said nothing. He didn’t want a meek lass. If he had to do this, he wanted a woman. He looked to the group for a glimpse of the lass in question, but the only woman he noticed in that gaggle of Sassenach was one standing slightly apart from the group, leaning insouciantly against the wall. She was tall, dark-haired and plainly dressed. She’d crossed her arms across her middle and her gaze was fixed on the hound sniffing around her hem. She looked a wee bit as if she was inconvenienced, which he thought was rather odd. If anyone here was inconvenienced, it was certainly not she.
Rabbie’s father stood. “My lord, Ceud mile failte—welcome to Balhaire.”
“Bit of an unusual place you have here,” the man who looked like a ghost said as he strolled forward. Behind him, another man waddled after him like a fatted pig. Both of their wigs were ridiculous. “How good of you to receive us. I understand Killeaven is a bit of a drive yet from here?”
“Four miles through the hills,” Arran Mackenzie said. He picked up his cane and began to make his way down from the dais. In spite of that cane, Rabbie’s father was still a commanding figure, and he dwarfed Lord Kent. “You and yours are most welcome in our home tonight, aye? Rest here before carrying on to Killeaven.” He turned partially as Rabbie’s mother stepped off the dais to join them. “My wife, the Lady Mackenzie.”
His mother curtsied and greeted them. Kent turned quite jovial at the sight of his mother, no doubt pleased with her English accent and her beauty. He introduced the man with him as his brother, Lord Ramsey.
“May I introduce you to our son?” his mother asked pleasantly, and gestured toward Rabbie.
Kent’s head snapped round, and he eyed Rabbie through a squint as Rabbie came to his feet and began to make his way down from the dais. “Well then, you’re a fine specimen, are you not? As physically fit as your father and brother, I dare say. Look here, Avaline, here is your future husband,” he said, and turned back to his group.
Someone nudged the pitiful lass forward. She stumbled slightly, found her footing and curtsied. She had hair the color of barley, green eyes and cheeks flushed to the color of plums. She was a wee thing, and the only thought Rabbie could summon was that he would crush her on their wedding night. He’d have to put the virgin on top of him.
He approached the group. The lass would not look at him. “My lord,” he said to her father, and bowed. He glanced again at the girl, who had yet to meet his gaze.
“A strong young man,” Kent said, taking Rabbie in, nodding approvingly, as if Rabbie were a prized cow. “You’ll give me heirs, I dare say you will. May I present my daughter, Miss Avaline Kent of Bothing,” he said, and took his daughter’s arm, drawing her forward. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
Rabbie looked at her fair complexion. She was chewing her bottom lip. Her hands were quite small, suitable for nothing useful as far as he could see. “Bonny enough, I suppose, aye,” he said.
With the exception of the startled cough from the woman leaning against the wall, no one said a word for a moment.
And then Baron Kent laughed roundly. “Good enough!” he jovially agreed.
Rabbie’s mother managed a kick to his ankle. He moved forward lest she kick him again and presented his palm to receive Miss Kent’s wee little hand. “How do you, Miss Kent.”
“My lord—sir,” she said, and curtsied again, as if she hadn’t noticed his hand at all. And when she did sink into that curtsy, Rabbie happened to glance at the woman by the wall. She had dark hair, quite dark, like Rabbie’s sister, Vivienne. And hazel eyes. She was frowning at him, and not in an elegant way like his mother. And then she looked away, as if annoyed by him.
Rabbie was slightly shocked. Who was she to judge him? And what did she bloody well expect?
“Miss Kent, please, do come and sit. You must be exhausted,” Rabbie’s mother said, and took Miss Kent’s hand, pulling her away before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“My wife. Where is my wife?” Lord Kent asked, as if he’d misplaced her somewhere. Another woman appeared from the huddled group. She was small and meek, too, her gaze downcast as she shyly greeted Rabbie’s mother.
For the love of Scotland, that’s who his bride would become.
Rabbie sighed heavenward as the English party was seated, and glanced over his shoulder, to where the mysterious woman had stood frowning at him as if he was a naughty child.
But the woman was nowhere to be seen. She’d just...disappeared.
“Rabbie, darling, perhaps you might sit with Miss Kent and put her at ease,” his mother said, her cheerful voice belying the murderous look in her eye.
“Aye,” he said, and reluctantly moved to the table where the wisp had been seated. He couldn’t help himself—he glanced back over his shoulder once more.
The woman with the dark hair and piercing hazel eyes was gone.
BERNADETTE HOLLY LOOKED around the dank room to which she’d been assigned. Or rather, the room to which Avaline had been assigned. Bernadette had been given the small antechamber attached to this room, where she was to sleep on a straw mattress so that she might serve her mistress in the event the girl couldn’t find the chamber pot in the middle of the night.
If Bernadette ever uttered such a thing aloud, one would think she was ungrateful for her position and disdainful of Avaline. Nothing could be further from the truth—she was grateful and she was not the least disdainful of Avaline. But she was a bit uncertain if the girl possessed a full head of brains.
The room was quaint if not medieval in its appearance, and quite drafty—Bernadette could feel the gusts of wind coming through the windows. She shivered and walked to the window, pushed aside the heavy brocade draperies, then sneezed at the dust collected in their folds. The window rattled with another gust of cold air, which seeped in around the edges of the old panes.
Bernadette leaned forward over the deep sill and looked out. The sun was just sliding down behind the hills, its golden light turning the hills red, which in turn cast dark green shadows onto bright yellow rapeseed.
She found the landscape stark and barren, but strangely beautiful. England was scenic country, too, but Bernadette had never seen anything quite so severe in its allure as this landscape.
Avaline, however, had found the land intimidating. Worrying a knot of ribbon at her waist, she’d stood beside Bernadette at the bow of the ship as it had glided toward the harbor earlier today. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone about. It looks...bleak.”
Behind Bernadette, the door of the room suddenly swung open, startling her. She dropped the drapes and turned around to see Avaline backing into the room, profusely thanking whomever had delivered her here. When she had gone well past the point of polite thanks, and the person had tried to dart away into the dark corridor, Avaline leaned forward, craning her neck around the doorframe. “Good night!” she called out, then shut the door very quietly, as if she feared she might disturb someone, and turned to Bernadette.
“Well?” Bernadette asked brightly. “How did you find him?”
Avaline
