Page 52 of When the Laird Claims
Then, there were the whispered fates of wives with violent husbands. The wives were told to stay quiet and endure. The husbands were told that, perhaps, they should not strike their wives where it could be seen; the bruises more unseemly than the act that had caused them.
“I’d prefer to kill him myself,” Kristin said coldly. “But I daenae ken if I’ll be attending the cèilidh either. Arran isnae keen on me puttin’ meself in a situation where I might thwart his well-laid plans. Ye see, if I were to see that bastard again, I wouldnae be able to restrain myself. I’d launch myself at him and claw out his eyes. So, maybe me braither makes a fair point. Although I still think ye should attend.”
Victoria frowned. “I do not know. For one thing, I have nothing to wear… and I am uncertain how I would respond if I saw Charles again. I do not think I would claw out his eyes. I do not know if I would even be able to say anything. I think I would freeze, which also is likely not of much use.”
“I have a gown ye could wear,” Kristin said with a smile. “I had it made shortly before all of this, so I havenae ever worn it. Someone ought to. It’s a beautiful gown.”
Huffing out a breath, Victoria winced. “We shall see. If I feel more courageous in the morning, maybe I will attend the cèilidh, but I cannot promise anything at present.”
“I wouldnae force ye.” Kristin put up her hands in mock surrender.
They remained in a companionable, thoughtful silence for a short while, interrupted here and there by the babble of the baby as she struggled to reach for the tail of the ribbon. Her little fists could not quite figure out how to grasp it, her big eyes crossing in concentration. A sight that could not help but lighten the tense mood.
“Do ye ken what the worst part is?” Kristin said a few moments later, an odd flicker of mischief in her eyes.
Victoria grimaced. “I do not know if I do, but… tell me anyway.”
Kristin leaned in and, with a grin, whispered, “He wasnae even that good in bed.”
At that, both women erupted into laughter that would have bewildered anyone who might overhear, for who would be mad enough to laugh on the eve of chaos?
24
“Do ye think that if ye move, the wall will crumble?” Sophie asked her son, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Arran was inclined not to answer her. He knew how it likely looked. He was standing against the side pillar in the main dining hall, arms folded across his chest, and legs crossed at the ankles. He had no desire to dance, but he also was not trying to stop anybody else from dancing either. The whole hall was abuzz with a frivolity that baffled him, when all were aware that this was a deception.
Couples and hopeful eligible clansmen danced with their intended in large rings of people, leaping and jumping to the lively rhythm of the music. Vigorous reels, moving in and out from one another, expending energy that Arran thought they should have been saving for what might come. The men, at least.
“Ye ken perfectly well that I daenae care for dancing,” Arran groused.
“I went through a lot of trouble to make this happen on such short notice, ye ken?” His mother rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. “I didnae raise ye to be a wallflower. Ye are Laird of this clan and ye ought to act like it.”
“And yet ye presume to sass yer Laird?”
“I am yer maither first and foremost. Ye may nae like it, but I daenae care about that either,” Sophie teased. “Did ye and the lass have some sort of spat? Is that what this is all about? Ye ought to be out there celebratin’ with yer intended.”
“She isnae even here. Besides, ye cannae stand here and tell me that ye think that is anythin’ more than a ploy to lure out the bastard I kidnapped her from,” Arran answered a little too sharply. “What is there to celebrate?”
The dance floor didn’t miss him anyway. He had no business being out there.
“If this is just because of yer bullheaded pride, I shall–” Sophie started, pausing her lecture mid-word because of the pair of women that had just entered the hall.
Kristin, looking incredible with a bright smile on her face. She stood still, arm in arm with Victoria. It marked the very first timethat she had been without her baby in her arms since she was born, Arran was willing to bet.
But it was not his sister and her lack of his niece that held his attention. It was the vision in emerald green that stood at her side, the elegant gown more befitting the Highland style, rather than the somewhat shapeless attire of where Victoria hailed from. He could see the dramatic curve of her waist, for one thing, conjuring up memories of when he had witnessed her exquisite figure, bare of any clothing at all, with his own eyes.
Given his towering height, she managed to find him over the top of the crowd of people right away. Her sparkling gaze locked onto his, the weight of so many unspoken words and half-truths hanging between them. He took half of a step toward her without even meaning to. He had no right; he felt like a hypocrite every time that she was around him.
It was maddening how much he wanted her.
Yet, Arran knew that if anyone attempted to keep him from his family, he would only resent them.
It was only a moment, nothing longer than the span of a heartbeat, where he hesitated, and she turned away from him. She linked closer to Kristin and pushed a bright smile onto her face. She turned her back to him, looking out over the dancers, and he found himself wanting to know what she found more interesting.
“Ye could just go and speak to her,” Sophie added. The cynicism in her voice was very telling of how silly she presently thought her son to be.
“The lass is going to be headin’ back to where she belongs when this is all over. There’s nothin’ to be said.”
