The Highlander's Choice (3 page)

Her annoyance rose when Liam leaned near to her and said for her ears only, “Ach, lass, ’tis hoping I am that whatever
gentleman
presents himself to ye is fond of his lady wife riding about the countryside in breeches.”

“That is none of your business,” she snapped.

“Aye, I agree.” He leaned back, giving her a thoughtful look. “And ’tis thankful I am of that.”

Honestly, the man had no idea how to behave with a lady. If he was trying to vex her, then he succeeded. If only there was a way to avoid him for the rest of her time here. It would be a long two weeks.

…

Liam had no idea why he enjoyed riling the lass up. Right now, she was pretending to ignore him, but the high color in her cheeks said otherwise. Despite her somewhat different ways, she was still an English princess. He best leave her be, get through the next days, and be on his way.

His mum would be all fired up for sure when he returned—wanting him to seek a bride and give her some bairns to spoil. And it was time. At thirty and one and laird of his clan, his responsibility was to marry and produce children. He kenned that, and fully intended to see to his duty. A good, strong Scottish lass for him. The only thing holding him back was a lack of candidates that held appeal.

No matter how many lasses his mum put in his path, there was not a one he wanted to look at for the rest of his life. His glance slid in Lady Sybil’s direction. Despite her small size, she was a beauty. Clear skin, sparkling eyes, a full woman’s body, and silky hair that he would love to release from its bindings and run his fingers through. As testy as the lass was, he kenned she would be a passionate bed partner. He could teach her all the things that would have her moaning under him, begging for release. At the image his thoughts portrayed, he began to harden and grow, shifting in his chair to accommodate his erection.

Lady Sybil threw her head back and laughed at something Lady Margaret said. No simpering, ladylike giggle, but a full husky laugh that exposed the creamy skin of her neck. He would love to place his lips on that very spot and feather the area with kisses. Then he would run his palms up the sides of her body, cupping her generous breasts, circling her nipples with his thumbs, hardening them into tight little peaks.

He mentally shook himself before he let out a groan. The woman of his fantasy looked over at him, her eyebrows raised. Had he made a sound that hinted at his thoughts? The temperature in the room rose, and no matter how much he moved about, he was uncomfortable sitting.

It would be a long two weeks.

Chapter Three

The evening of the much-anticipated ball had arrived. In addition to the few dozen visitors that were staying at Dundas for the wedding, much of the local gentry and clan had been invited, making for more than a hundred guests to crowd into the ballroom. Sybil entered the large room dressed in a pale blue soft muslin gown, with dark blue embroidery at the hem, under the bust and on the edges of the long sleeves. She wore her favorite pearls and matching ear bobs. Bessie had gathered her mass of brown wavy hair at her crown, with curls falling down her back, woven with pale blue satin ribbons.

She scanned the room, looking for Margaret amongst all the finery of the ladies and gentlemen. She rose on her tip-toes just as a deep male voice whispered in her ear. “It would appear being a wee lass has its disadvantages.”

Lord, she hated how her stomach went all aflutter and her heartbeat sped up at the sound of the man’s voice. And more disturbing was his scent drifting to her nostrils. Man, leather, and something spicy.

She turned to the Scot and answered in a cool voice. “Not everyone appreciates being a giant.”

His booming laugh rang out, causing those in the general area to turn toward them. Liam extended his arm toward her and said, “Allow me to escort ye around the room so ye can find whoever it ’tis ye are so anxious to meet up with.”

Sybil accepted his arm, reminded once again of the man’s strength. His muscles were tight as a drum under her hand. “I was merely looking for Lady Margaret. She came down before I was ready.”

“Ach, I saw the lovely lass a few minutes ago, holding very carefully onto The McKinnon’s arm, surrounded by well-wishers.” He glanced at her as the music started up. “Would ye honor me with a dance, lass?”

She should really stay far away from this man, given how she reacted to him, but there was no way to refuse without appearing rude. She stared into his mirthful eyes, wondering if he ever had a serious moment. “Yes, I would—lad.”

Again that resounding laugh that drew attention from those close by. He tugged her close to his body, much too near, as far as she was concerned, and led her to the row of dancers. For a large man, he was graceful and an excellent dancer. His broad shoulders blocked out the rest of the room, so all she could see was his dark evening jacket, white waistcoat, and a neck cloth tied in a manner that would pass the toughest scrutiny in a London ballroom.

Except for his ginger colored hair, drawn away from his face once more, and tied with a ribbon at his nape, he could easily pass for an English gentleman. However, his size would still stand out. She’d never seen a man as overpowering as the Scot.

As they moved into a turn, he pulled her closer until she felt the strong muscles of his legs much too close to hers. The heat from his body warmed her, reminding her that he danced indecently near. She attempted to pull back, but he held her firm. “’Tis much too crowded, lass. Ye almost bumped into another dancer. Mayhap when the number ends we should take a stroll in the garden.”

The last thing she wanted was to spend time in a dark garden with this man who confused her so. Being a Scot, he most likely wanted to dally with her—see how far she would let him go. She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “I will not be strolling with you in the dark garden.”

“Ye wound me, lass. Surely ye dinna think I would take advantage of ye?”

“That is precisely what I think.”

He actually looked wounded, and she almost laughed out loud. As if he thought she was innocent enough not to know what a stroll in a dark garden meant. She hadn’t survived four seasons in London without learning some things.

His lively eyes continued to stare at her until she grew uncomfortable. “Ach, mayhap you’re right, lass. A walk in the garden is not a good idea.”

The music finished, and Sybil curtsied to her partner and turned to continue looking for Margaret. To her annoyance, Liam stayed by her side, although truth be told, his size cleared a path for them much faster than she would have been able to do by herself.

“Lady Sybil, is that you?”

She turned to see Lord Warwick making his way through the crowd toward her. Her stomach tightened, remembering the last time she’d seen him in London. He’d been quite anxious for her to accept his suit, but she felt nothing for the man except slight friendship. That hadn’t stopped him, however, from trying to compromise her at the Kennedy ball.

In addition, she’d heard he had run through his inheritance and was actively looking for a wife with a substantial dowry. No doubt so he could continue with his wastrel ways. Even if she did feel differently about him, she had no plans to be any man’s bank account.

“My lord, how pleasant to see you.” She offered her hand, attempting a smile.

He took her hand and kissed the air above it, moving closer to her than she would have liked. She backed up and stepped on Liam’s foot. Turning to him, she said, “May I present David, Marquess of Warwick?” She paused and added, “and this, my lord, is Laird Liam MacBride.”

The men nodded briefly and eyed each other like two animals in a cage about to pounce on a piece of meat between them. Sybil mentally rolled her eyes at the performance. Honestly, neither man had a claim on her, so all their affectation was for naught. It was a problem she and Sarah had encountered many times during their Season.

“What brings you to Dundas, my lord?” Sybil asked.

“The McKinnon is related to my mother in some way.” He waved a careless hand. “Not sure exactly how it all works, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to flee London and get some fresh air.”

More likely he was fleeing his creditors, but Sybil merely smiled.

“And you?”

“Lady Margaret is a close friend. I traveled with her and her parents a few days ago.” Either the crowd was increasing or Warwick was having trouble staying on his feet because he leaned even closer, forcing her to move so that her back practically rested on Liam’s chest.

The odor of strong spirits on his breath made the closeness between them more unbearable.

“I believe it is becoming quite crowded. Perhaps we should move to the terrace.” Warwick leered at her, but she reached for Liam as he immediately extended his arm.

Liam lowered his head and spoke softly. “Mayhap a stroll in the garden is not such a bad idea, after all, lass?”

Although she narrowed her eyes at him, she was grateful for his presence. She didn’t trust Warwick and certainly didn’t want to have him that close to her. At least in the garden she could maintain her distance from the man.

…

Liam was not at all happy about the man who hovered over Sybil, obviously making her uncomfortable. Another London dandy. But the lass’s wariness was real, not just distaste for the man. The three of them headed to the terrace, maneuvering their way through the crowd.

Never one to enjoy a room full to bursting with people, he was only too happy to leave the noise and heat behind. Just as he reached for the door to escort Sybil through, a tap on his shoulder had him turning around.

“MacBride, a word please?” Mr. Patrick Wollsley, a local horse breeder, stepped in front of the trio, blocking the doorway. A man of small stature, it was hard for Liam to accept that the man was Scottish. But his horses were fine horseflesh, and he’d acquired several strong animals from him in the past.

“I will escort Lady Sybil outside.” Warwick quickly shifted her arm from Liam’s to his own. “She seems to be in need of fresh air.”

Liam scowled at him, especially after the panicked look the lass sent him. “Mayhap we can speak another time?” he asked Wollsley.

“’Twill only take a moment. I have a fine stallion I think ye might be interested in. ’Tis one ye asked about before.”

Before Liam could gracefully offer to speak with him later, Warwick had the lass out the door, and headed toward the gardens. Frustrated, but unable to do much, Liam turned back to Wollsley. “Be verra quick. I’ve something I need to see to.”

Liam’s mind wandered as Wollsley blathered on about the stallion, and what a fine stud he would make in Liam’s stables. Why would the lass look so anxious when Warwick whisked her away? Surely the man wouldn’t attempt to dishonor her in any way?

His agitation grew in direct proportion to Wollsley’s praise of the animal, marking all of the stud’s finer points and abilities. Finally, unable to bear any more, Liam interrupted the man. “Once I am back at Bedlay Castle I will send for ye to bring the animal to me.”

Wollsley nodded vigorously. “Verra good, Laird.”

Liam shook the man’s hand and headed toward the door. He stepped outside, the night air cool, typical for a Scottish May evening. The moon cast a faint light over the area, slightly illuminating a few couples deep in conversation. He took note that none of them was a slight Englishwoman in a blue gown. He wandered down the few steps leading to the garden pathway with winding lanes of
bluebells and wild hyacinths. Interspersed with oak, birches, and mountain ash trees, were the magnificent colors of rhododendrons and azaleas.

But little of the spectacular glory of the flowers and trees provided a distraction to his search for Lady Sybil. His muscles tightened as he rounded a bend of Scottish primrose to see her shoved up against a tree while she fought off Warwick’s advances. The man had one hand on her breast and his knee wedged between her legs. His mouth covered hers, and she appeared to be trying to move her head, but to no avail. She pushed at his chest, but her slight size would never move the man.

But Liam could. With a roar as fierce as any animal, he grabbed Warwick by his shoulders and wrenched him away from Lady Sybil. He tossed the blackguard to the ground, then lifted him up by his neck and slammed his fist in his nose. A satisfying crunch had Warwick crying out as he collapsed.

Panting more from anger than effort, he snarled at the man. “I suggest ye find yerself a vehicle to carry ye back to London. I will be more than happy to convey yer regrets to the bride and groom.” Liam dusted his hands and straightened his jacket before turning to Lady Sybil.

She stared down at Warwick, her eyes wide, tears leaking from their depths. Her shaky hands covered her mouth. Liam enfolded her in his arms “’Tis all right, lass. ’Tis over now. He won’t hurt ye again.”

Sybil continued to shake, her entire body trembling. Liam held her closer, stroking her back as he leaned his chin on the lass’s head, the scent of her hair softening parts of him while hardening others. For all her spirit, the lass was terrified. Her crying turned to soft sobs. Realizing how bad it would look should anyone stumble upon them, he placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back. One look at her and rage swept through him.

The top of her bodice was wrinkled in such a way that it was obvious she’d been roughly handled. Her hair fell about her shoulders in disarray, her eyes swollen from tears. But unlike what he’d expected, the lass had not swooned, and right now her eyes flashed with anger.

“I wish you had broken his nose,” she snapped.

Liam winked at her. “I think I did.”

Warwick had scurried away while Liam had been comforting the lass. After seeing the condition of Lady Sybil, ’twas a good thing he had, or Liam would have been more than happy to break something else on the scoondrel’s body.

“Lass, I’m afraid ye can’t be going back into the ball like that. ’Tis best if I escort ye up to yer bedchamber to change yer clothes.”

She shook her head and brushed the front of her gown. “No. I have no wish to return to the ball. I shall seek my room and retire.” Seeming to pull herself together, she lifted her chin and asked, “Are you aware of another way to the floor with the bedchambers?”

Liam took her arm. “I am. I spent many a summer here when I was a lad. Duncan and I kenned how to slip in and out of the place without disturbing his mum and da, if ye get my meaning.”

Despite her tension, Lady Sybil smiled warmly at him, once again gainsaying his notion of how an English miss behaved. She should be wailing and complaining. Instead, she accepted his arm and they carefully picked their way through the dark to the back door of the castle, almost as if they were on an adventure.

“’Tis best if ye follow behind me, lass.” He took her hand in his and opened the heavy door. “Stay near, and dinna say a word.”

They slipped through the portal. Once the door closed behind them, the scant moonlight disappeared, casting them into total darkness. Behind him the lass gasped, and he tightened his hold on her hand to reassure her.

They eased their way up the stairs, the noise of the kitchen staff scurrying around under their feet as they climbed. With everyone busy, hopefully, they would not meet anyone before they reached her chamber. Once they gained the second floor, Liam preceded Sybil down the corridor then turned to her. “Which room is yers, lass?”

“It is hard for me to say. Usually I carry a candle up the stairs. From the other end of the corridor it is the third door on the left hand side.”

He nodded and moved them forward. The sound of voices came from the direction they were headed. Liam stopped and pushed Sybil behind him. The sound grew louder, a man and woman speaking in whispers, the woman giggling as they moved along. Liam opened the door where they stood and ushered Sybil in.

“What are you doing? This is not my chamber.”

“Nay, lass. I realize that, but if we stayed where we were ’tis likely we would interrupt a private meeting.”

“What do you mean, a private meeting? Now?”

Moonlight drifted through the small window, highlighting Sybil’s brown hair with hints of gold, cascading down around her slender shoulders. Her wide light brown eyes regarded him with innocence. Did she truly not understand what he’d just told her?

“’Tis a man and woman, lass.”

Her mouth formed a perfect circle and she blinked several times. “Oh. That sort of a meeting.”

“Aye. That sort of a meeting.”

“Well, what will we do now? We can’t stay in here all night.”