the strongest man won the fairest lady. “I don’t understand your thought process, Gwen. You brought me here to marry your brother, so why go through all the trouble of hosting these games? Seems like a waste of time to me.”
A slight blush rose on Gwen’s face, and Abby narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure how I’m able to do it, but I have the sight. I can see into the future. I’ve been watching you for some months and believed your strong nature, independence, and moral character would make a most promising match with my brother. I had hoped when you arrived that you would be happy, and willing to participate in the games and prove yourself to my elder sibling.”
Abby’s mouth popped open. Prove myself? The girl wasn’t for the feminist movement, obviously. “As much as I love history and this castle, and the landscape is amazing, I don’t want to live here. I don’t belong here. And I certainly don’t want to marry your brother. To parade around in an attempt to earn his favor is demoralizing. I want to go home. I don’t know why you can’t send me back already.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you’d be happy about the gift I’d given you. The opportunity to live in a time not of your own, and possibly find love.” Gwen led them toward the kitchen, a lone building that sat on the opposite side from the main part of the castle. The area was littered with piles of hay, and some small animals ran about freely. The smell again reminded of her why she wanted to go home. Burnt rubbish, musty and tinged with the hint of rotting flesh, permeated the air. Spying some type of dead animal hanging upside down on a nearby building, she swallowed and continued following Gwen as she led them toward a group of women who sat under a large, leafy tree, their laughter carrying across the slight breeze.
“I may be dressed like a woman of influence, but I’m not fooling anyone. I stick out like a sore thumb. I would suggest you save your necks, and as soon as you can, send me home.”
Gwen sighed and motioned for her to sit. The ladies welcomed her with smiles, but their eyes gave away their interest as to who she was. “This is Abigail Cross, a friend from the Continent who’s come to stay for a time.”
“Hello,” she said, sitting down. Abby took in the colorful plaid that was already woven, but was being sewn together. Reds and blues were the most prevalent, with a touch of black. “Whose plaid will this be?”
A young girl, no more than twelve, smiled up at her. “It’s going to be the laird’s new plaid. We’re also making a pleat for his future wife, whoever she may be.”
“Oh.” Abby met Gwen’s eye and looked away. “It’s charming. Do you want me to help sew?” She offered her help, although she hoped they’d decline. She’d only ever sewn the odd button that had come off a shirt or pair of pants, never an outfit that was going to be presented to a laird.
“Aye, the laird will be marryin’, and soon we hope. He’s a fine lad—man, I should say. He deserves happiness.”
Picking up the plaid, Abby felt the woolen cloth. It was coarse beneath her fingers and no doubt would be itchy against the skin. “I believe there are other clans arriving in only a few short days. Maybe his future bride is among them.”
Abby heard Gwen’s name and turned to see the mighty laird himself, calling out to his sister. She watched him for a moment. He was a large man, not in weight, but in stature. The kilt hardly hid the great, flexing muscles of his legs, the plaid over his shoulder only accentuating his disgustingly muscled arms. His chin and chiselled jaw sported an unshaved shadow. She’d never tended to think of redheads as her type, but Aedan MacLeod wasn’t a man to pass over.
Here was a man who oozed strength—a Highland laird with an army and a multitude of servants all willing to do his bidding. The women seemed to like him a lot, too, so she could only assume he was kind.
He caught her gaze and stared at her with unnerving indifference. Still displeased that she was here, he tolerated her presence with polite apathy. Well, she had not asked to be his unwelcome guest. She tore her gaze back to the women