“No harm?” asked Robert. He made it sound as if Emma had been traumatized in the town square. He urged her into a chair. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is for my sister to be anywhere outside of her home?”
“I do.” Dunollie slid into a chair to her right. “In fact, we were discussing how well she’s adapting given you left her alone in the midst of a mob.”
Robert said nothing, which meant he was rather irritated. Though there was an air of fun in Ciar’s tone, his words most likely struck a dissonant chord. In truth, if Robert had still been a bachelor, he would have left Emma at home—as he’d always done. At home she never fell behind. In fact, everything was so familiar, she never needed assistance moving about the estate.
“I’m so sorry we lost you. How are you handling the crowd, my dear?” asked Janet from the left.
Emma chewed her lip. If only she could babble excitedly about Dunollie’s rescue and how thrilling the ordeal had been because it was he who’d found her. But admitting her delight would not only be improper, the laird might realize how deeply she cared for him, which would be unconscionably mortifying. Moreover, aside from her own embarrassment, Robert would suffer heart failure.
Emma clasped her hands beneath the table. “Quite well. Aside from the wee mishap, ’twas as if we rehearsed the procession from the chapel to the dining hall.”
“Wonderful.” Janet’s silverware tinked. “’Tisn’t as if you’ve never been to Achnacarry before.”
“Aye, but there weren’t as many people last time.”
“Why should it matter? You’re with your family, and no one loves you more than we do.”
Emma brushed her sister-in-law’s arm and whispered, “Did you have anything to do with the seating arrangements?”
“I believe that undertaking was done by Lady Lochiel herself.” Her Ladyship was the hostess, stepmother to both Janet and the groom.
“Do you not wish to sit beside me?” asked Ciar, giving her arm a wee poke.
“Are you jesting? I’m glad of it.” Emma tapped her fingers over her place setting, identifying her plate, silverware, and wineglass on the right. “Being seated beside you, sir, is far better than sitting next to some old laird who is too filled with self-importance to speak with the likes of me.”
“Och, I reckon anyone who believes themselves above your riveting conversation is undeniably daft—or in their cups.”
No matter the situation, Ciar always managed to say something kind or funny, or kind and funny. And Emma had no doubt Robert’s wife had arranged for Dunollie to be placed beside her. Janet just didn’t own to it.
He leaned in, his breath skimming her cheek. “Yellow suits you, miss. You’d best be careful how broadly you smile, else you’ll outshine the bride.”
Emma covered her mouth before she laughed aloud yet again. Should she believe him? Nay. He’s just being nice.
“All rise!” boomed a man.
“The bridal party,” whispered Ciar as he helped Emma to her feet.
“Behold Lochiel the Younger and his bride!”
Emma applauded with the crowd. “Is she bonny?”
“Radiant as a bride ought to be,” Ciar said as they resumed their seats. “She’s almost as lovely as you are this eve.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Not at all.”
“And what of the groom?” she asked, trying to ignore the flittering of her heart. “Is he as fearsome as they say?”
Ciar snorted. “Kennan? He’d like to think he’s fearsome.”
“I beg your pardon, that is my brother to whom you’re referring,” said Janet. “And I daresay he looks dapper in the weave of Cameron plaid.”
Delicious smells of roasted lamb, baked fowl, and warm bread grew more potent. Emma licked her lips. “They’re wasting no time bringing the food.”
“I’m glad of it,” said Ciar. “After the vicar’s monotonously un-invigorating sermon, I’m starved.”
“Is that your way of saying you had difficulty paying attention?” Emma asked.
“Perhaps, though I’d best not own to it.”
She inhaled as the dishes were placed on the table. “I can pick out the musk of lamb straightaway, but what is the fowl?”
“Partridge, and it looks like French beans as well.”
“Wine, my lady?” asked a footman.
She held in her urge to snicker. Everyone at the table was either a laird or a lady except her. But correcting the servant would only draw attention to her station, and she certainly didn’t want to do that. “Please.”