Sinful Scottish Laird

“I’ve been—I mean to invite my neighbors to dine. Not a garden party, mind you, but a proper supper. Will you come?”

She was gripping the side of her apron, he noticed, the leather bunched in her hand. “Your neighbors,” he repeated, uncertain just whom she meant, as the sort of neighbors who would be invited to dine with her were quite far from Auchenard and few between besides.

“Yes, my neighbors! I should like to make their acquaintance, naturally. You are my neighbor, are you not? You wouldn’t say, but as you are walking with your fish, I assumed.”

Did she mean to make the acquaintance of the poor crofters? No. She meant to parade eligible bachelors before her. Perhaps she might invite a few of the Jacobites to her table and determine their suitability while she was at it. Or perhaps she meant to start a war.

Cailean abruptly retraced the few steps he’d just taken. “I will speak plainly, madam. You are no’ welcome in these hills. Aye, there will be those enticed by the promise of your fortune, but I’ve no interest in it. I willna vie for your hand if that’s what you seek.”

Color flooded her cheeks. Her brows dipped into a dark V above her eyes. “You flatter yourself quite incomparably, Arrandale! You presume too much! You may think you know something of my situation, but whatever you’ve heard, I assure you, it is not accurate. I invite you only as a neighbor. I thought you might even be my friend!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms wide. “Now I shall be just as plain—no matter if you come or not, you need not remind me of your lack of desire for me ever again. You’ve made it quite clear.”

Cailean didn’t flinch at her dressing-down of him. “Donna look so astounded,” he said. “A friend? Most women who befriend men they scarcely know mean to attach themselves to his purse. Or, in your case, attach him to yours.”

Her mouth gaped open. Something sparked in those green eyes, something hot and glittering, and Cailean could not look away—or ignore that the hot, glittering thing was waking something just as hot in him.

“Ah, I see—you are the prize catch of the Highlands, are you? You must be utterly exhausted from escaping the clutches of so many women. You need not fear my clutches, my lord, for I would never join the chase,” she said and leaned forward, her gaze narrowing slightly. “Never,” she articulated, her voice deadly in its softness. “I live as I please, and it pleases me to trifle with gentlemen—with all gentlemen. Don’t flatter yourself that you are the only one. Don’t imagine that your purse is so fat that I should be tempted by it, for I assure you, mine is much fatter, and I don’t wish to attach anyone to it. If that scandalizes you, then perhaps you should stay away. But if it doesn’t?” She settled back and shrugged insouciantly. “You will be most welcome in my home.”

Cailean was surprised and a wee bit impressed with her admonishment. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

That inadvertent chuckle seemed to vex her even more. “You shouldn’t put so much stock in gossip,” she said, and angrily whirled around, marching away from him, her chin up, her braid bouncing above her derriere with the force of her stride. She stopped at the wall and shouted over her shoulder, rather crossly, “Thank you for tending my hand!” and then disappeared into the break in the wall.

It was perhaps the first time in Cailean’s life that he’d found indignation in a woman so wholly appealing.

CHAPTER SIX (#uad27d6f4-5b1e-5ac5-811b-b0fac26312aa)

TWO DAYS LATER, Daisy folded Arrandale’s freshly laundered handkerchief and tucked it in her diary beside the two crushed rose petals and the letter from Rob.

She dipped her quill into the inkwell.

The garden at last has been cleared, though sadly nothing salvaged. I shall bring on someone to see it through the winter with the hope that a viable garden will emerge next spring, God willing. I should like to see it one day, but I suspect a husband shall divest himself of a Scotch Highland lodge, particularly one so terribly far from England.

Ellis has not yet found Auchenard to his liking. He is without humor and very pale and does not sleep well, as he has heard tales of creatures in the forest that have frightened him. Mr. Tuttle informs me that Ellis no longer has any desire to venture beyond the wall around the lodge.

A nest of mice was found in the settee in Belinda’s bedroom. She is convinced that there is an infestation the likes of which cannot be contained but with fire.

Daisy looked at the handkerchief. She touched it, her finger tracing lightly over the fine linen.

Arrandale is a brute. He is given to believing gossip and speaking to women in his acquaintance with a decided lack of decorum. He voices what thoughts are on his mind with little thought for my feelings. It vexes me terribly, but all in all, I rather appreciate it. I am at least assured that he is speaking true. Nevertheless, as he does not know me, he might have extended me the courtesy of believing the best of me. Not every woman is in search of a husband! Well... I suppose I am, but he must realize I’d not search for one here! I shall invite him and my other neighbors and give the rooster quite a few more assumptions to make.

I have not yet broached the subject of a supper party with Belinda and Uncle. I think they shall not be favorably inclined.

She touched the handkerchief again, thought of the man who had bandaged her hand. She closed her eyes, imagined him taking her hand that day, pulling her to him, removing her hat and kissing her.

God help you, Daisy. You’re such a little fool, dreaming of intercourse with him when you’ve only months to find a husband.

She opened her eyes, closed her diary. She felt as if a clock were ticking inside her, relentlessly counting the moments until she was under the rule of a man again. She thought of Robert—her memory of him a bit hazy now—and sent up a silent prayer that he would reach London in time to save her.

Her writing finished for the day, Daisy wandered out to the garden to survey it under an overcast sky. It was not a beautiful garden. It was a desolate one, with scarcely any adornment, and a fountain that could not be made to work, no matter what Uncle Alfonso and Mr. Green had tried.

She put her hands to the small of her back and arched backward, closed her eyes and listened to the breeze rustle the treetops. It was so peaceful at Auchenard. So blessedly removed from the bustling world of London, of even Chatwick Hall in Nottinghamshire. How she wished her family would come to see Auchenard as she did, but alas, they did not.

They’d done all that they could to the lodge without benefit of builders and masons. Daisy was proud of the work they’d done, and the idea of the supper party, blurted in a moment in which she’d sought a reason to keep that wretched Arrandale about, had taken firm root in her. Perhaps her family might find Auchenard more to their liking with a bit of society. Daisy would very much like to meet her neighbors. She would like them to see what they’d done to the old lodge.