Chapter 1 #2
Perhaps it is fear, she told herself, in a feeble attempt to ease the knot in her stomach.
Fear, of course, would explain her clammy hands and trembling knees. If she had remembered to carry a fan, she would be waving it frantically. For a moment, she felt regret for her lack of ladylike mannerisms. Her mind flashed to her sister.
Cici never would have forgotten to carry a fan.
She cast about for something to say to mask how flustered she was. “Well, we should not waste any time. I know the villagers must be waiting for me. Perhaps your men can show me where I can set up a base in order to treat them? It would be better if I lived amongst them.”
A loud, stunned silence ensued. Everyone was staring at her as if she had grown a second nose. She risked a glance at her reflection in the window next to her just to check that she had not.
Bramble gave a loud meow, startling her, but it also eased the tension in the hall.
The Laird stepped forward so that he was towering over her, and her brow furrowed as his blue-grey eyes seemed to stare into her soul. “What are ye on about? Treat who?”
She gave him a bewildered look. “The illness affecting the villagers. My father sent me here to treat them. Surely you know this.”
She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye and remind herself to breathe normally.
His frown deepened, and he tilted his head to the side as if trying to decipher a strange language. “The only thing I ken is that yer dear faither sent me a bride. If I wanted a healer, I would have talked to Moira about that.”
He nodded towards the woman who had led them into the hall.
Lilliana cast a quick glance at the housekeeper, frowning as well, before turning back to the Laird.
“I am sorry, but did you say ‘bride’?” she squeaked, then looked around the hall frantically, hoping to see another lady he might be referring to. “Surely, you do not mean me.”
The Laird frowned. “Of course, I mean ye. Do ye see any other sassenachs around here?” His hand swept from left to right, indicating all the Scotsmen around him.
Lilliana blinked a few times. There had to be a mistake. Her father would not do this to her.
Would he?
She cast another glance at the Laird. He was a terribly good-looking man, even with a face like thunder. He loomed over her like a malevolent shadow, his shoulders completely filling the breadth of the corridor.
He could break me in half if he wanted, she thought with a shiver. Whether of pleasure or fear, she was not sure. Perhaps both.
“I came here to heal your people,” she blurted, “not to marry an English-loathing Highlander.”
The Laird went utterly still.
The noise in the hall died down, as though her words had struck stone and shattered something beneath it. She watched quietly as his jaw tightened, a muscle jumping near his temple. When he spoke again, his voice was low, controlled, and unmistakably dangerous.
“Ye presume much for a lass who has just crossed me threshold,” he said. “I said nothin’ of loathing ye. I said only what I was told. That ye were sent to me as me bride.”
Her cheeks flushed. “As if that distinction improves matters,” she retorted, straightening her spine. “You speak as though I am some parcel you bartered for.”
His eyes narrowed. “I speak as a man who doesnae appreciate being made a fool of. Nor do I appreciate being accused of deceit when I have offered none.”
She stared at him, her pulse thundering. “Then you accuse my father,” she shot back. “Because either he sent me here to heal the sick, or he sent me here under a lie. And I will not stand idle while you suggest the latter.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered clansmen. The Laird lifted a hand, and the sound died at once. He took a step closer, and Lilliana was keenly aware of how little space remained between them.
“Yer faither kent precisely what he was doing,” he said. “He sent ye north kenning I had agreed to take an English bride. If he chose to soften the truth for ye, that is nae me fault.”
Her breath caught, sharp and indignant. “You imply that he bartered me away as though I were chattel,” she said. “And I assure you, Laird McGill, my father may be many things, but he is not a liar.”
Irritation mixed with disbelief flickered across the Laird’s expression. “Then ye are na?ve,” he replied bluntly. “Because nay man sends his daughter into the Highlands alone unless he has secured something in return.”
That cut far deeper than she cared to admit.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “I am here by choice,” she said fiercely. “I came because people are suffering, and I believed I could help them. If that offends you, then I regret wasting my time, but I will not be spoken to as though I am either a burden or a bargaining tool.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. He only looked at her, his gaze sharp, assessing, as though she were no longer an unexpected guest, but a problem he had not anticipated.
Then, quietly, he said, “Ye will find, lass, that this is nae a place for assumptions.”
Her chin lifted. “Then perhaps it is a place for propriety, Laird McGill,” she replied. “Would you kindly have Moira meet us in the corridor to show us to our rooms? The journey was tiring, and this welcome has been just as much.”
She turned on her heel, nodding to Betsy to join her, and stormed out of the hall without another word.