Chapter 4
“I don’t know, Flora. Are you sure he won’t be angry?”
I certainly hope he will be. Flora looked back and forth between the two girls.
She’d caught the laird’s young sisters lurking in the shadows and watching her with unabashed curiosity a few days ago and had pretended to ignore them—which, of course, had the opposite effect of increasing their curiosity.
Finally, they’d ventured out of the shadows to ask her what she was doing.
When she’d told them, they’d offered to help, thereby becoming her unwitting accomplices.
Which only served him right, since the poor darlings were bored to tears. Buried in this barren wilderness with nothing to do. And no female companionship to speak of.
Mary, the elder at seven and ten, was a feminine version of her brother, possessing the same striking coloring—dark brown hair and light blue eyes.
Her features were a tad too strong for true beauty, but her sweet disposition more than compensated.
Gillian was two years younger and by far the more adventuresome of the two.
She couldn’t look more different from her elder siblings.
Red-haired and green-eyed, with the palest pink skin, she would be a true beauty in a few years.
Gillian was also a kindred spirit, as Flora had discovered within minutes of meeting her.
Mary, on the other hand, tended to need a wee bit of encouragement. Like now.
“I’m simply keeping myself busy, just as your brother instructed,” Flora answered. “What else is there to do? He’s barred me from the kitchens and the aleroom.”
“With good reason,” Mary said gently.
Flora shrugged. “I was only trying to help.”
Gilly wasn’t fooled. Her eyes lit with mischief. “By salting the food and sweetening the ale?”
Flora smiled at the memory. Salting the food had been the first test. Despite her bold vow to torment him, she’d been a little worried—he was rather fierce and imposing and clearly not a man to be trifled with.
So the day following their exchange, she’d visited the kitchens.
Heart pounding, she’d watched nervously as he’d raised his spoon and filled his mouth with her special gruel, and then smiled when he’d nearly spat it right back out.
His piercing eyes narrowed on her with understanding, and she could see him struggle to bite back the tongue-lashing he’d clearly wanted to give her.
He was controlling himself. Flora didn’t know why, but it didn’t matter—he was.
“It didn’t look to be too much going in,” Flora protested. And in this case, it might even have been an improvement. “I haven’t had much experience in the kitchens before.” At least not since her cousin Argyll had run her out of the kitchens at Inveraray for doing the same thing.
“And don’t forget you are also barred from helping with the laundry and the mending,” Mary said.
Flora pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. “It’s quite unfair. I thought his shirts smelled lovely.”
“Oh, they did,” Gilly said, amusement bubbling in her voice. “As lovely as any lass.”
Fitting, since Flora had dipped them in rosewater. “I thought it matched well with the embroidery,” she explained. She’d sewn large pink flowers all over his best linen shirt.
“Which might have been fine had you not sewed the arm closed,” Gilly said.
“And hemmed his trews too short,” Mary added.
Not to mention the nettles that she’d aired his plaid on. It had been worth every hour of drudgery removing the prickly leaves, simply to hear the bellow.
Ah yes, she’d been busy. But he was being infuriatingly calm about everything. No matter what she did, he demonstrated extreme patience. And steely control. Almost as if he were humoring her. Which only made her more determined to rattle him.
She hadn’t had this much fun in years. Though admittedly she’d had lots of practice.
Even as a girl, Flora had understood her place in life and rebelled—with her mother’s encouragement—against the future that seemed to be predetermined.
But by the time she’d arrived at court, what had started as a way to avoid her mother’s sad fate, by discouraging suitors with harmless misdeeds, had escalated beyond her control.
She didn’t need to look for trouble, it seemed to find her easily enough.
Unfortunately, her reputation for mischief didn’t discourage her bevy of suitors one whit.
With her fortune and connections, they’d want her even if she had horns on her head.
But Flora intended to make sure Lachlan Maclean had no such inclinations.
Mary shook her head. “My brother is quite particular about his weapons.”
“Well then, won’t he be pleased to see them so bright and shiny,” Flora countered.
“He’ll be angry,” Mary warned. “And he has squires for that.”
“He hasn’t been angry about anything before.”
Mary frowned. “Yes, he’s been remarkably understanding.”
“Perhaps he feels guilty,” Flora offered.
Gilly laughed. “I doubt that. Lachlan knows exactly what he’s doing. When he makes a decision, he never looks back.” There was more than a touch of admiration in her voice.
“You can’t mean you think he was right to abduct me?”
Gilly flushed, looking uncomfortable. “No. Yes …” She twisted her hands. “He has his reasons.”
Flora decided not to press the matter. She did not want to put a wedge between the girls and their brother, even if she could.
The girls idolized the laird, speaking of him in somewhat reverent tones.
That he cared deeply for his two sisters was obvious, though it was equally obvious that he didn’t know how to show it.
As her own brothers had done with her, he seemed to be trying to fill the position of father rather than brother.
Understandable when the girls were young, perhaps, but Flora could see how desperately they wanted the teasing affection of a brother.
She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. Just as she’d wanted.
Hector she’d never spent much time with, but Rory and Alex had fostered with their uncle, the Earl of Argyll, the present earl’s father, at Inveraray Castle, and returned often when she was a young girl.
Rory and Alex, both so much older than she, had tried to stand in for the father she’d never known.
Looking back, Flora realized they were doing only what they thought best, but at the time she’d resented their authority when she’d wanted desperately to be one of them.
Like her, Mary and Gilly were bound to be disappointed.
Wringing affection from Coll would be like trying to squeeze water from a stone.
But oddly enough, in some ways Flora found his gruff male awkwardness around his sisters charming.
Watching him interact with the young girls had shown her another side of him.
He was attentive and understanding, if firm, listening to their excited girlish prattle with remarkable patience.
He cared. He might not like to think so, but he did.
He was different from what she’d first thought.
She’d often felt his gaze on her the past few days, watching her with an intensity that was both unnerving and exhilarating. Thrusting aside the odd sentiment, Flora took a minute to gather the necessary items from the storeroom, then turned back around to the two girls. “Well, what will it be?”
“I’ll go,” Gilly said.
But Mary wasn’t as easily convinced. “Are you sure you are only going to oil his swords?”
“Yes,” Flora assured her, neglecting to mention the kind of oil she would be using. But clearly Mary was still vacillating. “You don’t even need to come in,” Flora said. “All you need to do is watch for Odin.”
A soft pink flush rose to Mary’s cheeks. “You shouldn’t call him that. His name is Allan.”
Flora lifted her brows. So that was the way of it.
Mary was harboring a tender for the captain of the castle.
“I know his name,” Flora said. “But you have to admit, he’s got the look of the Norse god of war.
” She liked to make up nicknames. The laird was Thor—the Norse god of thunder—due to his expression.
“Flora’s right, Mary,” Gilly said. “He’s always terrified me.”
“You don’t know him,” Mary defended staunchly. “He’s really very … sweet.”
Flora let out a burst of laughter. “Don’t let your brother hear that. I don’t think he’d like to hear one of his fiercest warriors described as sweet.”
Mary blanched. “You won’t tell him—”
“Don’t be silly, I was only jesting.” But Mary looked so worried, Flora felt awful for teasing her. She took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you stay here? Gilly can watch for Od—Allan—and we’ll be back before you know it.”
Mary shook her head. “I’ll come.”
Flora smiled. “Good. To the armory, ladies.”
Lachlan was itching for a fight. Even the hours spent in the yard training had barely taken the edge off. He felt like a caged lion, restless and agitated. The source of his discomfort wasn’t hard to identify.
The wee hellion had been here less than a week and had already managed to turn his keep upside down.
She was a born troublemaker. Or his personal tormentor, he wasn’t sure yet.
To think, he’d actually been happy at first, believing her interest in his castle was a good sign that she was becoming involved.
He grimaced. One look at the termagant’s face and he knew exactly what she was up to.
But he’d be damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of losing his temper.
Countless times over the past few days he’d been forced to bite back his anger, although every instinct clamored to put her in her place.
Too much depended on wooing the recalcitrant lass.