Chapter 7
Grannie Ava chided a frowning Keira and snatched a wooden honey dipper from her. “A young girl doesnae need this much sugar.”
She split the pool of honey that spread across her toast with another slice of brown bread.
“I need the energy.” Keira stared at the toast like it had lost all appeal. One could not fault her; it was positively odious. The scraping Grannie Ava had done had left it looking like a freshly peeled bandage from a festering wound. “And I enjoy the taste.”
Grannie Ava tsked. “Why did ye have to inherit yer faither’s sweet tooth?”
Violet’s eyebrows drew together. She sat up, supporting her weight with one hand on the blanketed ground. “The Laird has a sweet tooth?”
She could not imagine it. A man of his caliber and solemnity was a slave to sugar?
His gait did not betray any proclivity to gluttony.
His muscles were big as they were useful, considering he had handled her like she weighed less than a bag of flour.
His chest was sturdy and broad, which his shirt betrayed.
She did not need to see the rest of him to know just how well built he was.
“Does he!” Grannie Ava scoffed, as if it were a constant bone of contention. “He was an awfully rotund child with very sticky fingers that were always swiping whatever treats Cook left out to cool.”
Violet burst into laughter. She had no trouble envisioning the younger version of the Laird sneaking around the castle with chubby legs, protecting a steaming hot pastry.
“Till this day, he remains banned from the kitchen, and I have yet to find the maid who sneaks him snacks,” Grannie Ava added with a sniff.
Keira had swiped a dry piece of toast when the woman wasn’t looking and smeared it with honey until it dripped down her fingers, then twisted around so she wouldn’t be caught shoving the whole thing into her mouth. It took a total of five seconds for her crime to be committed.
She really was Ruaridh’s copy.
Violet could reconcile the image of the child Grannie Ava had described with the girl in front of her, who brought the story to life. What she couldn’t do was understand how the little thieving child had grown up to be the Laird.
“He just doesn’t seem like the sort,” she mused out loud.
The Laird must have materialized on earth as a man, and some power had put in Grannie Ava’s mind tales of a growing boy, so his existence could go unquestioned.
“Me faither is full of surprises.” Keira was beaming with pride. “I bet ye wouldnae think he enjoys dancing.”
“He does?”
They had to be jesting now.
Violet looked from the girl to Grannie Ava.
“He is the best dancer. Every cèilidh, he always ensures we share at least two dances.”
The Laird dancing? That, she would like to see.
“Maybe his partner incites him more than she realizes,” she teased and tapped her nose, to which Keira responded by playfully swatting at her hand, but her blush was very real. She loved her father more than Violet had expected.
Violet did not know the man that much to form an opinion on his personality, but from what she had gathered, he seemed to… care for his family more than the average man did, which was not much. So by her calculations, he cared an appropriate amount. But their faces told a different tale.
The Laird was becoming quite… intriguing.
A small part of her wanted to experience these ‘truths’ herself.
She wanted to come upon him in a dark passage, in the midst of trading sweets for money—presumably.
She wanted to be present during the next cèilidh so she could watch him twirl his daughter around and maybe, if he were courteous enough, experience herself being spun in his arms.
She frowned. Dancing was practically announcing their engagement. How had she let herself forget she was only buying herself time before she could leave his castle?
She still did not have a plan. Where she would go, she did not know. Whether she would run away or convince Ruaridh to break off the engagement remained undecided. For now, she was a poor strumpet who could not afford an escape and whose reputation was too damaged to even fathom an escape.
She felt a sour taste on her tongue and washed it away with a sip of warm tea. “Did he always dance with your mother?”
“I daenae ken.”
“Keira’s maither passed shortly after she was born,” Grannie Ava interjected.
“I am so sorry, I didn’t know.”
“That’s why me faither hates the English.” The look in Keira’s eyes was fierce, befitting of a laird’s daughter but not appropriate for her age. “She was killed in an ambush by them.”
Violet touched her arm. “Ye must hate me too.”
Keira shook her head. “I never believed me faither would ever marry again, but when he announced his engagement to ye, I was thrilled, because it was ye. I cannae hate every Englishman because of a few bad people, the same way I cannae hate every Scotsman after me grandmaither denies me treats I rightfully deserve.”
Violet regarded her with a fond smile that always seemed present around the girl.
Suddenly, dread crept up her spine. She was beginning to like it here. She was beginning to like Grannie Ava and feel maternal towards Keira. She was letting herself get distracted by their kindness.
What she needed was not their kindness, but freedom. She deserved it, not to be thrown from one man to another.
“Nay more talk about Ruaridh,” Grannie Ava announced, clapping her hands together. “Today is about ye.”
“What do ye mean?”
“We daenae spend our time frolicking and havin’ picnics. Keira has too much to learn, and I have too much to do. I want ye to feel welcome here. I want us to get to ken each other. When ye marry Ruaridh, Keira will become yer daughter. I believe ye two should start bonding.”
“Violet!” Violet looked up from her plate, Ruaridh’s voice startling her. “Come with me.”
He had already turned away when she rose and huffed, “Will you always be this abrasive?”
He halted at the center of the dining hall. “I thought ye were keen to accomplish the tasks on yer list?”
Right, the fake list she had created to buy herself time. Who would have known it would bite her in the buttocks like this? One would prefer a calming stroll after breakfast, not being bossed about by a vagrant before the morning sun fully reached its peak.
“Not so much that I abandon decency.” She crossed her arms and sank into her seat, then turned her gaze away. “Invite me properly, then I shall come with you.”
Keira’s giggles were muffled but loud enough to break the ensuing silence, while the cogs in Ruaridh’s head were as loud as a steam engine. Whether he was angry or thinking, she did not know. Still, she kept averting her gaze, refusing to cave first to the brimming awkwardness.
Eventually, he sighed.
Her chin should not have been able to rise higher, but it did. The left corner of her lips quirked up in a victorious smile.
“Forgive me.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Miss Violet Wilkinson, do ye care to accompany me this mornin’?”
She rose with the grandeur of the Queen herself, walked around the table, and gave him her hand. His fingers curled around hers, and she looked him in the eye. “I do.”
Ruaridh had dismounted his horse and was helping Violet down hers before she had fully absorbed the view before her.
He had brought her to a beautiful shore where the dark blue ocean stretched out for miles. She could almost imagine the horizon when the sun dipped beneath the water.
“What are we doing here?”
She had strolled ahead of him, drawn by the mesmerizing glitter of the sea, so she had to look back to properly address him.
Her eyes widened. Ruaridh had taken off his boots and hose and was removing the plaid across his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she gasped and stumbled backward, almost losing her footing on the uneven rocky ground.
The horses, left to freely graze, lifted their heads from a bush, alarmed by her alarm. Ruaridh’s movements did not falter. In fact, his fingers worked quicker through the strings, cinching the cuffs of his white shirt.
“Ye requested I teach ye to swim, did ye nae? Or do the English folks swim in their clothes?”
“I did not expect a lesson in this manner or by you.”
She turned her head away, unable to look at the sliver of skin that peeked from his shirt. Though her mind unwillingly played images of her fingers splayed over his beautifully naked chest. Heat suffused her cheeks.
“You forget I am a lady. You cannot undress in my presence… without a warning.”
From her peripheral vision, she could see him approaching her.
But he can’t. He won’t. Good God, he is.
“I believe the English, even ladies, are capable of deduction, are they nae?” He stopped before her, his chest nearly grazing her forehead. “Bringing ye here was enough warning.”
God! He was impossible and absolutely infuriating.
She did not wish to argue, nor did she wish to let him believe he was correct. Stuck between two contradicting choices, she remained mute.
“Do ye need help undressing?”
Then the horror dawned upon her; she also needed to undress. And worse were the words that left her lips. “I do.”
He helped her onto a rock, then removed her slippers and stockings.
The laces of her dress started from the square neckline of the bodice and curved around her waist over her hips, tied in a bow with the other string strung up the same way at her other side.
It was an old-fashioned dress that had fascinated Keira plenty when they had first met so Violet had donned it just for her.
Ruaridh worked over the laces, not caring when his knuckles grazed her breasts. She hissed at him and pulled away.
“You ken I didnae intend to do that.” He did not even have the decency to sound genuine.
She could not let him know how lightheaded she was becoming from having him so close to her, from having his breath brush her temple. His touch had shocked her in a way that she did not know was possible, and yet she was the only one reacting as if she had felt it.
“You did not have to continue.”
With one side completely undone, it was easy to push off the fabric. Her corset was laced at the center, so she did not need any more of his help. He watched her strip, and when he was sure she did not need his help anymore, he stood on the embankment.
The rocks stabbed her feet, but she was happy. It felt freeing.
“The water is cold,” he said, once she reached him.
He looked at her, really looked at her. She instinctively thought to wrap her arms around herself, but realized it would only expose her further.
“Ye have to acclimatize yerself first.” He led her by the arm to where the water was only high enough to cover her feet. “How does that feel?”
She wiggled her toes and laughed at the distorted image. She would not have been able to do this back in England. “It is cold, but not unbearably so.”
“Good. I waited until the temperature rose before I came to fetch ye.”
She looked up at him. He was watching her feet, standing so near. Then his eyes lifted hers, his lashes heavy.
Embarrassed to have been caught staring, she put distance between them and stared at the offing where the earth seemed to descend.
“It’s getting warmer now.” Her throat was dry.
“Let’s move further.” He drew her closer. They were knee deep when he said, “Be careful, there’s a drop here.”
But she didn’t hear him quickly enough. She lost her footing with a high-pitched scream. Her knees buckled, and she was about to land on her face when he pulled her against his side and righted her.
“I warned ye.”
She was in shock from the thrill of it. Then she realized that her feet were off the ground, and that she was… well, floating.
“I think I am floating,” she said with a huge grin.
“Ye should be, ye’re as light as a tin can.”
“Let me go, I think I can do this without you.” She tried to pull away, but his grip did not loosen.
“Nae in waters this shallow.”
She was not going to listen, and… well, he could only take so many tantrums. When he placed her on her feet, she should have understood then the physics behind buoyancy, but excitement got the better of her.
He took a step back and watched as she sank down, expecting the sea to cradle her. Only to find she was not floating, but sitting on the hard bottom, wet all the way to her chest, embarrassed all the way to her temples. She blamed not being able to look up at him on the sun peeking over his hair.
“I think we should go deep—”
“I think so too.”
When the water reached her waist, her legs left the ground, and she quickly discovered many things: she could sink as easily as she could float, she was a calm pupil in a classroom and only there, and Ruaridh was a horrible teacher.
“Me Laird!”
The shout dragged their gazes to the shore, where a man dressed in McLeod colors stood watching them. She wiped at her eyes and saw it was Logan. She lifted her hands to wave, but frowned when the Laird stepped in front of her, blocking him from view.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Isn’t that Logan?”
“Stay here,” he commanded, getting out of the water.