Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (8 page)

His gaze lifted to Shona's and for a moment he seemed to forget the words to the ballad. She smiled at him and he blushed before finding his voice and singing on.

A score of faces turned toward her as she made her way down the stairs to the table at the center of the hall.

Sara sat near her husband, her gaze on his face as she talked to him. Boden leaned closer to whisper back, and they both laughed.

For a moment something ached in Shona's breast, ached for that indefinable element that made Sara glow and Boden beam. That something had kept him close by her side since the day they married. But whatever they shared seemed only more intense now, almost as if they were one soul, bound for eternity by their fierce devotion to one another.

Would Shona ever have that? Indeed, would she even be able to understand it? She was not like Sara—the ultimate lady, the shining, perfect jewel any man would covet.

Oh, it wasn't as if men didn't covet her, Shona thought, as she watched the couple. But they did so for entirely different reasons. While Sara was a jewel to be treasured, Shona was a prize—a prize that consisted of a bonny face and a vast dowry.

Since her parents had married, Dun Ard had thrived. Because of his loyalty to the Crown, the Rogue had gained a baronage. All this could not help but draw suitors. But who amongst them pursued her because of herself—what she was inside?

"Ye dunna wish for them to starve to death, do ye?" Sara asked.

"What?" Shona drew herself from her reverie.

Sara smiled. "Your suitors," she explained quietly. "If ye dunna sit down, they're apt to stare until they waste away with hunger."

"At least Da would know then that this gathering has not been for nothing." It was not like Shona to be irritable, but the last few days and one Dugald Kinnaird had taken their toll on her natural exuberance.

Sara laughed then scooted even closer to her spouse, patting the bench beside her as she did so.

"Are ye saying that the Rogue has to pay to get men to stare at ye?"

"He seems to think so."

"Then his coin is paying high dividends," Sara said. "I dunna think there is a male amongst the crush who is not agog."

Shona scraped a few recalcitrant tendrils of hair back behind her ear. She'd never been good with hair. "Mayhap they think some vermin has taken residence upon my head," she muttered.

"Ye are most probably right, Shona." Sara chuckled. "They only stare because they are astounded at your ugliness. Dunna ye think so, Boden?"

Her husband, large and quiet, turned his wry grin on Shona. His eyes crinkled becomingly at the corners. Now,
there
was a bonny man, Shona thought, but he was also one who had, long ago, been captivated by Sara.

"Tis an ongoing difficulty with you cousins," he said. "Certainly the Rogue must spend half his day browbeating his men, lest they do nothing but stare at you aghast." Lowering his gaze, he lifted a hand and touched Sara's cheek. "Tis always my most basic problem." His eyes were filled with such incredible tenderness that Shona felt her mood drop a notch lower.

"I dunna think my flagging spirits can endure much more of your adoration for your wife just now, Boden," she said. "Could ye not at least pretend that you notice I am in the same room?"

He laughed as he looked up. "I think there are enough men about to fawn over you, Shona.

Hardly do you need my poor attempts."

"Ye could at least make an effort," Shona muttered.

"Never fear," Sara said, looking past Shona. "I believe I see a bit of a spirit-lifter approaching even now."

Glancing up, Sara saw Stanford approaching. A bit tall and gangly, he moved with a sort of birdlike stride. But even as she watched, his movement changed radically. His legs flew off in opposite directions and his arms windmilled wildly. Trying to right himself, he grabbed hold of the nearest thing—which happened to be Effie, a broad-hipped woman who had served at Dun Ard for more years than Stanford had lived. They collapsed in a wild tangle of skirts and limbs.

The hall went absolutely quiet, and then, into the silence, the aging widow squealed as if pinched. "Och, lad, do I make ye so lusty that ye canna even wait for some privacy?"

The hall erupted with laughter. Amidst the uproar another man rose from his seat. Stepping over Stanford, he approached Shona, bowed, and offered a boyish grin.

"Laird Hadwin of the clan Nairn," he said, reaching for her hand. "I dunna know if ye remember me."

Shona drew her attention from poor Stanford, who was bumbling to his feet, his face red. "Of course I do," she said, and remembered to flirt prettily as she offered her hand. After all, her father had invested a great deal here. "How could I forget?"

His smile increased. Kissing her knuckles, he drew himself to his full height, which, if he were lucky, was just above Shona's own. "I know tis a great deal to ask, but I wondered if ye might walk with me down by the burn. Tis a bonny morn."

"The lass hasn't even broken the fast yet," Boden said, but just then another man skirted Hadwin and bowed.

"Tis just the reason I had this basket prepared. Tis good to see ye again, Lady Shona," said the newcomer, and nudged the smaller man aside as he lifted a large wicker in one hand. Not much younger than her father, Laird William had hair that was sprinkled with silver.

"I didna know ye had already arrived, William," Shona said. A niggle of nervousness twisted in her gut. It wasn't that she didn't like William, for he was always perfectly polite and thoughtful. It was simply that she knew, as did most of Scotland that he hoped to marry her. And since he was extremely wealthy and well placed, twas generally thought she would agree. That idea made her somewhat tense, since in actuality she had no idea what she would do. "Word was that ye might be delayed until after the games begin."

"His arthritis is improved," Hadwin said. "But ye know how this type of weather bothers such old joints. Best for him to stay inside. Why don't I take that basket off your hands, William?"

"Please forgive my young cousin here," William said, ignoring the other's grip on the wicker handle. "He does not mean to be a pest. He simply cannot help himself."

"You're in my way, William," said Hadwin, still smiling.

"Then move," William suggested.

"My lady," Hadwin said, stepping forward again. "I would be the last person to say anything bad about my cousin, but I fear the rumors ye have heard about him are true."

"Rumors?" Shona asked.

"Aye." Hadwin leaned forward to whisper loudly. "He is already wed—to three women." He lifted the proper amount of fingers. "And all of them quite large and jealous."

"Indeed?" Shona said, laughing.

"Indeed. Tis an ugly thing when—"

"And it will get uglier if you don't get out of my way," William said, and reaching out, pushed the other man aside. "Lady, I entreat ye, have mercy on me, I was forced to spend the entire night in my cousin's wearing company and I am in great need of the healing balm of your beauty. Might ye accompany me on an outing?"

She considered refusing, but one glance at her father reminded her that he was still peeved at her, and since it had been two years since Roderic had asked her to consider William as a possible husband, now seemed a good time to act the dutiful daughter. "I
am
quite hungry," she said.

"Tis settled, then," William said, and turning slightly, offered his arm.

Shona rested her fingers near William's wrist.

"Never fear, my lady," Hadwin said softly. "I know tis your duty to entertain even the old gaffers this day. But dunna be too selfless. When ye can no longer bear the boredom, you've but to signal, and I will come to your rescue."

Shona laughed. "I thank ye for your concern and will keep your words in mind."

"I am forever in your service. In truth—"

"Shut up, Hadwin!" ordered William, and steered Shona toward the door.

In actuality, William turned out to be quite interesting. The morning was indeed lovely, with only enough breeze to ruffle the dark, spiny leaves of the mistletoe that grew at the south end of the garden.

"Your cook makes a fine Brie tart," William said, pouring Shona a bit more wine.

"Aye. Bethia has been with us as long as I can recall. There are few who can organize kitchens as well as she, I think."

"A woman? In charge?"

Shona laughed at his surprise. "I never thought it strange. I suppose we at Dun Ard are a wee bit odd."

He smiled. A nice smile on a comfortable slightly rounded face. "I suspect all the great houses could be considered strange. In truth, when my young cousin was crowned king, the servers all wore-

—"

"Your cousin?" She did not try to contain her own surprise. "Your cousin is King James?"

He laughed out loud. "Surely ye knew."

"I must have forgotten," she admitted, and chastised herself for her lack of memory. That seemed like the sort of thing a true lady would remember, especially if she were seriously considering a man as a husband. But somehow, William of Atberry always managed to slip her mind.

He laughed. "Tis like ye to forget such a thing, Lady Shona. But in truth, my sire kept his title rather quiet. After his brother was banned to France for his attempt to gain the crown, Father thought it wise not to call too much attention to himself. It has seemed best to carry on that tradition. In this time of unrest, the powers that be are often looking for someone to blame for political atrocities.

Those closest to the king usually are bequeathed that dubious honor."

She had heard that sort of thing a number of times. It never failed to make her nervous. "Ye know James?" she asked.

"Aye, I have met him," William said. "And I heard ye are one of his favorites."

Shona forced a smile for the compliment and willed herself to be calm. "I spent a good deal of time with him at Stirling."

"I, too, have spent some time at court. When were ye there?"

"Father sent me some months back. I believe he hoped to teach me some manners, but I fear his efforts failed."

"Nay. Never that," William countered. "For ye are all fine elegance. All softness and light." He reached for her hand, but suddenly noticed the scathed palms and scraped knuckles. "Lady, ye are wounded."

She laughed, grateful for the change of subject but nervous as she remembered the night just past. All elegance, indeed! "Tis naught but a scratch," she said, and tried to pull her hand away.

He bore it solicitously higher into better light.

"But such a fair maid as you should never bear even so mild a wound," he murmured. "How did it happen?"

"When I was returning from the stables last night it began to rain. In my haste I tripped, and—"

From the corner of her eye she saw a movement and turned distractedly toward it. Dugald Kinnaird stood not a score of feet away. He was dressed all in black. Her gaze skimmed his high leather boots, his clinging hose and his slashed doublet worn over a silken tunic. Twas simple enough garb, really, but there was something about the way he wore it that drew the eye. His gaze was as steady as a hawk's and his lips were lifted in the vaguest semblance of a knowing grin.

"Ye fell?" William asked, still holding her hand.

"Aye!" Shona snapped her attention back to him. "Aye. I, uhh...fell."

"Poor, sweet little hand," William crooned, bearing it to his lips. He was going to kiss it, to fawn over her, she knew, and though she didn't harbor any particular attraction to this man, she could not help but feel some satisfaction that the irritating Kinnaird was watching.

But suddenly a pain sparked her neck. She grimaced and drew her hand back to massage away the ache.

"Is something amiss?" William asked, leaning closer in his concern.

"Nay. Nay. I simply had a twinge of pain," she said, and rubbed her neck beneath Dragonheart's chain.

"Let me relieve it," William said, but when he leaned closer, the pain smote her again.

She pulled away with a grimace then noticed a group of young boys running beside the gardens.

Kelvin was amongst them. Her gut wrenched nervously at the sight of him, but surely twas better to ride out the storm than hide in the shadows.

"Kelvin," she called, marshalling her courage. "Come hither." She glanced at William, but if he were irritated by the interruption it didn't show on his face. "Kelvin spent a good deal of time with the king also," she said.

"Truly?" William studied the boy's haphazard clothing and raised his brows as the lad drew nearer. "Is he a relation of yours?"

"Nay, not by blood," Shona said, as the boy came to a halt before them. "But mayhap by spirit.

Tell Laird William what ye think of our king, Kelvin."

The mischief that seemed a perpetual gleam in the boy's eyes sharpened a mite. "Shall I tell him the truth or what ye ordered me to say when questioned?" he asked.

She gave him a grin for his irreverent attitude. Though she supposed she should reprimand him for both his words and demeanor, she couldn't help but commune with the imp in him.

"William is James's cousin," she said.

"Ahhh, then I liked the king very well indeed," Kelvin said solemnly.

From her left, Shona heard someone laugh. The sound was deep and husky. Shona felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck, and though she didn't turn toward the noise immediately, she knew in her gut it was Dugald Kinnaird.

"You are a poor liar, lad," he said, approaching.

Able to ignore him no longer, Shona turned slowly. When she glanced up, she felt a glow of heat that seemed to begin at Dragonheart and diffuse through her body.

"I dunna lie poorly," Kelvin argued staunchly. "I lie quite well."

Dugald laughed again. "Then mayhap tis the subject matter that makes your statement unbelievable. For you see, I, too, have met the king."

A frown marred the boy's gamin face, but in a fraction of an instant it was gone, replaced by a devilish smile. "And ye didna find him all brilliance and goodness?" he asked.

"Rather I found him vain and aloof," Dugald said.

"Tis our king ye speak of!" William said, affronted.