He pulled her to a stop and moved to the side of the room. “As you know, I’m making use of the Highland Games to find a wife, but not in the conventional way. This is where you come in.”
“Me?” Abby crossed her arms over her chest, not liking the sound of this. “How so?”
“I need ye to help me pick the most appropriate, even-mannered, accomplished young lady there is on offer.”
“On offer.” She nodded. “You do understand it sounds like you’re about to purchase a horse and not a wife. Don’t you think your heart should have some input into your decision?”
He looked appalled, and she fought not to roll her eyes. This man really had not one ounce of brain. Not when it came to happiness in the marriage bed, at least.
“Nay. The heart has no impact on my decision. This is an important step in my life. It must be right.”
“Hence, why I suggest you use your heart.” She sighed and pulled him farther away from the gathered throng as their conversation was starting to pull inquisitive eyes. “Listen, if you choose your wife based on her abilities, what happens when you go to lie with her each night? If you don’t want a woman who’ll tempt you every hour for the rest of your life, or if you do not love her, your attraction will wane. It’ll end up being the worst kind of marriage.”
“And you’re an expert on this, how?” He stood tall, seemingly mocking her average height. He crossed his arms, the muscles in his biceps bunching; a fine vein of blue running through one.
Abby snapped her eyes back to his. “I’m an expert because after my parents died, my foster parents had such a union, and believe me, no one should be made to watch the train wreck that that was.”
“What’s a train wreck?”
“A type of vehicle.” She waved his question aside. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, you asked me to help and this is me helping you. Not by scoping out the women for you.”
“Please, Abigail.”
Damn it. She hated when people begged, it always made her cave and give in to their demands. “This so goes against who I am, but fine. I’ll help you, but on one condition.”
“Only one?”
“Make that two,” she said, wanting to smack the condescending smirk on his face. The man really did have it coming to him. Perhaps she ought to let him marry an asshole and he could rot in the marriage forever and a day.
She caught the hopeful look of Gwen from across the room and knew as much as she thought such things, she wouldn’t let Aedan make such a catastrophic mistake. It wasn’t in her nature to be mean.
“What are yer conditions?”
“That you’ll listen to what I say without judgment. If you want my help, be willing to consider what I have to say, without interrupting me and dismissing my opinions.”
“I asked for your advice, why would I dismiss yer opinions?”
“Because you seem to like the sound of your own voice.” Abby grabbed a goblet of mead from a passing servant and took a sip. The fruity drink wasn’t her favorite, but at least it afforded her some time while the laird digested her words.
“Your tongue is sharper than my blade, Abigail, lass.”
He stared at her. She wondered if he was thinking of how to be rid of her, instead of making use of her while she was stuck here.
“What’s yer second condition?”
“That your choice will be based on at least a fraction of what your heart desires. You must feel more for the woman than admiration over her skills at stitching or archery and her family’s value to your plans. You have to desire her.”
“Ye place a lot of merit on feelings, Abigail. Why? You’re not married, from what I’ve been told.”
Abby stepped toward him, bringing her nose equal to his chest. She glared up at him and poked him in the rib as hard as she could, ignoring the solid mass that her finger met, and that the action actually hurt her digit. “I may never have been married, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. And anyone with an ounce of common sense knows a union without love is never going to last. You’re welcome to marry without affection, go right ahead, but don’t look back on the day of your decision and wince when you’ve married a block of wood that doesn’t care