The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,9
the cane, Emma walked back to the bed, then resumed her tapping until she hit the wall. “Ugh.”
“You’re nearly there. Just two steps to the right and you’ll find the latch.”
“I loathe change.”
“You must change eventually.”
“And why is that?”
“To begin with, Robert will arrange your marriage.”
Emma chuckled and thumped her way to the settee—six paces from the door and seven from the bed. “I think Robert is perfectly happy to have me reside in Glenmoriston for the rest of my days.”
“I don’t know. He wants you to be happy.”
Sitting, Emma found her knitting where she’d left it. “And why can I not be content to remain in the home where I’ve resided all my life?”
“One day a fine gentleman will come round, and you’ll steal his heart with that bonny smile of yours, not to mention your delightful conversation. I’ll wager you’ll fall so much in love, the idea of moving to a new home will not be frightening in the least. You might even find yourself living in a castle.”
“I believe you have read too many fairy tales.” Snorting, Emma picked up the needles. It was no use talking to her lady’s maid about marriage or where she might live when and if she married. First of all, she did not want to leave Glenmoriston, and secondly, Robert hadn’t ever spoken to her about finding a husband.
If someone who might want me actually exists.
She ran her fingertips along the wool, counting the loops, then started a new row of the scarf she was knitting. She and Janet made scarves, hats, and mittens for the unfortunate. “What color are his eyes?”
“Whose eyes?” asked Betty as her footsteps creaked over the floorboards.
“His Lairdship’s, of course.”
“Which one?”
The maid was baiting Emma for certain. “Och, the same one of whom we’ve been speaking. Ye ken.”
“They’re blue.”
Emma had a strong sense of color by association. Warm sunlight was bright yellow, just as fire was red. Autumn leaves were auburn, and the sky on a fine day with a gentle breeze was blue silk. “What sort of blue?”
“Stormy, I’d say. Like the sea in the midst of a tempest.” Betty placed a hand upon Emma’s shoulder. “’Tis time to brush out your locks, then off to bed with us. I ken you’ve had an exciting day, but it is very late.”
The last thing Emma wanted to do was sleep. Ciar MacDougall had eyes like a tempest and a face that struck fear in the hearts of men. How utterly romantic!
Not that she should dwell upon the idea. She must never do such a thing.
Betty attacked Emma’s tresses with the boar’s-hair brush, hitting a knot and making her wince. “Ow.”
“Sorry. The curls are wound tighter than I thought. I’ll start at the ends.”
Sighing, Emma folded her hands. She must remind herself that she’d encountered Dunollie many times before. He had always been affable and polite. But things had never gone beyond pleasantries. He’d oft danced with her, and tonight he’d strolled in the courtyard with her, but it did not escape her notice that the invitation had been extended to Robert as well. Aye, Ciar was an able dancing partner, but a man such as he was far too important to entertain affection for the likes of her. After all, he was one of the most powerful men in the Highlands. And she?
I’m a fond childhood friend is all.
By the way her brother dragged his feet, she doubted Robert would ever find a suitor for her. Besides, if she remained a spinster for the rest of her days, her wish would be granted and she’d never be forced to move way from Moriston Hall.
I would be content with such a life. After all, I’m happy there. She bit her fingernail. And safe.
Sighing, she smoothed the back of her hand across her cheek—the hand Ciar had kissed. Emma could still dream. And in her dreams the great and powerful laird would always remain her knight in shining armor.
Chapter Three
Ciar patted his horse’s shoulder and handed the reins to a stable boy. “Give him an extra ration of oats. This fella’s earned it.”
“Had a good run, did ye, m’laird?” asked the lad.
“I did, and ’twas a fine morning for it.”
Taking a deep breath, Ciar headed for the keep. There was nothing like enjoying a brisk run across a lea with his steed, and the flat land leading to the River Arkaig had given him a wonderful opportunity to push his horse to a full-on gallop. Not often could