Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid

Book 3: Scandalous Highlanders

by Suzanne Enoch

Genres: Scottish & Highlander; Regency Romance

Synopsis

She used to be mad about him …

High-spirited Rowena MacLawry has come to the Highlands after a spectacularly successful debut season in London and has made it painfully clear that she’s outgrown her girlhood obsession with Lachlan MacTier. That’s just fine with him, as he never had any intention of marrying the lass anyway! Yet how can he ignore the fact that the once rough-and-tumble Winnie has become a very fashionable—and incredibly desirable—young woman?

And now he’s got it bad.

Brawny, rugged Lachlan is nothing like the aristocratic English gentlemen who pursued Winnie—with a passion—in London. Three months away was more than enough to show her a world infinitely more glamorous than untamed Highlands—and her beloved childhood crush. But now that she’s decided to find a prospective husband with a bit more polish, could Lachlan finally appreciate her charms? And is it remotely possible to ignore the wild attraction she feels for him?

Release date: March 3, 2015

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 352

Sample

Chapter One



Three Months Later

"Infatuation. That's what it was." Rowena MacLawry flipped her hand at the pair of young ladies seated opposite her. "I mean, for heaven's sake, I barely knew anyone else."

Lady Jane Hanover kept her gaze aimed out the coach's window. "I think I would be more convinced that you've set aside your feelings for Lord Gray if you spent less time talking about how you don't give a fig about him."

"Don't be rude, Jane," her older sister commented. Lady Charlotte smiled at Rowena. "Talking through a complication often does wonders for untangling it. And considering that you spent your previous eighteen years viewing Lord Gray in a particular way, I expect it will take some time to see him differently."

Rowena nodded, reaching across the coach to squeeze the hand of Viscount Hest's older daughter. "Just so," she agreed, carefully burying her brogue beneath the cultured English tones she'd spent the past three months perfecting. "It's a new way of thinking about things, is all." Shifting, she looked south out the window to catch a glimpse of the long tail of coaches behind them. Civilization on the hoof, as it were.

The contents of those vehicles was the result of three months spent learning how to be a proper lady, of reminding herself that gentlemen looked only with amusement on ladies who conversed about shearing sheep and fishing and bathing in a loch like some sort of heathen. Well. She wasn't a heathen. And she had the friends and admirers and wardrobe and manners now to prove it.

"We all have to find a new way of thinking, don't we?" Jane commented, shifting to sit beside Rowena. "You and I are about to be sisters-in-law. And we're in Scotland, of all places! Do all Highlanders wear kilts? I never thought to ask."

As much as she could appreciate a finely shaped man in the black and red and white colors of clan MacLawry, Rowena continued to be surprised at most of her English friends' infatuation with the garb. "Today everyone will be in kilts and clan colors. Ranulf will want his betrothed to see Glengask at its best."

Color touched Charlotte's cheeks, and that was rather heartening. Rowena didn't think Lord Hest's older daughter could be as calm as she'd been pretending over the past few days. Not when she was about to set her eyes on what would be her new home. Her new life.

She stifled an abrupt grimace. Charlotte was traveling north to a whole new life with a man who adored her. Allshe was doing, though, was returning to her old life after three glorious months in London. Nothing had changed for her, except for her, of course. How long would that last, though, back in the Highlands with her brothers? She didn't belong here any longer. She belonged in wonderful sophisticated London.

"However you feel about Lachlan MacTier and however he feels about you, I would imagine he is going to be very surprised at seeing you again, Winnie." Charlotte grinned. "And what..." She trailed off as a musical, high-pitched wail drifted over them. "What is that?"

Finally Rowena chuckled. Whatever else might trouble her, the four MacLawry siblings were about to be reunited. Together, at Glengask, they were unstoppable. And Glengask, however much she wished it was several hundred miles to the south, was where she'd been born. "That is 'A Red, Red Rose,'" she said, "played on at least half a dozen bagpipes, from the sound of it. It's a love song, for you, I'd imagine. We're here."

Her own heart sped, so she could imagine Charlotte's must be pounding. She could say she felt eager to see Bear again after three months, and that she wanted to throw her arms around clever Arran and his new wife after they'd spent a fortnight on the run from Campbells and MacLawrys. She could tell herself that when Ranulf had left London a little over a week ago and ordered them all to follow, she hadn't been ready yet to leave. What she never wanted to admit was that part of her hesitation at returning to Scotland had been that niggling daydream-the one where Lachlan MacTier swept her up in his arms and kissed her. It was annoying that she couldn't stop being such a fool, even over a man who clearly didn't deserve her. Infatuation was a stupid, embarrassing thing, and it should be done away with entirely.

The timbre of the wheels changed as the coach left the rutted dirt road for the hard-packed gravel and crushed oyster shells of Glengask's shallow, curving front drive. Charlotte and Jane both pressed up against the windows and chatted excitedly, but Rowena wasn't ready to look. Not yet. However much she adored her brothers, southern England called to her. Or perhaps deeper down she dreaded her own reaction to seeing Lachlan again, and she was simply a coward.

"Oh, look, Charlotte! It's Lord Glengask!" Jane exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. "And there's Arran and Mary Campbell!"

"Lady Mary MacLawry, now," Charlotte corrected, sending another glance at Rowena.

Was she supposed to be ill at ease or jealous? Rowena wondered. Yes, she'd been the sole female at Glengask for the past eleven years, and yes, she wished she'd had an opportunity to make Mary Campbell's acquaintance before Arran fled London with her, but honestly the idea of having a sister-two of them, once Charlotte and Ranulf wed-filled her with glee. That house had been too full of hot-blooded Highlands men for far too long.

"That very large man with them-is that Bear? Or is he the other one? My goodness, he's very ... muscular."

"Stop pestering, Jane. We'll find out in a moment."

Immediately Jane left the window and seized Rowena's hand. "I'm so sorry, Winnie," she said. "I forgot you left here angry."

Rowena squeezed back. "You mean I slipped out the back door and ran away to London angry," she said with a brief smile. "I know they've forgiven me, and if they hadn't I would only point out that Ranulf wouldn't have met Charlotte, and Arran would never have met Mary, if they hadn't followed me. As for the rest, my eyes have been opened."

As she finished speaking, the coach rocked to a halt. The door swung open so hard it nearly came off its hinges, and before she could even squeak Bear leaned inside, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her out onto the Glengask drive. Then she was engulfed in large, strong arms and surrounded by the familiar smell of leather and mint soap.

"Bear, I can't breathe!" she gasped, but hugged him back. If Munro MacLawry was happy to see her back home, then all was right with the world. Or nearly everything was, anyway.

Finally he released her and took half a step back. "By God," he drawled, the Highlands brogue thick in his voice, "I think ye're taller. And look at yer hair, Winnie-it's prettier than raven's wings. Do ye nae think so, Lach?"

She barely had time to mentally square her shoulders before Viscount Gray stepped into view. Like her brothers he'd donned his kilt of white and black and red, but that was where the similarities of appearance ended. Where her brothers were tall and broad-shouldered and all muscle, Lachlan was leaner and more narrow-waisted. His hair was a deep mahogany rather than the midnight black of the MacLawrys, even if he had adopted Bear's tendency to avoid a barber. His eyes had always reminded her of lush springtime-but that had been before. Now, they were simply green.

"Aye," he said, looking like he wasn't certain whether to offer her a handshake or a hug. "Very fashionable. Welcome home, Winnie."

She stuck out her hand to spare him the dilemma. It likely wasn't his fault he hadn't a romantic bone in his body, she decided. "You're no doubt surprised I don't have burrs in my hair," she said with a practiced smile in her practiced new accent.

His brows knitted. "What happened to yer voice?" he asked.

"Nothing happened to my voice," she returned, retrieving her fingers as swiftly as she could. He was her silly, youthful past. That was all. And she'd brought her future with her in those other coaches, so she needed nothing from him at all. "It's the proper way of speaking. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to meet my new sister-in-law."

With that she turned her back on him and let out a long breath. What had she been so worried about? That she would abandon her common sense and try to kiss him? Ha. He was merely a man-albeit a very handsome man-and he was no longer the only potential suitor whose acquaintance she'd made. Nor was he even the only one present.

And because of that, she still needed to do a bit more maneuvering. Halfway to her new sister-in-law, she angled over to where her oldest brother stood with his betrothed. "Thank you for allowing me to invite some friends, Ranulf."

His expression unreadable, the marquis inclined his head. "I require a Sassenach witness or two at my wedding, so we'll say this is mutually beneficial. Though I think ye had yer own plans more in mind than mine when ye sent oot the invitations."

"Nonsense, Ranulf. I've brought along representatives of the finest English families." For the most part, anyway.

He glanced from Charlotte to her parents approaching from one of the following coaches. "I suppose we'll find oot," he returned, then took a half step closer to her and lowered his black-haired head. "Just ye keep in mind that this isnae London. I'll bury any lad who steps too far, Rowena."

"I don't think any of them would dare," she said truthfully, as the small horde of English began exiting coaches and traipsing noisily up the drive. "This is your kingdom."

"Aye, it is," he agreed, taking Charlotte's hand and gazing at his betrothed as though it had been far longer than a week since he'd last set eyes on her. "Welcome to Glengask, leannan," he murmured, kissing her knuckles.

"It's beautiful," Charlotte returned with a warm, excited smile. "Just as you described it."

"It's more bonny with ye here." Ranulf tilted his head. "And did ye know we favor beheadings in the Highlands?" he asked, raising his voice.

"Since when?" Rowena put in, frowning. He was going to frighten everyone away before a single piece of luggage could enter the mansion.

"I ken ye're all aware there're different rules in the Highlands than these soft English lads are accustomed to," he continued levelly. "Fer instance, here we dunnae bother turning our backs on someone if they do something improper."

"Nae," Bear took up, looking from his brother to the dozen coaches still spitting out ladies and gentlemen and servants. "Here we'll bloody yer nose and set ye on yer arse."

"And then we'll find ye a nice, deep bog to rest beneath," Arran said finally, clearly understanding the direction of the pronouncement.

Rowena's cheeks warmed. "That's quite enough," she hissed. "My friends are not accustomed to threats and violence. And if you want to be seen as gentlemen," she went on, stopping just short of jabbing a finger in Ranulf's direction, "you can't bellow at people who haven't done anything wrong."

Ranulf lifted an eyebrow. "I can be a gentleman," he rumbled in his deep Highlands brogue. "I have eyes, as well. Ye have a great number of Sassenach men with ye, piuthar. I dunnae think they're all here to witness my wedding. I'm nae acquainted with most of them, fer one thing."

"That isn't-"

"And they'd best keep in mind that ye're my only sister," he pressed, "and that I've nae spent this long looking after ye to see someaught ... unacceptable happen now." Releasing Charlotte's hand, he took one long step forward. "Nor do I mean to let ye ferget yer heritage, however prettily ye choose to talk," he continued in a much lower voice. "Are we clear, Rowena Rose MacLawry?"

It took a great deal of will to look up into his stony blue eyes. "Aye. Yes. I understand."

"Good."

Ha. This from men who wagered over the quantity of whisky they could consume. Well, her brothers and Lachlan had best behave themselves, too. Because she had a good idea that her new friends were not going to be the problem. After all, they'd all had governesses and tutors and dance instructors. They all knew how to conduct themselves at balls and formal dinners and house parties. And whether Ranulf realized it or not, she was very close to preferring that life to the one with which she'd grown up. It wouldn't take much more to tip the balance. In fact, the right man could do it fairly easily. With a flounce of her skirts she continued on to where Arran and Mary stood a little apart from the crowd at the front doors.

* * *

Lachlan MacTier took a step backward to avoid having a trunk set on his toes. "Did ye know she was bringing half of London north with her?" he muttered at Bear beside him.

"Nae," Munro growled back. "Ran said his Charlotte's family and a few of Winnie's and the Hanovers' friends are to attend the wedding. Nae this horde." His brows lowered. "They're all so ... pretty. And breakable."

"Aye." Lachlan gazed after a tall, spindly lad with high shirt points and blond hair that looked so smooth and shiny it could likely reflect the sunlight. "Breakable."

Whatever Bear said, this frilly lot didn't look like the sort of folk Lord Glengask would befriend, much less invite beneath his roof. And given that bit of speech a moment ago, this seemed to be the youngest MacLawry's idea. Lachlan shifted his gaze sideways. Black-haired Winnie MacLawry slid her hand around the arm of one of the taller fellows, smiling as she said something and gestured at the grand gray and white sprawl behind them.

She'd invited these people-or at least a good share of them. Did she truly feel connected enough to the Sassenach after only three months in England that she needed to bring London back with her to the Highlands? Or was the lass who had traipsed after him for nearly two decades in her pigtails and too-lacy skirts trying to make him jealous?

Perhaps he was rating her estimation of him too highly, but then perhaps he wasn't. Both Arran and Bear blamed him for her flight to London in the first place. If gifting a lass with a pair of fine riding boots on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday could cause her to leave her lifelong home and her family, then he supposed it was his fault, but it all seemed very silly and overly dramatic. She'd thrown a tantrum, and now she was home. Nothing else had changed, except for the way she talked, apparently.

"I hope we dunnae have to remember all their names," Bear muttered.

"They're nae all men, Bear," he pointed out, offering his friend a brief smile. "And here we are, two strapping bachelors standing aboot while we wait fer yer brother's wedding."

"Ye're nae a bachelor, Lach."

"I am a bachelor, and I'm fairly certain of that fact. I've nae wife, and nae a woman in mind fer one."

"Maybe so," the big man mused after a moment, then angled his chin at his sister. "But does she know that?"

"Fer Lucifer's sake, Munro. It takes two to make a marriage, and I've nae made anything of the kind with yer bairn of a sister. Leave off. It's bad enough with her writing me poetry all the time. Dunnae ye begin it again, too."

"Is she still writing ye poetry, then?" Arran asked as he joined them, his new bride, Mary, at his side.

"Nae. She was too busy with shopping in London, I wager. Ye know she stopped a few weeks ago." It had actually felt a little odd, at first, to not have a letter waiting for him each day, close-written lines telling him everything about her first days in London. He'd almost felt like he was there with her. He hadn't written back, of course, because her brothers watched like hawks, and he was not going to be trapped into something simply for being kind. And so he'd been relieved when she'd stopped. Just as he was relieved that she hadn't tried to throw herself into his arms when she left the carriage a few minutes ago.

"Then I suppose ye are a bachelor," Arran continued, clapping him on the shoulder. "Just keep in mind that Ranulf's marrying the first Sassenach lass he set eyes on in London. Ye dunnae want that happening to ye, I reckon."

"Hm," Mary put in, leaning into his shoulder. "If I recall, didn't you swoon after the first Highlands lass you met in London? And wasn't she a Campbell, of all things?"

The middle MacLawry brother grinned. "I didnae swoon, lass." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "But ye do stop my heart."

She put her palm over the front of his left shoulder. "I saw you get shot, Arran," she whispered. "No jesting about your heart stopping."

"Aww, the two of ye are making me weep," Bear commented. "Come along, Lach. Let's be bachelors and introduce ourselves to the lovely, delicate lasses."

"Just dunnae roar and frighten them all away, Bear."

That sounded like something he would say, anyway. Truthfully, the last thing Lachlan wanted was to find himself tangled up with some foreign lass who'd likely blow over in a stiff breeze, and who might turn out to be related to the MacDonalds on her father's side or something. Sweet Saint Andrew. That said, the younger sister of Glengask's betrothed was pretty enough, and obviously Ranulf had already approved her family bloodline. She might suit for a kiss and a giggle, as the Sassenach said, anyway.

"Dunnae say I didnae warn ye, lads," Arran called after them.

By the time everyone, guests and servants, had found bedchambers and been reunited with their luggage, Lachlan had managed a rough head count-though the servants dressed so finely he wasn't entirely certain he'd put everyone into the correct category. Seven gentlemen, five lasses, four Hanovers including Lord and Lady Hest and both their daughters, and seventeen servants including an English valet named Ginger who'd been acquired by the Marquis of Glengask. For the first time ... ever, Sassenach outnumbered the Scots at the MacLawry seat of power.

Lachlan wasn't surprised when Glengask hunted him down in the library, where he'd retreated with a glass of whisky. Bear might enjoy the turmoil, but Lachlan preferred conversations where he could actually make out what the other party might be saying. "Do ye hear that?" he asked, from the chair by the low fire. "The walls are humming with noise. More noise than usual, I mean."

"Aye." Ranulf poured himself a glass and took the opposite chair. "And half the MacLawrys buried oot by the loch are spinning beneath the stones. All of Glengask could be swallowed up by a bog at any moment."

Chuckling, Lachlan glanced toward the closed door. "Was this invasion yer idea or Winnie's, if ye dunnae mind me asking?"

"The wedding in the Highlands was my idea," the marquis returned. "I left the guest list to Rowena, since I had to ride ahead." He didn't elaborate, but Lachlan knew that he'd galloped north with one groom and a wolfhound for company and protection, and that he'd reached Gretna Green just in time to save Arran and Mary and prevent an all-out war between the MacLawrys and the Campbells.

"They seem very ... English," Lachlan offered.

"That, they are. And they expect us to be an English household. Which we arenae." Ranulf sat forward. "I mean to see to it that they have a taste of Highlands hospitality, but at the same time I dunnae want us to be embarrassed here. I need to borrow some of yer staff."

Lachlan wasn't surprised at the request, but coming from the marquis directly, it did seem unusual. However things proceeded in the south, up north of Fort William, Glengask's word was law. His clan had the largest population-and the largest standing army-in the Highlands. Requesting servants seemed a bit trivial for him. "Whoever ye need," he returned.

"Thank ye. I'll be hiring some cooks from the village, and more lads fer the stable, but I dunnae want Robert the miller's lad dumping haggis on someone's lap."

"Winnie should've sent ye word that she had half of Mayfair riding north with her."

Deep blue eyes sent him a speculative look. "I dunnae ken this was meant to surprise me."

Hm. "She stopped writing me letters weeks ago, Ran. And she barely shook my hand earlier, she was in such a hurry to greet Arran's lady and her new friends."

"Even so, I think it's time we had a chat, Lachlan."

That didn't sound promising. Evidently the trap that had been hanging over his head practically since Winnie's birth was about to be sprung. There was nothing as aggravating as a predestined life. And he didn't want one. "Ran, I had naught to do with her tagging after me," he protested. "I've nae given her cause to think anything. I mean, Bear and the rest of ye are closer to me than my own cousins, and I've nae brothers and sisters of my own. Nae but fer the lot of ye." Not even that seemed clear enough for comfort. "Ye are my brothers. And she's my sister."

"Very well, then." Ranulf took a slow swallow of whisky. "Ye're a good man, Lachlan, and I'd nae have an objection if ye'd decided to pursue Rowena. But I'm glad ye've made up yer mind aboot her, because I'll nae see her dragging aboot hoping fer someaught that'll never come to pass." He finished off his drink and stood. "I do want to hear ye say it-that ye've nae intention to offer fer my piuthar. Because I have plans to make if I dunnae want her to wed some Sassenach lord with property at the opposite end of the kingdom."

Lachlan stood, as well. "I've nae intention of offering fer Winnie," he said aloud, wondering now if escaping what had seemed inevitable had always been that simple. He didn't think so, but he wasn't about to let this one chance pass him by. "She's already my family."

"She may be yer sister in yer mind, but I can guarantee that she's nae thought of ye as a brother. Ever. But I'm nae one to meddle." With a heavy nod Glengask walked to the door. "I'll tell her. I dunnae want any misunderstandings."

"I'll tell her," Lachlan countered, though he wasn't entirely certain why he felt the need to speak up. Generally he avoided womanly hysteria and tears at all costs. "She'll believe me. I hope."

"See that she does. And tell her today, if ye will. I'd prefer to keep any foolishness to a minimum."

"Agreed." He hesitated, then set down the glass and craned his head to look over his shoulder at the marquis in the doorway. "I have told her before, ye know."

"Nae. Ye've talked around it. Say the words, and spare us all some mischief." Glengask's shoulders rose and fell. "And some grief."

Once Glengask returned to the chaos of the rest of the house, Lachlan finished his whisky. Over the years he thought he'd made it clear enough that he could never feel ... romantic toward the bairn he'd had following him about like an eager puppy since she could toddle about on her own wee legs.

He thought he'd danced on the edge quite well, really, rebuffing her girlish advances and at the same time keeping from breaking her heart. Apparently no one appreciated his subtlety-though in clan MacLawry subtlety had never been a prime weapon in the arsenal.

But now, and for the first time, he felt like his future was his own. It was a giddy feeling, almost. No one had any expectations of him. Well, almost no one. Ranulf did expect one thing of him. Blowing out his breath, he stood. Best get it over with, and hope she didn't begin weeping. The last thing he wanted was Bear breaking his nose because he'd made the granite mountain's little sister cry.

He found Winnie in one of the upstairs sitting rooms. She'd put on a pretty cream and blue gown, though he hadn't seen anything wrong with the one she'd been wearing when she'd arrived. She was pretending to be English, though, and everyone knew the Sassenach changed clothes more often than a deer flicked its ears.

She sat in the middle of her fluttery new friends, all of them laughing about something the tall fellow with the shiny hair had said. Lachlan couldn't recall his name, but doubted the scrawny fellow could so much as lift a caber-much less toss one.

"Might I have a word with ye, Winnie?" he asked, wondering why he abruptly felt ... uncomfortable. He'd spent nearly as much time in this house as he had in his own, but with these people, the sounds and scents they brought with them, he couldn't help the sensation that he didn't quite belong.

"Certainly, Lord Gray," Winnie said cheerfully, rising. "Jane, don't let Lord Samston begin another of his stories until I return." She flashed a grin at the yellow-haired man by the window.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Lady Rowena," he drawled, sketching a bow that likely would have looked fancy even in a royal court.

Lachlan followed Winnie into the sunroom at the end of the hallway. A handful of wooden benches and chairs lay scattered amid potted roses and lilies-plants too delicate for the changeable Highlands weather. "That lot's like the monkeys in a menagerie," he commented with a loose smile. "All chattering at once and being cozy with the top brute in the herd."

"And who is the top brute, do you think?" Winnie strolled over to one of the large, south-facing windows.

"That Lord Samston. Nobody talks when he does."

"Very observant of you," she returned, leaning her spine against the window and folding her arms over her chest. "But considering that he was introduced to you as the Earl of Samston, you already knew that."

"Nae," Lachlan returned, though he knew he should likely be getting to the point of this conversation and not provoking Winnie. He'd teased with her for her entire life, though, and unlike those prissy lads down the hall, he had no fear of her temper. "It's nae aboot rank. Nae completely. Samston's the fellow to watch."

"I'll keep that in mind." She lifted a graceful eyebrow. "Thankfully he's very easy on the eyes."

"Him? He's too shiny."

Winnie tilted her head. "I'm a bit confused, Lachlan. Which word did you want with me? To tell me that Lord Samston is powerful, or that he's shiny?"

"Neither. And I still dunnae why ye feel the need to talk like a Sassenach," he said, frowning. "Ye can fool whoever ye like in London, but ye're home now."

She turned her back on him, ostensibly to gaze out at the sharp-peaked mountains around them. "Is that what this is about, then? You don't like the way I talk? Because that's really none of your business."

"I dunnae suppose it is. And nae, that's nae the word I wanted, either."

"Then tell me what you want, Lord Gray, so I can return to my duties as hostess."

Lachlan frowned at the back of her head and her gracefully coiled black hair. A few months ago Winnie MacLawry would have gone to great efforts to prevent him from leaving a conversation. Once she'd even pretended to sprain her ankle so he would carry her from Loch Shinaig back to the house. He'd told Donald the stableboy to do it, and she'd abruptly recovered.

But that was neither here nor there. And the sooner he could make his intentions-or lack thereof-clear, the sooner he could stop worrying that he would be trapped into something simply because Ranulf couldn't refuse his sister anything she truly wanted.

He took a breath. "Face me, will ye?"

Her shoulders rose and fell, and she turned around again. "This sounds serious," she mused, her expression still a bit annoyed. With him-which was unusual in itself.

"I ken that fer a long time ye've had yer heart set on ... on things being a particular way, lass, and I ken that I was one of the reasons ye scampered doon to London-so I'd see ye as a lady rather than a wee girl."

"You n-"

"But what ye do doesnae matter, Winnie," he continued over her interruption. "I'll always see ye as ye are, and that's the bairn with the scraped knees I taught to fish. What I mean to say is, I'll nae-never-marry ye, Winnie, so whatever ye have planned in that head of yers, dunnae trouble yerself. Have yer fun with yer friends, help Lady Charlotte with her Highlands wedding, but dunnae expect anything to come of us. Do ye understand?"

For a long moment she gazed at him while he waited for her pretty blue eyes to overflow with tears. Bear would likely attempt to bloody him, but Ranulf had practically ordered him to do this. It wasn't as if he wanted to see her cry.

Winnie smiled. Then a chuckle burst from her chest. "Oh, dear," she managed.

That did not sound like heartbreak. Lachlan frowned before he could remember that that was a good thing. "What's so damned amusing?"

"You looked so serious. I'm so sorry," she returned. "Poor Lachlan. You must've been terrified every time you saw me appear."

"Nae. I wasnae terrified. And I'm nae afraid of ye now. I just want ye to ken that there'll be no marriage between us."

"Of course I understand that. You were a childhood infatuation. I'm certainly not a child any longer."

This was not what he'd expected. "It's been three months. Ye've changed yer accent right enough, but yer heart? That's nae so simple, I think."

"Now you're confusing me. Are you jealous that I've realized what I want, and that it isn't you?"

"I'm just doubting the truth of yer words, lass."

"Oh, pish. Until three months ago, I'd barely spoken with a man who wasn't my brother. I'd never waltzed with anyone but the four of you, and no one had ever complimented me without me first having to ask them to. And so I'm sorry I was so relentless in my pursuit, but you can hardly blame me for it."

"I dunnae blame ye fer anything. I just want to have an understanding between us."

"There is one. But this conversation is unnecessary. My time in London allowed me to open my eyes," she returned, still cool and composed. "I wrote you letters and you never responded. Since my first memory I've been asking you for flowers and dances and poetry, and you couldn't be bothered. Not once." Stepping forward, she put a hand on his arm. "I don't want you any longer. You're not worth my time."

Then she leaned up and ki