Page 4 of Christmas in the Scot's Arms
Chapter Two
Liam had come to this godforsaken place for two reasons. One was to ensure his younger sister was marrying a good man. His father had been dying when he had given Aila his approval to marry Aldridge, and with Father’s clouded mind and the clan’s unstable finances at the time, Liam feared his father might not have made a well-thought-out decision. And since Liam had been off fighting Napoleon when Aila had actually met Aldridge, Liam wanted to meet the marquess and judge for himself if the man was worthy of his sister.
The other reason he was in London was to avoid, if only for a little while, the plethora of lasses wishing to marry him now that he was laird of the MacLeod clan. He would be flattered, except he was not a fool. He understood that a great deal of his appeal was derived from the fact that he was now the leader of one of the few remaining stable and wealthy clans in the Highlands. The Jacobite rising had spawned a cleansing of those who had not supported King George II, and it had forever diminished the very way of life of the clans. The constant peril and turmoil that followed made stability and prosperity rare to find. But before his father had passed, he had sold some land, and in doing so, the clan’s future had become financially secure once again.
He was now considered a prize to be won by the lasses, their mother’s, and most especially, the lairds of the other clans looking to make an alliance with the MacLeods by way of marriage. Liam did not much care for feeling like a fat pig, and he had long wished to marry a woman who held his heart, as was tradition in his family. He preferred to be judged and desired for who he was, without the trappings of money. Yet that seemed more and more of an impossibility in Scotland where everyone knew of him.
Perchance it was an impossibility everywhere, though. He had half hoped that coming to England would give him an opportunity to meet ladies who knew nothing of his clan, but it seemed the MacLeod reputation had preceded him.
Aila loudly cleared her throat and jerked him back to the moment. “Liam will walk ye where ye are going. I’d hate for ye to slip again.”
He was on the verge of offering an excuse as to why he could not, as it had become his custom to avoid being lured into any situation where a lass could claim he had compromised her and then demand he marry her for honor’s sake, but he swallowed his pretext. Cecelia—for he refused to think of her as Miss Cartwright—had piqued his curiosity. Any lady who read Byron, teared up at a destroyed book from her father, and shared his opinion that most ladies of thetonwere dim, was a lady with whom he wanted to become better acquainted. Not to mention she clearly did not know who he was, and he liked that very much.
Beyond being intriguing, she was also the most breathtaking woman he had ever beheld. Her gleaming, long, black hair and her tawny eyes framed by thick lashes stirred his desireandfurther ignited his curiosity. She had a certain wariness in her gaze, yet pride in her stance, and he found he wanted to know what caused both.
He proffered his elbow. “I’d be happy to escort ye,Miss Cartwright.” He could not help but instill a teasing note in his voice as he said her name and was surprised at himself for doing so. It was not like him to flirt with the lasses, and his sister’s wide eyes told him she had recognized what he was doing, too. He schooled his features, not wishing to encourage Aila to try pairing him with Cecelia. It would be just like his meddling sister to attempt such a thing.
Cecelia bit her lip adorably, showing her hesitancy. He realized with a start that he was facing a most novel and most prized situation. Here was a lady who had no notion of who he was, so if she chose to take his arm, she would be doing so based solely on her interest and possible attraction to him. His pulse quickened at the chance before him.
For a long moment, she stood silent, indecision playing across her face. Not a great thing for his pride, yet it oddly pleased him that she had not rushed to take the opportunity to walk with him.
“All right,” she relented, sounding as if she was agreeing to be escorted to the guillotine. He should have been offended, but instead he was amused and further enthralled.
He caught Aila’s smile and knew she had heard the reluctance, too. Her next words confirmed it. “Ye’re good for Liam. He’s used to the lasses being more than willing to walk anywhere with him, not that he ever actually allows them to do so.” His sister gave him a look that said she was worried for him, which he had grown quite adept at ignoring.
“Oh!” Bright pink infused Cecelia’s cheeks. “I’m sure you are used to hordes of eager girls.” Her gaze raked over him from head to foot, and then her eyes widened as they met his once more before she jerked her attention back to Aila.
Cecelia displayed a refreshing inability—or unwillingness—to lie. Either way, he found himself grinning at her and hoping she’d grace him with bit more of her company. “Shall we?” he asked.
Slowly, she brought her gaze to his, and he noticed a gold rim around each of her eyes.
Fascinating.
She licked her upper lip and then her bottom lip as she slipped her small hand into the crook of his arm. “I really should not allow— You see, it’s simply that—” He watched as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, and a deep curiosity filled him regarding what had her so vexed.
“Botheration!” she finally blurted, ruffling a lock of hair that had fallen over the right side of her face. “Never mind.” She eyed the ground warily for a moment as she pointed her toe and gently tapped the ice. “Itisrather icy, isn’t it?”
He nodded, fully entertained by the war going on within her. This situation was so foreign and welcome to him. This…this was exactly what he had been hoping to find in London—the thrill of chance, the uncertainty of a courtship where the outcome was not known simply because he had money.
Finally, Cecelia looked up and gave a decisive nod. “You may escort me, but let us hurry.”
He felt a strange sense of accomplishment that this woman had given him her trust, if only for a moment. Her suddenly guarded eyes told him she did not give it often, or easily.
He glanced at his sister. “Will ye be all right to make yer way to the Rochburns’ home?” he asked, even though Aila tromping around on an icy walkway didn’t worry him in the least. They came from rugged, wild land, and this small bit of ice should hardly give her pause. Still, he doubted Cecelia understood that, and he did not want to seem uncaring.
“Aye.” Aila nodded. “I’ll see ye shortly.” She gave him a stern look as her eyes darted between him and Cecelia. He blinked in amusement that his sister seemed to feel an odd protectiveness over this woman they had just met. While he had the same stirrings, what did Aila think of him? That he was a rutting beast who would steal a kiss from a lady or take advantage? He glared and was pleased when Aila looked properly reprimanded and apologetic.
As his sister walked away, he turned toward Cecelia and was once more struck by her loveliness. “Where am I to walk ye?”
“To the end of the street to see my friend Lady Burton.”
He glanced in the direction she pointed. “The home with the red door?”
She nodded, and a shaft of disappointment shot through him. That was not a long walk. It would not be near enough time to learn much about Cecelia. With this in mind, he made the decision to discard a good deal of small talk and inquire about what he really wanted to know.
“Why do ye not wish to come to the Rochburns’ ball?” he asked.
Her bow-shaped lips parted with surprise. “Are you always so blunt, Lord Mac—”
