Chapter 2
The boom of the door opening loudly in the front hall cut through the quiet in the parlor.
Rose instinctively straightened in her seat, perched on the edge of the slim, pale wood chair with rosy fabric covered in white blossoms. Her spine was as stiff as ever, and she shot a glance at her parents, arranged just how she’d told them to be on the pastel green sofa across from her.
Remain calm, Rose. Remain calm.
Still, she clutched her hands together too tightly in her lap, her knuckles aching against the pressure as their long-awaited visitor finally arrived.
The Laird.
Whispers from the household staff around them immediately began to titter about the room, carried from the long hallway beyond the parlor like a leaf in the wind.
Baldwin and Horatia were exceedingly stiff on the sofa, exchanging glances with each other as their furrowed brows gave away their nervousness.
Then Rose’s ears perked up to the sound of a deep voice rumbling through the house, this whisky bite of a voice that thrummed with notes of heady sherry. She did not know what to make of it.
But as soon as she heard it, the area outside the parlor burst with scandalized gasps that echoed through the hallways.
“A henhouse full of clucking English.” Rose finally heard, the voice now closer. “Never seen a man in a kilt before, eh?”
Her lips fell apart in a subtle gasp, her mind feverishly wandering and swirling as she imagined the Scot who would soon descend on the room. He was apparently wearing a kilt, and though that was common dress for a Highlander, no doubt, it was hardly the typical attire here in England.
The sense of confusion, mortification, and even indignation, both heard through the continued gasps and hurried footsteps over the wood floors, rippled through the estate, landing firmly on her parents, who darted their stares to her apprehensively.
Rose watched as a furious scarlet blush powered through her mother’s cheeks, her father clearing his throat as if he might shove the memory of those words from his mind.
A ludicrous idea, of course.
At once, the door to the parlor swung open with a flourish, and then a man the size of a mountain filled the door frame from top to bottom.
Oh.
Rose’s breath caught in her chest as she took in the sight before her.
The man—undoubtedly the Laird—was enormous, a thick beast of a man who would put any English Lord to shame.
His broad shoulders took up every inch of the narrow doorframe, powerful, strong legs beneath him bare, utterly exposed to the open air because of that kilt he had gone on about.
The kilt, which Rose recalled was often called a plaid by the Scots, was of a thick woolen material, a pattern of stripes woven into it, and the Laird wore it with such pride that suddenly she felt underdressed.
But that was absurd. The man before her was the one who’d come into her home with his legs bared for everyone to see.
So odd to be filled with such easy confidence when he is practically naked.
All Rose could think was that this man, the Laird of MacKay, had clearly never once questioned his place in the world and his gravitas as the leader of his Scottish castle and clan.
Just behind the gargantuan man, who calmly stepped further into the parlor with his hand resting easily on the hilt of his sword, was another figure.
This one was slightly less imposing than the Laird, and Rose assumed it was his man-at-arms, whom the Laird had informed her would be traveling with him.
His eyes flickered with unmistakable mischief, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk as he followed his master into the space, as if he enjoyed the way the entire room was set askew by this scandalous entrance.
“Oh, my word,” her mother mumbled, staring resolutely at the corner of the floor as she fanned herself.
Baldwin was a mirror of his wife, doing his best to avoid looking at the exposed limbs of the Laird. It was clear that both were properly horrified by the man’s attire, but Rose found herself unable to pull her eyes away from the somewhat stark white flesh dusted with brown hair.
He saunters in wearing that kilt. His legs are just so…muscular and bare.
Heat rushed up Rose’s neck, settling in her cheeks as she fought against this moment of weakness, seeking out her better self so that she might at last pull her eyes away from the Laird and stop gawking.
Just as she managed to recollect her senses, looking up at the tall man to see his face, she found the Laird’s eyes already pinned to her. Something about them drilled through her to the back buttons of her dress, eyes so dark, assessing, and entirely too perceptive.
Too perceptive of her.
Without thinking, Rose frowned, her brow crinkling as she shunted her gaze away from him and fixed it on the carpet beneath her feet. While it was likely in vain that she pretended the man did not notice her staring, Rose would commit to that truth regardless.
“Lord and Lady Fernside,” the butler announced, “might I introduce you to Dominik Kane, Laird MacKay, and his man-at-arms, Oskar Donelly.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Laird MacKay,” Horatia offered quietly, but still carrying her usual tone of polite regard. “We are exceedingly grateful that you have come all this way to meet with us, especially our daughter, Rose.”
At that, Rose lifted her eyes one, bowing her head as she remained planted in her seat, afraid that she might tumble to the floor should she attempt to stand.
“A pleasure to meet you,” she spoke quietly, her voice not as strong as she would have liked.
“Aye. We’ve much to discuss then.” It was all the Laird offered in return.
As Rose glanced at her father, waiting for Baldwin to move forward with the customary pleasantries, she could see him struggling to find the words, fumbling over himself as he flicked his stare between the Laird and the floor.
“Umm, yes, you are most welcome to our home,” her father stuttered out. “Please do have a seat, gentlemen.”
Moving so that it shook the entire house, the Laird and his man sat in the two chairs provided for them, each placed before the fire so that they would have the warmest places in the room.
Rose waited with bated breath for her father to continue.
If they were to move the discussions along, he would need to direct the conversation and ensure that they were able to do so in privacy.
For too long, though, the man stared, his brows raised up to his hairline.
Rose fought the urge to sigh, squeezing her hands together in her lap.
Hours. I have spent hours working with him to prepare the man for this conversation with the Laird.
“Right-o, I suppose then we shall begin,” Baldwin mumbled out, and Rose was forced to clear her throat, gesturing discreetly at the butler and two servants who remained standing at the wall near the door. “Ah, yes, though we shall require our privacy. You are dismissed.”
Bowing appropriately, the butler led the servants out of the room, closing the door behind them. It was one of the first rules of discussing business in the home to remove the servants, and her father had still forgotten it even though she spent so much time coaching him on what to do.
Baldwin narrowed his eyes, a discreet request to confirm that he might begin, and Rose did her best to nod back at him without appearing overly helpful.
“We are so glad that you have come from Scotland to discuss this marriage arrangement that will benefit both of us. The dowry of the aforementioned plot of land stands, upon completion of the wedding ceremony, of course.”
It took everything inside her, every stalwart fiber of resolve that she had cultivated over the years not to scoff when her father added, “of course.” It would never slip her mind nor leave her memory that this very error had been made with her previous engagement, and that was what had landed them all in this situation.
The Highlander listened without expression on his face, his man across from him upholding a somewhat bored countenance as he sat nearby.
Rose was wrapped up by the tight line of the Laird’s jaw, the muscles working ever so slightly, and the way his massive hands curled over his knees as he remained focused on her father.
“…So, as you can see, the land provides quite an advantageous location and resources for your…clan,” Baldwin declared, leaning back into his seat as he finished presenting the dowry papers.
“We have the preliminary draft of the dowry and marriage contract for you to look over, and we all look forward to sealing this bountiful arrangement in the church.”
A pregnant pause hung in the air as Rose’s father left the floor open for the Laird to comment.
Her spine tingled, rigid and uncomfortable, as the man studying them all, his shrewd gaze penetrating each of them.
At last, the Laird MacKay leaned forward in his seat, planting his elbow on his knees, which was nearly another scandal as the fabric of his kilt shifted.
“I’ve heard of the land yer daughter holds by her grandparents’ grant.” The Laird’s voice commanded the attention of the entire room, low and blunt, cutting through the pleasantries of the conversation and landing directly on the matter at hand. “I mean to claim it by marriage, aye.”
Rose’s father swallowed hard, the gulp audible to her even as she sat a few feet away. He bobbed his head, the nervous energy ringing through him as plain as day.
“Yes, yes. Quite so, Laird MacKay, but surely there are other…details we might—”
“The land, aye. I daenae wish to be forgetting my due from the dowry,” Laird MacKay interrupted. “But nae just that. Ye hold a port nearby as well. I wish to include a deal in the contract for this marriage that states I shall be permitted to trade me clan’s goods abroad using the port.”