Chapter 6 #2
“If I may, Laird MacRaeh.” The clansmen nodded deferentially at the Laird of Dunalasdair. “Perhaps Miss Graham should understand the unique challenges of Highland life before marrying into our clan. For her own safety, of course.”
“Me grandmother and sister will see to her household education, Malcolm.” Laird MacRaeh waved his hand dismissively.
“Naturally.” The man called Malcolm sat up straighter in his seat and brushed a speck of invisible dust from his tartan.
“I meant nay slight against Lady Branwen’s knowledge.
” He turned toward Isobel fully, and the blue eyes that settled on her were sharp beneath their pleasant expression.
“There are things worth kennin’, me Lady.
Trust is scarce here, and suspicion runs deep.
To some in these hills, a Lowland presence will always be… ”
“That’s enough.” Laird MacRaeh’s voice boomed. “Ye’ll frighten her needlessly.”
“Forgive me, me Laird. I only meant to…”
“I ken what ye meant.” The gray eyes moved to Malcolm and held them there for a moment, then moved on, as though the matter were already closed. “Until we wed, Miss Graham is under me protection. That is sufficient.”
Malcolm inclined his head with exactly the right degree of chastened courtesy. “Of course. Forgive me for oversteppin’.”
Laird MacRaeh nodded, but something inside of Isobel rankled. She remembered what she had told Lady Branwen just the day before and remembered how she’d vowed to use her voice—when it was time.
“I have no fear of living in the Highlands,” she said loudly, raising her voice so that it would reach the far edges of the table.
“My mother is Highland-born and when I was a bairn, we spent our summers in Lochton.” She sent Malcolm a long, challenging stare.
“I will serve this clan well and bear in mind that I honor my mother, father, my heritage, and the decree of the elders by becoming the Lady of Dunalasdair.”
Malcolm stared at her for a moment, evidently stupefied by her speech, before nodding and returning to his seat.
Laird MacRaeh squeezed Isobel’s fingers then and she sent a quick glance in his direction. Mirth danced in his eyes, and she knew that he was pleased to hear her speak so passionately about her past as well as her intentions.
She smiled broadly at her betrothed and then, as he nodded to her still vacant seat, she settled upon the cushion.
An immense sense of satisfaction filled Isobel’s chest, and she continued feeling just as triumphant, even when the Laird let go of her hand and ordered the council to begin conducting the rest of their meeting.
* * *
That went surprisingly well.
Alasdair could not help but admire the stunning woman sitting on his right side.
She had handled the scrutiny of the council with aplomb and even managed to shut Malcolm’s trap with her explanation about her heritage.
In the process, Miss Graham had also revealed something about her past that she had only eluded to previously.
Her maither is a Highlander. She spent her summers in Lochton.
The village of Lochton was mere miles from Dunalasdair Castle. They hadn’t passed through it on their way, but the carriage had trundled nearby enough that if Miss Graham had looked hard enough, she might have been able to spot the towering Scots Pines which ran along the stream.
I’ll have to ask her about those summers later.
Alasdair pulled his mind out of this state of reverie when the gray-bearded man, Fergus, said something softly in Gaelic that elicited a brief response from Ross, a wizened elder who sat halfway down the table.
This brief exchange prompted Malcolm to lean slightly toward Miss Graham and lower his voice to a murmur. Discreetly, Alasdair angled his body nearer to hers and listened in on their conversation.
“He’s asking about the northern passes. Whether they should be reinforced before winter.”
“Thank you,” Miss Graham whispered.
“Of course.” Malcolm smiled. “It must be difficult, sitting in a room where half of what’s bein’ said is beyond ye.”
“It’s instructive,” she replied. Alasdair noticed the way she pulled herself up straighter in her chair, carefully preserving the distance between her space and the one Malcolm occupied. “A person learns more about a room from watching it than from following every word.”
Malcolm tilted his head. Something in his expression sharpened almost imperceptibly. “Is that so? And what have ye learned this mornin’, Miss Graham?”
“That you’re very good at asking questions that sound like answers.”
He blinked. Then he laughed quietly and turned back to the table as if she had said something charming rather than pointed.
Alasdair flicked his gaze toward Malcolm and assessed the situation briefly.
He could not read Malcolm’s expression now that he was focused on the debate.
But he did not like the exchange that passed between his betrothed and his clansman—no matter how brief it might have been.
Malcolm was forever scheming and Alasdair did not trust that the silver-tongued Malcolm was not currently hatching some plot that would serve his own purposes.
But what purpose could Malcolm have in chattin’ with Miss Graham?
Alasdair’s mind sought answers, but nothing occurred to him readily.
Slippery and conniving Malcolm might be, but he had never proven himself to be anything less than loyal to the Clan MacRaeh.
I’m seein’ shadows where there’s no light and misdeeds where there’s no cause to suspect foul play.
His eyes slid towards Miss Graham once more. He watched the way her gaze flicked back and forth between the men. As they volleyed opinions around the room, her curious stare followed their every movement.
What does she see? What does she think of these men? Of me?
Alasdair shook off these thoughts and stood abruptly.
“We cannae make any hard or fast decisions today,” he said, giving a nod at several of the older clansmen who were known for cautioning the youngest on the council to fight their impulses and evaluate each situation thoroughly before acting rashly. “We’ll adjourn and reconvene later.”
The room quickly emptied. Men gathered their weapons and left with efficiency, likely because they had other affairs to attend to at their own homes.
Malcolm was the last to leave. He paused by the door and gave Miss Graham a quiet, yet sycophantic bow.
“Welcome to Dunalasdair, me Lady. I hope ye’ll find yer place here in time.”
Alasdair watched him leave, then turned toward Miss Graham.
“Well…?” he urged.
She opened her mouth, then clamped her lips shut before saying a word.
He snorted. “Yer first impressions of the council were so awful that ye’d rather keep yer thoughts to yerself?” He eyed her quizzically, daring her to speak her mind.
“I did not understand much of what I heard,” Miss Graham replied. Her brow scrunched as she nodded toward the maps which were still strewn on the table. “I do not even know how much territory Dunalasdair covers and…”
“And?” he prompted.
Miss Graham lifted her hand and rested her thumb near the corner of her mouth. Thoughtfully, she began chewing on the nail.
His eyes trained in on her lips. She was worried, that much was clear, but he found he rather liked seeing her concentrate so thoroughly.
As her lips and teeth worked over her thumb and her eyes screwed up with consternation, Alasdair could appreciate not just the soft shape of her lips but also the amount of brain power she was devoting to comprehending all that had happened around her.
On an impulse, he reached forward and laid his hand atop hers. Miss Graham startled and immediately pulled her thumbnail away from her mouth. As she moved, his hand followed. Warmth seeped between them as he allowed his fingertips to linger near her own.
“I know I should not bite my nails,” she whispered as her fingers brushed gently against his palm. “My mother always says that it is an unladylike habit.”
“There’s nothing unladylike about ye, Miss Graham.” Alasdair twisted his wrist slightly, granting her the freedom to trace the tip of her finger along the rest of his hand. A thrill of pleasure raced through his whole arm when she slowly trailed her index finger down the length of his own.
“Most people who know me well would say otherwise,” she countered as she stepped an inch closer to him and interlocked her fingers with his. Then, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. Alasdair could see sparks of fire dancing in her eyes.
“They’re wrong,” he said hoarsely. The feel of her hand in his own was unique. Her grip was light, yet he felt as if they were wholly tethered to one another.
“How would you know?” she breathed into the small void that separated them.
Suddenly, Alasdair felt as if he were standing too near the cauldron on a day when the cook made a hearty pot of stew. His insides were heating up and in the spaces where Miss Graham’s fingers intertwined with his own, he could feel pockets of perspiration accumulating.
“Yer right,” he conceded as he slowly relinquished his hold on her hand and stepped backward. “We daenae ken each other at all. We…”
“Yet,” she interrupted.
Something inside his abdomen flared at her insertion. “Eh?”
“I said we do not know each other well…yet, me Laird.” Miss Graham nodded once more at the maps on the table. “I do not know this land…your people…or you, Laird MacRaeh. But, before we are wed, I intend to remedy that predicament.”
Alasdair was not accustomed to the feelings that roiled through his mind and body.
He was rarely left feeling dumbstruck and his body hardly ever stood frozen and rooted to one place.
But Miss Graham had disarmed him with first, her proximity, then, with her candor.
She had not said or done anything that was particularly vexing, but somehow, the combination of her words and actions had left him gaping at her, wondering what might happen between them next.
“I…I look forward to educatin’ you, Miss Graham.” He managed to produce those words, even though his lips were dry and his throat felt parched.
“I await your tutelage.” She dropped into a low curtsey, allowing him to catch a quick glimpse at her heaving bosom, but then she sprung back up once more and sashayed from the room.
Alasdair stared after her. A large part of him wanted to race after her and press her against the wall so she could feel exactly what her words had done to him. But another part, the more rational side of his brain, reminded him of the way he had chosen to conclude the council meeting.
We must proceed with caution. We cannae make any hard or fast decisions today.
He exhaled a long, slow sigh, then reached for the maps on the table. With nimble fingers, he rolled the parchment tightly and secured it with leather binding. All the while, he thought of Miss Graham and wondered if he could wait even a full hour before seeking her out again.