Hard-Hearted Highlander

Lord Kent looked back at his escort, whose expression had fallen back into stoicism, then at Rabbie. “How far?”

“Seven miles at most.”

“We’ll be met with hospitality, or a gun?”

Rabbie smiled. “This is the Highlands, my lord.” He let that statement linger, let Kent imagine what he would for a moment or two, and indeed, he and his brother exchanged another brief, but wary, look. “Aye, you’ll be met with hospitality, you will. But were I you, I’d have a man or two with me.”

Lord Kent nodded and gestured to his brother. “Assemble some of the men, then.”

He turned back to Rabbie. “Very well, we will call on the Buchanans. You’ll find your fiancée with the women.” He began striding for the stables, his business with Rabbie done.

Rabbie watched him go, trailed by his brother. Niall paused briefly before following them.

“Anything?” Rabbie asked in Gaelic.

“Only that the food is not to their liking,” Niall responded in kind.

“They’ll like it well enough, come winter,” Catriona said as she passed both men on her way to the door.

“The Buchanan sheep suffered the ovine plague,” Niall reminded Rabbie.

Rabbie gave Niall the closest thing to a smile he’d managed in weeks. “Aye, lad, that I know.”

“They’ve come round, they have,” Niall said.

“Who?”

“The Buchanans. I’ve seen them twice up on the hill behind Killeaven.”

“Aye, any clans remaining will come to have a look, will they no’?”

Niall shrugged. “It was odd, it was. They sit there, watching.”

There was no trust between the Buchanans and the Mackenzies. Rabbie couldn’t guess what they were about, but he’d reckon their interest wasn’t a neighborly one.

By the time he caught up to Catriona, the butler had already met her. The man wore a freshly powdered wig and his shoes had been polished to a very high sheen. Perhaps he thought the king meant to call today.

“Welcome,” the butler said, and showed them into the salon just beyond the entry. It smelled rather dank, Rabbie thought, even though the windows were open. Dry rot, he presumed, and supposed that would be his burden once he took the wee bird to wife.

“Have you a calling card I might present to her ladyship?” the butler asked.

Rabbie glared at him. A calling card? The lass was fortunate he’d come at all.

“I beg your pardon, but we donna make use of calling cards here,” Catriona said. “If you would be so kind, then, to tell her that Mr. Rabbie Mackenzie and Miss Catriona Mackenzie have come?”

“He knows who we are,” Rabbie said gruffly.

“Yes, of course,” the man said, ignoring Rabbie entirely as he hurried off in little staccato steps.

“A calling card,” Rabbie muttered.

“They’re English, then,” Catriona said. “They have their ways, and we have ours, aye? Donna be so sour, Rabbie.”

He might have argued with her, but they were both startled by a lot of clomping overhead and looked to the ceiling. It sounded as if a herd of cattle had been aroused. One of them—the calf, he presumed—ran from one end of the room to the other, and back again.

Moments later, they arrived in a threesome—Lady Kent and her lookalike daughter, and the maid, who barely spared him a glance as she entered, but then smiled prettily at Catriona before moving briskly to stand on the other side of the room apart from the rest.

Rabbie watched her, frowning. What made this woman so arrogant? She should have curtsied to him, as he was her superior in every way. He was so distracted by her conceit that he failed to introduce his sister or greet his fiancée.

“My brother has forgotten his manners, aye?” Catriona said. “I am his sister, Catriona Mackenzie. I was away when you arrived, tending to our aunt. She’s rather ill.”

“Oh. I am very sorry to hear it,” Miss Kent said. “Umm...” She glanced across the room at the maid, who gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “May I introduce my mother, Lady Kent?”

Lady Kent curtsied and mumbled something unintelligible to Rabbie. Catriona returned the greeting quite loudly, as if she thought the woman was deaf. Then Miss Kent slid her palms down her side and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Mackenzie” without looking directly at him.

“Aye, good afternoon.”

“Will you please sit?” she asked.

“Thank you,” Catriona said, and plunked herself down on a settee. Rabbie didn’t move from his position near the hearth.

“Might I offer you something to drink?” Miss Kent asked in a manner that suggested she’d been rehearsing the question, and looked nervously to Rabbie.

“No. Thank you.”

“Have you any ale?” Catriona asked. “I’m a wee bit dry after our ride.”

Miss Kent looked startled by Catriona’s request. “Ah...” She glanced to the butler, who nodded and walked out in that same eager manner as before.

The maid was now leaning against a sill at the open window, gazing out, as if there was no one else in the room but her. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,” Miss Kent said, having noticed the direction of Rabbie’s gaze. “M-may I introduce Miss Bernadette Holly? She is my lady’s maid.”

Miss Bernadette Holly pushed herself away from the sill and sank into what could only be termed a very lazy curtsy.

“Aye, we’ve met,” he said dismissively.

“You have?” Miss Kent exclaimed.

“In the Balhaire kitchen,” he said, at the very same moment the maid said, “No.”

Miss Kent looked at her lady’s maid, her brows rising higher.

“What I mean to say is that we were not formally introduced,” Miss Holly said. “Our paths crossed in the kitchen, that’s all.”

One of Rabbie’s brows rose above the other. Was she openly contradicting him, this lady’s maid?

“Oh, dear, of course, the kitchen,” Miss Kent said. “That was...well, it was an unfortunate oversight.”

He didn’t know what Miss Kent thought was an oversight and he didn’t care. He kept staring at the maid, this Miss Holly, wondering how she kept her employ with her supercilious ways. She leaned against the sill once more and folded her arms across her body, returning his gaze with one that seemed almost impatient.