A Question for Harry (Questions for a Highlander #5)

Chapter 1

Men! I’m surrounded by them! Outnumbered and outranked. Sadly, there is nothing to be done for it when one is the youngest of eleven siblings and the only lass amidst a herd of lads at that.

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The Old Course

St. Andrews, Scotland

April 1895

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“Francis!”

“Nay, Blossom. I willnae consider it!”

“Francis!”

“Nay! And dinnae be getting yer feathers in a bunch about it!”

It was an incredibly simple thing to tell when her brothers felt passionate about something. Their usually cultured accents gave way to the heavy brogues of their ancestors when they were angry, frustrated, or drunk.

And Fiona was fairly certain—at least at this particular moment—they weren’t drunk.

However, they weren’t the only ones frustrated by this conversation either. As much as she preferred to approach the trials of life with ebullient good cheer, Fiona was becoming downright infuriated with her brother.

It was nothing new, of course. The MacKintosh siblings, all eleven of them, were known to be mercurial in temperament, and it would be safe—even a bit of an understatement—to say that there was no shortage of verbal outbursts and occasional physical bouts in the MacKintosh household.

One might postulate that the character trait—Fiona refused to consider it a flaw—might have weakened by the time her parents got to her.

But Fiona MacKintosh, last of the bunch and the only female among them to boot, possessed all the hot-headedness of any of her older brothers, along with whatever excess that might have remained.

As a toddler, her father had taken to calling her Blossom because even then, she was as prickly as a heather blossom. The nickname had stuck among her brothers, only to be repeatedly validated as the years went by.

And would likely be confirmed once again quite soon if her eldest brother, who had been most accommodating of her wants and wishes throughout the course of her twenty years, became any less obliging now.

“Francis, this is ridiculous,” she grumbled with no little exasperation. “Lord Ramsay is the man I want to marry.”

“If Ramsay is the man ye truly want to wed, Blossom, I’ll eat my hat.

” Fiona’s eldest brother, Francis MacKintosh, the Earl of Glenrothes, told her as he considered a chip shot from the fringes of the seventeenth green of the St. Andrews Old Course, where they were playing an early round on a perfect spring morning.

A perfect morning, she’d thought, to partake in her beloved pastime with her brothers on their favorite course and to address the matter of her future. However, the conversation wasn’t going as she had imagined it.

One of the other gentlemen present harrumphed. “And if he is, we hae no’ given ye enough options.”

“Vin!” Fiona spun around to gape at the next eldest of the ten MacKintosh brothers in astonishment.

Maybe they were drunk. Fiona couldn’t think of another reason for their contrary behavior.

A denial from one was rare. Two, unheard of.

And to have Vin deny her? He, especially, had pampered and indulged her since his return to Scotland two years ago.

“Options? I’ve seen the options. Lord Ramsay is the only one who’s come up to snuff! ”

“He’s not come up to snuff, Blossom,” the third of her brothers, Richard, weighed in.

Unlike the two oldest brothers, Richard’s temper hadn’t yet been tapped if his brogue were any indication.

In fact, he seemed rather entertained by the entire conversation.

..which only served to heighten Fiona’s displeasure.

“He’s simply not as smart as the others. ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll be happy to explain,” Richard said, swinging one of his golf clubs casually before lifting it to point in her direction. “You, my dear sister, are shockingly direct, far too progressive, and disconcertingly liberal-minded.”

Having nothing to offer in opposition to his assessment, Fiona waited impatiently for him to continue.

Inarguably, she was all those things and more.

Her determination to have her way wasn’t a mere byproduct of having been spoiled by her brothers.

They’d raised her following their parents’ deaths to think and act independently, to fight for what she wanted.

“I dinnae think that comes as a surprise to anyone here, Richard. What’s your point?” Glenrothes said, his heavy brogue ebbing with his anger as he chipped his ball onto the green.

“My point is that Blossom’s...shall we call it unique perspective on life isn’t what most gentlemen are looking for in a wife in this day and age. My apologies, dear lass, but that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise either,” he added.

She only shrugged. It wasn’t.

“That’s not much of a point, Richard,” Vin pointed out.

No, it wasn’t.

Richard lifted a brow. “But it is. Oh, she might appeal to gentlemen at first because she’s quite lovely, attractively wealthy, and on any normal day, reasonably good-natured, but she’s bold as brass and not at all shy with her opinions.

It’s disconcerting for most eligible gentlemen she’s met and distinctly terrifying for others. ”

“Thank you, Richard. I’m feeling ever so good about myself just now.”

“Wait, there’s more,” he warned and continued, “Now, there are two exceptions to this rather regrettable trend. First, there is the rare, yet heretofore, unseen gentleman in possession of comparable intelligence and enough backbone to find such qualities admirable.”

“And second?”

“There is Lord Ramsay.”

Vin threw back his head and laughed at that, somehow comprehending the joke before the punch line was even revealed. “Aye, Ramsay. Too daft to know what he’s getting himself into.”

Fuming silently, Fiona settled a glare of displeasure upon the two men until their laughter faded away. “How terribly amusing you both are.”

“Amusing or no’,” Glenrothes said, following his ball onto the green to line up the long putt he was left with, “there is some truth to what Richard said. You’ve only known Ramsay for two short weeks. Hardly enough time to consider marriage.”

“Not considering,” she corrected. “Lord Ramsay is a fine enough gentleman, heir to an earldom, a fair rider, and an adequate golf player. We share a passion for the sport, and I wish to marry him.”

“A shared interest in a sport is no reason to wed, Blossom,” Richard offered more seriously.

“At times, we must make do with the opportunities we are given,” she said. “What else do you expect me to do, remain single for an indeterminate amount of time? Become a spinster?”

“Wait until you find a man you can love,” her eldest brother said.

“Or at least one we could respect,” Vin added under his breath, but she heard him anyway, and her temper spiked again.

“If I were to wait for that to happen, Vin MacKintosh,” she snapped, “I may very well be past my thirtieth year before I start filling my nursery.”

She winced as Glenrothes and Vin both glowered at her. It was a low, unnecessary blow as both of their wives were just beginning to fill their nurseries at thirty.

Richard punctuated the sudden silence with a low whistle and took an extravagant step back.

“I should like to see ye repeat that sentiment to Eve’s face, as her advanced age hisnae seemed to be such a detriment to her happiness,” Glenrothes said in a soft, deadly burr while Vin only shook his head.

“Och, Francis! Vin!” She began apologising, but her eldest brother held up his hand to halt her rebuttal.

“That is neither here nor there. I ken how ye are when ye get a thought into that head of yers, Blossom. Yer as tenacious as a filly wi’ the bit between her teeth. But, bugger it, I willnae stand to the side and watch ye wed in haste to a man ye met on a golf course, for pity’s sake.”

Bloody hell, but she shouldn’t have picked on Eve, Fiona bemoaned.

She loved her sister-in-law dearly and knew quite well that nothing in this world angered Francis more than a slight to his wife.

Her insult couldn’t have been more poorly timed since Eve had delivered another daughter for Francis just a month past.

Another baby to remind Fiona how much she was missing in her life.

All the more reason to get on with it.

“You must admit, Blossom, ’tis hardly the proper setting to meet a gentleman,” Vin said quietly. Since he was of a more even keel temperamentally than most of the family, Vin’s anger tended to fade away more quickly. Far more quickly than hers.

“Proper?” Fiona scoffed, twisting the handle of her putter against her palm. “You’re a fine one to talk about anything about propriety, Vin. Besides, it is the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews.”

“What Vin is saying is that young ladies such as yourself are usually introduced to young eligible men in a more suitable setting,” Richard said.

“I’ve been trotted about to high society balls and teas and introduced to eligible men for two years without finding a single gentleman I like better,” she reminded them. “Besides, given my passion for golfing, isn’t it only fitting that I met someone here that suits me?”

“It just seems a bit dodgy that you meet this fellow at the clubhouse, yet he won’t step out with you publicly,” Richard told her.

“Dodgy? He’s the nephew and heir of the Earl of Carron. What could be more respectable than that?”

“I’ll tell ye what,” Glenrothes said flatly, calm once again.

“Respectable is a man who courts you in public. Respectable is a man who knocks on my door to ask for your hand like a gentleman. This Ramsay has worked an entire courtship behind our backs. Richard’s right. It all seems a wee bit cagey.”

He tapped his golf ball lightly, sending it across the short grass and into the cup with a soft clink. Turning, he motioned for her to take her turn, but she was too incensed just then to find the peace needed to sink the long putt awaiting her from the fringes of the green.