Page 4 of Eloping with the Laird
Chapter Two
First?
Rory McKenna had never been anyone’s first choice for anything, let alone a woman’s first choice for a husband. ‘I’m sorry, did you say I was yourfirstchoice?’
‘Aye,’ she answered. ‘My brother Ewan has apprised me of some of the other...options for a husband, but I believe you and I would suit one another, quite well actually.’
‘How could you possibly know that when we’ve never met before?’
She hesitated and a slight flush rose in her cheeks. ‘Because you are dying, my laird.’
What did one say to that?
‘And here I believed you might be intrigued by my title, estate or good looks,’ he teased, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I must say I have never met anyone quite like you, Mrs Fraser.’
Her blush deepened and her shoulders rolled in, reminding him of a raven tucking in its wings. ‘You must think me a horrible person. Now that I’ve said it aloud, I realise how awful it sounds. I don’twishfor you to die, my laird. I’m not that kind of person. Truly.’
He studied her for a moment. Though she didn’tseemthat kind of person, one could never tell, could they?
‘Your logic intrigues me,’ he stated. ‘Why do you wish to marry a dying man? How could that possibly benefit you?’ He angled his body closer to her, hoping she would open up once more. He didn’t quite know if he should believe her or not. She had just absorbed a hard fall. Her logic could be impaired.
‘My laird, I have no fantasy of love. Mostly I wish to have a simple, peaceful life and future of my own choosing, but as a woman that is not an option. If I must select a husband, then knowing it will not be for long...would be strangely comforting.’ She shifted on the timber as she stared out in the distance, her features flat and pale.
Something deep inside him shifted, and his body tightened; his initial shadowy thoughts about her reservations to remarry came into sharper focus.What had happened to her?He wished to reach out and touch her, comfort her, protect her, but he ran his open palms down his trews instead. He didn’t trust himself. He had little to offer her and from the looks of it she deserved everything.
Or perhaps he was being a fool once more.
He stiffened his spine. His past failed engagement had taught him that women had more layers than the Scottish Highland soil, most of which perplexed him and couldn’t be seen until he was far too entrenched to regain his footing. He narrowed his gaze on her.
‘Why not align yourself with another man who could offer you a long, happy life with a family and security?’ He gestured to the field teaming with future lairds and a handful of second sons. ‘There seem to be many prospects.’
Ones that might live longer than a year.
Her bright blue eyes flashed and met his gaze, piercing through him, challenging him. She had not taken the bait to shift her attentions to another. She’d given them nary a glance. None of it made of whit of sense. He didn’t trust it as it seemed far too easy.
‘I know my own mind, andyouare who I wish to affix myself to even if it seems illogical to everyone, including you. I have to provide my father a name of my choice of a husband by the end of the tournament tomorrow. If you could consider it, give it some thought before you bat the idea away entirely, I would be grateful.’ Her gaze flitted to him one last time as she stood. ‘And thank you for saving my life.’
Before he uttered another word, she was gone. He watched her quick, purposeful strides, her dark gown disappearing into a dot along the horizon. What in the hell had just happened? He’d come here in search of a bride and a willing, beautiful lady had fallen in his lap, eager to be just that.
And he’d let her leave, not trusting the bit of luck that had blown his way.
She’d made an utter fool of herself. That was evident in the dumbfounded look he’d given her as she’d left. What did she expect? She’d walked headlong into a target practice, almost got herself killed and then launched quite unceremoniously into a pitch about how perfect it would be for him to marry her, as she hoped to marry a man who wasn’t going to live very long.
Poorly done, Moira.
She cursed herself and her spontaneity. If she’d waited and been more thoughtful in how she’d broached the subject, she might have convinced him. Now, she’d dashed her best option for a suitable husband by being far too bold, brazen and clumsy in her approach. He most likely thought her a bit touched in the head.
She began to wonder if she was too.
Ewan jogged up alongside and fell in step with her. ‘Moira? Are you well? What happened?’
‘I made a fool of myself, that’s what happened. Why can I not be a normal, docile woman who thinks before acting?’ she grumbled, picking up her skirts and her pace through the open field leading to the castle.
Her brother chuckled. ‘Because that is not who you are, sister. You did just run straight into a target practice.’ He embraced her in a tight side squeeze and released her.
‘I may have survived that near-death experience, but I have just ruined my chance with Laird McKenna.’ She frowned as they descended into the small soft dip of the meadow.
‘A bit of rest before the dinner may help. You did, however, do a fine job of soliciting added attention to your person. Garrick was quite concerned about your fall and well-being—asked me about you directly.’ Ewan smirked. ‘You could do worse. He is a kind man, sister.’
