either dead, injured, or in a faint. A freshly ridden horse stood calmly below a tree, its reins tethered around a branch, while two men fought fiercely near her prone figure.

Daisy’s heart stopped. All she could see was Cassandra.

My sister, she thought, and Papa’s daughter .

“Stop it!” she shrieked at the men, not even aware of who they were. “Don’t you see she needs help?”

She rushed forward to Cassandra’s side. Luckily, her lips were pink, although her cheeks were pale, and she was breathing. Quickly, Daisy scanned her face, her neck, and her shoulders, relieved to see no visible injuries—yet.

She leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Cassandra,” she breathed.

Cassandra’s eyes fluttered open. “Daisy,” she whispered.

“Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere?”

Cassandra closed her eyes. “I—I fainted, is all. I’ll be all right.”

Daisy squeezed her hand, and Cassandra squeezed back.

Tears pricked Daisy’s eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She needed to be strong, and there were still two ridiculous men involved in a vicious fight that continued unabated not many feet away.

“Back off,” Daisy ordered them. Of course, the dunderheads ignored her. “I said, back off! You’re too near the lady!”

Still, they continued hitting and pushing each other. As she stared blindly at them, their faces came into sudden focus.

Mr. King was one of the men. He was an expert pugilist, it appeared. He hit the other man in the jaw and sent him sprawling. While the man on the ground groaned, Mr. King stood still for a moment, gasping for air.

“Stop it, please, you two,” Daisy said.

“Y-yes, please stop.” Cassandra’s voice was a mere whisper.

Mr. King said nothing.

The man on the ground rose to his feet, swaying. He pointed down the mountain. “Get out,” he said to Mr. King in guttural tones. “And never come back. If you stay, I’ll kill you.”

Daisy gasped. And not just at his strong words and vehement manner.

It was Mr. Beebs .

Oh, God, Mr. Beebs—the white-haired overseer of the Keep, back a day early!

Mr. King wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “Who are you to speak to me so? You vile rat. The lady and I were merely—”

“Don’t you dare mention the lady and yourself in one breath,” Mr. Beebs said in a low, threatening tone. “Get out, I say. Get out before I call the constable. You’re trespassing on private property. And you’ve assaulted a lady.”

“I didn’t assault the lady. A kiss between two consenting adults is not an assault.”

“Not an assault?” Mr. Beebs’s voice was menacing. “I know what I saw. The lady wasn’t at all interested in your so-called kiss!” His chest heaved. “Now do I have to take a whip to you to get you to depart?” He stumbled to the stable door, opened it, and retrieved a whip.

Mr. King spat on the ground. “What insanity is this?” He looked at Daisy.

She merely stared back, shocked at how twisted his features were.

“You said she was fit for a peer’s bed,” Mr. King sputtered. “Or the bed of someone rich and powerful. I took you at your word.”

Daisy felt her face flame red. “I—I was wicked to say that. I wish I never had. I didn’t know you’d—”

Cassandra moaned.

“Don’t engage him, Miss Montgomery,” Mr. Beebs snarled. “He’s got no excuse for his behavior. He’s a cur.” He snapped the whip in the air. It made a wicked, impressive sound.

Perhaps there was more to Mr. Beebs than Daisy had supposed.

Mr. King backed up a step.

Perdita rushed in and stopped short then, panting for breath. “What’s wrong with my sister?” she yelled in her fiercest Highlander voice, which made even Daisy tremble.

“She’ll be fine,” Daisy assured her. “Please get me a fresh bucket of water and a rag. And bring out several men who can carry her to a soft bed.”

“I can carry her myself. And I will clean her wounds myself.” Perdita picked her sister up with ease. “Aye, you’ll be all right,” she said softly.

“Thank you, sister,” Cassandra whispered.

As Perdita lumbered toward the Keep with Cassandra dangling from her arms, Mr. King stared after them. “Wait a minute. I recognize her—him. That was the son of a son of a Highland chief. And he was wearing a gown .” He turned to stare at Daisy.

She took a deep breath. “Her name is Perdita, and she’s more a warrior than you’ll ever be.”

Mr. King narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing.