Lyn Stone - The Highland Wife

His eyes never left her face as that finely shaped mouth nearly touched her knuckles. She felt his breath warm upon them. That sent tingles up her arm and they did not stop at her shoulder.

“My lord,” she acknowledged. She wished she had not sounded quite so breathless, but indeed she was. His size and very presence quite overwhelmed her. But in the most wonderful way she could imagine.

“My lady,” he murmured in a very deep voice completely devoid of inflection.

She could not decide whether she liked the sound of him. However, the rest certainly left no room for complaint. He bore the scent of costly spices from the East. Cloves, she decided, drawing another deep breath. And cinnamon, which she dearly loved. That boded well, Mairi thought, used as she was to men bearing only the smells of sweat and horse.

Her father cleared his throat. “Coom, sit and rest yerself,” he commanded loudly, and motioned across the hall toward the low-burning fire. “Bring us ale!” He nearly shouted the words at the servants now bustling about the tables, readying them for the evening meal.

“Da! Please, speak more softly,” Mairi reprimanded quietly, patting her sire’s arm.

He merely grunted in a very low voice, not moving his mouth, “’Tis lack o’ hearing, lass. Sad to say, but ye must have pity and patience. I should ha’ mentioned it before.”

Mairi sighed, troubled, but not overmuch. Such a loss was to be expected in a man of her father’s advanced years. Yet he did not have to treat everyone as though they shared his affliction. Still, the young baron seemed not to have taken umbrance at her father’s loud barking. Mayhaps he understood.

To her surprise, her intended bypassed the comfort of the only two cushioned chairs, leaving these softer ones for his host and hostess. Deferring to a lady and an elder spoke very well for the man’s manners, she thought.

Why, then, did her father look so uneasy? Not fearful, exactly, but certainly wary. There was little that ever disconcerted him. He probably worried she would disgrace them all.

Not so, this time. She’d put her rash, impulsive ways behind her. Never again would she rush into an action or for a judgment, forsaking caution and good thought.

Was she not proving this even now? Each move the baron made, she evaluated with great care. After all, her very future depended upon how well they got on together.

Mairi modestly bowed her head and busily arranged her skirts as she asked pleasantly, “Were yer travels here remarkable, my laird? The hills are bonny this time o’ year, aye?”

He disregarded her completely as though she did not exist, his full attention still focused on her father.

“I wondered whether ye encountered any difficulties along the way, or if the trip proved an easy one,” she continued softly, waiting, unmoving, determined to get a reply of some kind from him.

He gave her none, but kept his eyes trained upon her sire as though expecting him to reproach a forward daughter for speaking freely. Da did grimace at her in warning when she glanced at him. “Hist, lass,” he muttered, shushing her.

That turned MacBain’s attention. He inclined his head to her slightly as one might to notice a bug upon the floor.

“You think me impertinent for speaking?” she prompted the baron yet again. Daring him, really.

That gained her an almost imperceptible shrug. Barely there and then gone. His lips curved, but it was not a smile. More like a gesture of mild annoyance.

And she had thought this man mannerly? How churlish of him, deliberately refusing to answer her. Contentious knave. Did he think so little of females in general? Or was it her in particular he found offensive? Had she mistaken his former look of interest after all?

When he did speak, it definitely was not to her. He had ceased looking at her and addressed her father.

“When may we wed? I must go home,” he stated very slowly in the same low, brusque tone that did not vary up or down.

Each word, he presented distinctly, as if it would stand alone. Did he think her father a lackwit? Or did he mock him as a Highlander who was unused to comprehending correct English? Either way, he had no cause to insult. Craigmuir might be isolated, but its laird was certainly educated, nonetheless. The MacInness had traveled widely in his youth and was well read. He had even insisted that she be taught to read and cipher.

Her father sighed sorrowfully as he replied. “Ye must wed soon, I suppose, since we’ve settled upon it.” Then, as though he had not yet answered, he forced a smile and raised his head as well as his voice. “Soon. Ye may marry this week.”

“This week?” Mairi exclaimed. She glared at her father, willing him to heed her. Did he not realize that she must get to know this man before the wedding? If, indeed, there was to be one, she thought diffidently. Fine, young and wealthy as the man appeared, Mairi was not certain she liked him at all.

With a succinct nod, MacBain then turned to her. “Do you agree?”

At last! He deigned to notice she was present for this conversation, could one even call it that. It was likely to turn to an argument if he did not change his ways on the instant. If there was anything she detested, it was to be ignored.

Mairi smiled sweetly at him. “Ye jest, surely, my good laird! Have ye ever known any maid of my age to cry off a marriage? However, I feel you might wish to think twice on it, ere ye get more than ye bargained for!”

“Mairi!” her father gasped. “Mind yer tongue!”

She rose and turned on him then, giving the pompous baron her back. “Well? I am four and twenty, Da. Not that anyone has bothered to notice my aging these past dozen years. Now ye invite this man to take me off yer hands? Paugh! He can scarcely stand to look at me! He will not even reply to a common pleasantry!”

Her father grasped his chest and rolled his eyes as though caught in the throes of apoplexy. Not that she believed that for a moment. ’Twas an oft used ruse to raise her guilt and gain an apology. Well, he’d not get one now, she decided. Not after trying to match her to this surly scoundrel.

“Do excuse me, Father,” she said as haughtily as she could. “I would retire and leave ye to your guest! I am certain he willna be missing me.” With chin high and without another glance for her erstwhile betrothed, she stalked off toward the stairs.

Handsome the man might be, but damned if she would shackle herself to one who had likely been bribed to wed her. From the look of him and the way he behaved, her father had not paid nearly enough to make the haughty wretch glad of the transaction.

She had done without a husband all these years and fared well enough. Why take one now who did not consider her worth a smile, a kind word or even a second glance? Rot him, then. She would stay a maid.

Rob appreciated the swing of those slender hips as the fair-haired lady took herself away. A pity he could not grasp one word in ten of what she said or he might guess the reason for her leaving.

He found any Highlander’s odd speech hard to ken, especially when one spoke as rapidly as did she and with hardly moving her lips. The old laird made an effort on behalf of Rob’s understanding, but the woman did not. Possibly, she did not yet realize she needed to.

Could that be? Had they not told her? Thomas said he had insisted that she know. Rob had made it a firm condition before his steward set out on the quest.

He shrugged off the worry. Thomas would never lie, not about that. The woman knew about him. She simply did not understand how to deal with it yet. That could be taught easily enough.

Mairi MacInness was a lovely woman by any man’s standard, not at all the timid girl he had feared he might find. Thomas had not told him her age, but Rob guessed she had passed twenty. That suited him.