Page 25 of The Runaway Bride and the Highlander
He looked at her with tears in his eyes and after far too long of a moment finally settled himself. “My god, lass. This entire conversation has been about Lady MacTavish?”
“Of course,” Skylar growled through gritted teeth.
What is wrong with this man?
“Dear God,” he said, trying to catch his breath and wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. He leaned in a little closer and then whispered in her ear. “Then I have some news for ye, Skylar. Yer concerns have been entirely misplaced. Lady MacTavish is nae my future bride. She’s Maxwell’s.”
Skylar’s jaw dropped, and it was now her brow that furrowed in confusion. But she had heard their conversation that night. She had heard Maxwell telling Bram that Lady MacTavish would get a shock when she saw him. How had she gotten this so very wrong? Her thoughts ran through what Katherine had said today, and while Skylar had made assumptions about what she had meant, it slowly became clear the maid had indeed referred to the actual laird.
As the truth revealed itself, Skylar found herself struggling with feelings she did not understand. Anger, dismay, jealousy, but more than any of those, sadness. Laird Maxwell Macleod had affected her; she had known that. But until that moment, she had not realized how deep an impact he had made.
“Will ye excuse me?” Skylar said, standing swiftly.
She needed to get out of that room. The confusion her emotions caused nearly overwhelmed her, and she needed time alone to think.
* * *
Maxwell may well have been sitting beside his future bride at the top table, but his mind was not currently on their upcoming marriage.
He had known Lady Fiona for many years, and upon seeing her again when the feast began, he had been pleasant and welcoming. This wedding arrangement had not been her doing, and in truth, he did not even know how she felt about it. Perhaps she, like himself, had not been entirely agreeable and had been forced to go along with it by her father’s decree.
No doubt, there had been some arrangements made between the MacTavish Clan and his own in his absence. Laird Finn MacTavish was no fool. Even without any offers to sweeten the deal, he too had to consider the threat of Laird Johnson and the English scum he allied himself with. The two clans joining together only made sense. More men and more allies meant a better defense for both parties.
The feast had been a grand success so far, with all those present appearing to be enjoying themselves. Now though, as Maxwell watched Bram flirtatiously converse with Skylar, it was evident his brother was enjoying the evening a little too much. No doubt Bram also had a belly full of whisky, for he wouldn’t ordinarily be so forward.
Hardly able to pull his eyes away, Maxwell struggled with the feelings that ruminated deep inside of him at the sight. He had never felt jealous of his brother, not at least until now. And it was envy he was experiencing, though the emotion confused him.
There was no denying that he had felt drawn to Skylar, and indeed, she had evoked a sensual desire that he had not felt for some time. But Maxwell could not help but remember Bram’s words from earlier.
I already ken ye like her, brother.
Bram had meant so much more than Maxwell lusting after Skylar, but Maxwell had denied he felt anything other than just that. His masculine instincts had been roused when he had been alone with her, but that was all.
How can I feel anything deeper when I hardly ken the woman?
And yet, as he watched Bram laugh out loudly, causing many heads to turn in their direction, Maxwell only felt himself growing more annoyed and frustrated. He was having the time of it, and though he could not see Skylar’s face with her back turned to him, Maxwell had no doubt she was enjoying it too.
A moment later, however, Skylar suddenly stood, and only getting a quick glance of her expression as she stormed from the room, Maxwell deduced something had been said that she did not like.
“I must excuse myself,” Maxwell said to Lady MacTavish, interrupting the conversation she was having with her father who sat beside her.
She smiled and nodded her acknowledgement, but as Maxwell pushed his chair back and stood, his mother placed a hand on his arm.
“Is everything all right, Maxwell?” she asked, a light concern dancing across her face.
“All is well, Mother,” he lied. “There is just something I must attend tae.”
A few minutes later, he arrived at Skylar’s chambers. He knocked but hardly waited to hear a reply and strode straight in, much to the shock of Skylar. Her shock quickly turned to a look of annoyance, likely because of his lack of manners.
“Is it common for a man tae barge intae a woman’s room uninvited in these parts?” she demanded.
“‘Tis my castle, Skylar, and as laird of it, I will do what I like.”
Skylar rolled her eyes at him and turned away. He couldn’t blame her. Ordinarily, it wasn’t something he would do. It was rude and he had never intruded on a woman’s chambers before. Yet, he also doubted she would have allowed him to come into her bedchamber had he not taken it upon himself to do so, and in that knowledge, he had not given her the chance to refuse him.
“Why are ye here, hiding in yer chambers, when ye should be downstairs enjoying the feast?” he pressed.
“I shouldnae be anywhere,” she retorted. “I dinnae belong tae yer clan or the MacTavishes.”
