“Well!” exclaimed Isobel. “Isn’t this nice? Of course we’re only going to sew, and no doubt Fiona will read, and we may, perhaps, work on our puzzle—it’s very complicated, with hundreds of pieces, so tiny, you know, and so finely cut! An historical map of Glasgow—very educational! Fiona is exceptionally clever at it, laird, I assure you! Why, she found all the pieces for Bogton House in one sitting!”
“I’m not surprised to hear of Fiona’s cleverness,” Alasdair answered, albeit rather grimly still, and Fiona haughtily wrapped her fine woolen shawl more tightly around her, as if encasing herself in impenetrable armor.
Together they left the Great Hall, Isobel fluttering and animated, herself and Alasdair silent, with Duff trailing behind them, brushing crumbs from his shirtfront and also—ugh—picking out a few stray peas from his beard. Servants had preceded them to the drawing-room, and so several candelabra had been lit, as well as a fire in the hearth; the green velvet window-hangings had been closed against the chill of the evening.
Fiona sat on the same sofa, near the cozily crackling fire, where she’d had her first extended conversation with Alasdair. She and Isobel had just that day arrived at Castle Tadgh; there had been that long, formal banquet during which those other three women had tried very hard to catch the interest of Alasdair Penhallow. She, on the other hand, had composed in her head a letter to Mother. And little Sheila had come up to her, and said:
You look but you do not see.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
She hadn’t dreamed she would become Alasdair’s wife. It was the last thing in the world she wished for.
And yet here she was.
Now, her back very straight, Fiona reached automatically for her sewing but only held it on her lap, and let her gaze wander round the room.
Isobel had gone to the large marquetry table on which lay the Glasgow puzzle, and was instantly absorbed in it. Duff, disgruntled, was stretched out on a sofa on the other side of the room, his feet, in scuffed evening shoes, resting on the sofa’s arm, providing anyone who cared to look an excellent view of his laddered stockings with spectacular runs in them.
And Alasdair had seated himself opposite her, just as he had that very first time. She had not, then, found him the least bit appealing. But even a person who was furious and ashamed and all frozen inside would have to admit that he was very distinguished in his tartan kilt, patterned in dark greens and reds, and close-fitted black jacket.
He crossed one long leg over the other, thus also providing anyone who cared to look an excellent view of nicely shaped calves in checkered hose and garters. Also a pair of sturdy knees and even a bit of his thighs, muscled and attractively hairy.
Fiona repressed a sudden stupid gladness that she had on one of her prettiest gowns this evening, a robe of carnation-pink crêpe worn over a white silk slip, along with the lovely diamond necklace that had been a wedding gift from her parents. Hastily she dropped her eyes to her sewing and picked up her needle.
After a while, Alasdair said:
“We got a great deal accomplished today.”
She didn’t glance up. “Yes.”
“The wagons for the Sutherlainns will leave tomorrow at first light.”
“Excellent.”
“Thank you for all your help.”
“I was glad to do it.”
“Were you glad? You gave the impression of wanting to murder someone.”
“I was glad,” she clarified icily, “to help the Sutherlainns.”
“Oh, and murder me?”
“Maybe,” she answered, because she couldn’t help herself, and looked him right in the eye. He still had that baffled expression on his face.
“Why?” he asked, simply.
And the words just came out. “Because,” she hissed, “you left me last night, and didn’t come back.”
“But—”
“But what?”
“I told you where I was going. That I was going to wait for the men who had followed behind with the cattle, see to their well-being. That it was important to me to greet them personally.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you hear me tell you that before I left our bedchamber?”
Fiona thought back to last night, to the confusion, the servants coming and going, and Cuilean romping around, and her own dazed exhaustion, and . . .
And Alasdair, in a warm and pleasant voice, saying something which she hadn’t quite caught . . .
“Oh,” she said, feeling rather like a balloon abruptly deflating. “Did you, laird?”
“Aye. And I told you I probably wouldn’t see you again until morning.”
“Oh.”
“I was sure you understood me. You nodded and smiled at me.”