And the Bride Wore Plaid (15 page)

As he walked out of the castle, his step grew lighter, his mouth began to widen in a real smile. Just to be certain that he did not develop an unnecessary passion for Murien, he’d spend the rest of the day trying to wheedle kisses from Scotland’s most ineligible woman.

It was a perfect plan. His grin widened, and it was with a lift to his spirits that he finally rode out of Kilkairn and into the woods surrounding it.

Simon leaned in the window. “Miss Kat?”

Kat looked up from where she sat at a desk in the front room of the cottage, poring over the account books. “Aye?”

“Do ye wish to see the new shipment of glass?”

“Of course! I’ll be there shortly.”

Simon nodded and pulled his head out of the window.

Kat looked down at the account books. She’d been trying to stay busy so that she wouldn’t think too much about St. John and his devastating smile. Though she hated working on the accounts, it was an absorbing business and should have kept her mind busy and off things better not thought about.

It hadn’t worked. Instead she’d spent a good hour alternately staring out the window and drawing little horses representing her upcoming ride with St. John.

Sighing heavily, she put away the quill and closed the books. It was nice having something to look forward to other than work. Not that she didn’t enjoy the glassmaking. But there was something special in being pursued.

It really wasn’t that she’d been totally without masculine attention. Malcolm had enough of his Edinburgh friends to visit that she’d had numerous occasions to slap hands and kick shins. Like Mr. St. John’s. But none of them had really
pursued
her, taken the time to get to know her, asked her questions, even something as simple as offering to take her for a ride ...

She sighed and rose, making her way to the front door. St. John’s offer to go riding had been so unexpected, so... pleasant. And while she knew she should have said no, she also knew that she would have regretted saying the word. Some of it, she suspected, had to do with Mr. St. John’s blue eyes. They had a way of looking at one as if he understood everything there was to understand, a curiously empathetic look for one so obviously spoiled by life.

“Hmph,” she told the air as she stepped outside, “he’s probably still in his room, sitting on his bed, waiting for his valet to come and dress him.”

“Whot’s that?” Douglas asked, looking up from the wagon bed. He was Simon’s right-hand man, and as suspicious as they came.

Her face flushed. “Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

Simon nodded. “Bad habit, that.”

“Indeed it is,” she agreed. “Fortunately I only do it when faced with extreme circumstances.” Before he could ask anything more, she said, “Did the new glass make the journey?”

Simon brightened. “Indeed it did, Miss Kat. Donald got us a right good price for it, too.” He unlashed the canvas and lifted it, standing back to say with great satisfaction, “I’ll wager you’ve never seen a prettier blue than that.”

She leaned over the edge of the cart and ran her finger down the large sheet of glass. It was a deep, rich blue. Simon was right—it was beautiful. But she had seen a blue just this color—in the eyes of the man who had held her in his arms not a week hence. “It’s a lovely color.”

Douglas grunted. “‘Tis fair. Would like to see more green glass, but that is neither here nor there.”

“We need more green if we’re to complete this new order,” Kat said.

“Aye, and we need to find it fast,” Douglas agreed. “‘Tis coming on a rain and the roads will suffer. Miss Spalding’s man said the way to Sterling is washed out.”

Kat tried to look uninterested. “I’d heard that Miss Spalding was in residence at Kilkairn.”

“Arrived earlier this week. I don’t think she was going to stay at first, for she didn’t unload her trunks. Daresay all of the servants at Kilkairn were glad to see that. But then she changed her mind and had the entire place in an uproar, directing this trunk here and that one there. She even made Janie wash the sheets on her bed, she did, claiming they were dusty.”

“They probably were,” Kat said absently.

Simon drew the tarp back over the glass. “Miss Spalding has been trouble since she put on her first petticoats. I hope ye stay clear of her. There’s no reason to stir her up; ‘twould be like jamming a stick in a beehive. You’re bound to get stung.”

“Of course I’ll stay out of her way. I have no reason to so much as talk to her to begin with.” If that was the type of woman Devon St. John admired, then he was welcome to her. Murien was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but she wasn’t particularly pleasant. At least, not to Kat. There had always been a certain superior air to the woman, as if she knew her beauty and valued it more than anyone else.

“Should we put the glass away?” Simon asked, drawing on his leather gloves.

“Aye,” Kat agreed.

“Very well, Miss Kat.” He and the others climbed into the seats and hawed the wagon in the direction of the workshop.

Kat entered the house and caught sight of the clock that hung over the mantel.

Good heavens! Where had the morning gone? St. John would be here soon and here she was, still wearing her work clothing. She gathered the account books and ran up the stairs in her work boots. She halted on the fourth step when she realized that Annie stood on the middlemost step, disapproval in her clear gray eyes.

“Fie on ye, Miss Kat!” the housekeeper said, sending her a stern frown. “Ye’ll tear the runner wid those shoes of yers.”

“Sorry,” Kat mumbled, slowing down and walking more or less sedately up the final few steps. It was difficult to walk up the stairs in such a mundane manner when seconds ago she was flying up them, but she managed to take three or four more-or-less properly feminine steps until Annie was out of sight.

The second Annie could no longer see her, Kat kicked off the offending shoes, hiked her skirts, and dashed the rest of the way to her room, skidding on her stocking feet as she rounded the door.

An emerald-green habit lay on her bed, spread out in luminous glory. Kat had to pause before she touched it, just to admire it once again.

“‘Tis a lovely color fer ye, mistress,” Annie said from where she’d followed Kat into the room. “Deep green and severely tailored. Ye’ll look pretty as a picture, ye will.”

Kat’s face heated. “Thank you.” It was the only article she’d kept out of the generous wardrobe Malcolm had ordered. Mainly because she so loved to ride. On a horse, flying down a path, she felt light and thin and pretty.

“Ye’d best hurry,” Annie admonished. “Or His Lordship will be here afore ye’re ready.”

“He’s not a lord.”

“Och, he looked like one. Lord Handsome is what he should be called. Now come and dress.”

Later, Kat stared at herself in the mirror. Annie had been right—the habit fit perfectly. And the plain, almost severe style suited her, too. The coat was simple, following the nice line of her shoulders, angling down to her waist and ending there, at her waistband. The sleeves were long and narrow while the skirts were full, but not too much, so that they could be adjusted on her side saddle.

The only levity in the entire ensemble was a starched white cravat that filled the gap at her neck, and a fluttering white scarf that draped over her shoulder. The splashes of white served a purpose for they emphasized the full curves of her breasts. Kat frowned at that. She had more than her fair share of curves, a fact that made clothing difficult to fit.

Kat turned to Annie. “Well? What do you think?”

Annie sighed again, her grin belying her exasperation. “I think the same thing I thought two minutes ago. Ye look like an angel. If ye don’t believe me, ask the lads. They’ll tell ye what they think, will ye or nil ye.”

That was true. “Thank you, Annie.” After placing a quick kiss on the housekeeper’s cheek, Kat snatched up her hat and dashed down the stairs and across the clearing to the workshop.

She stopped outside the wide door, pausing to gather her nerve. Inside was the warm murmur of masculine voices as the men worked, joked, and teased one another.

Kat fingered the stiff material of her riding habit.

Perhaps she shouldn’t ask them what they thought. It was just that she wasn’t certain it was the type of clothing to appeal to a man. Perhaps she should wear her black habit instead. It wasn’t as fitted, but was of a more modern design.

She took a deep breath and then stepped through the wide open doors. “I’ve a question,” she announced, waiting until every eye was upon her. Then she held out her arms to either side. “What do you think?”

With the exception of the crackle of the fire in the large pit, silence reigned.

Finally, Simon set down the lathe he’d been using to smooth a rough board. He rubbed a thick finger alongside his nose, staring at her intently. “Och now, lassie. Ye look perfectly well.”

Donald nodded quickly. “Aye. And, ah, your hair looks well, too.” He darted a nervous glance at Will, who was firing up the bellows for the soldering. Donald jerked his head toward Kat.

Will frowned, his heavy jowls quivering. He was a massive man, more than six feet tall, his arms bulging with muscles from his work at the forge. He blinked hazily at Donald, who was still motioning toward Kat. “What?”

“ ‘Tis Kat,” Donald said with a meaningful jerk of his head. “She wants to know what we think.”

“Of what?” Will said, plainly bewildered.

“Her
hair
.”

Will turned to look at Kat, squinting thoughtfully. “Hm ... weeel, it don’t look a mite different than the last time I seen it.” His brow lowered. “Least I don’t think it looks any diff—”

“
Will
!” Simon hissed, glowering.

Will reluctantly smoothed his dirty hands on his smock. “Och now, I dinna know what ye want me to do!” He turned a bewildered eye on Kat. “Miss Kat, ye look loverly, whatever ye done wid yer hair.”

Kat sighed. “I didn’t do anything with my hair.”

“Ah ha!” Will turned an indignant eye on Simon and Donald. “She didn’t do nothin‘ to her hair!”

“I heard her,” Donald hissed. He stared at Kat as if perplexed. “What did ye do then?”

Simon nodded, crossing his arms and studying Kat as if she was a puzzle to be solved. “If I know one thing about women, ‘tis that they do love to ask ye what ye think of their new locks or new trappin’s.”

Alistair rubbed his chin, rasping his blond whiskers. “Mayhap ‘tis her boots.”

Seven pairs of eyes fastened on Kat’s boots.

She dropped her arms to her sides. “Oh for the love of—It’s not my hair and it’s not my boots, either.” Encountering yet more looks of bewilderment, she finally sighed and said, “It’s the riding habit. Do you like my riding habit?”

Neal sent a covert glance around the room, then offered, “ ‘Tis a new one, then? How loverly.”

She stomped her foot. “No! ‘Tis my old one, but I had it brushed and pressed.”

To a man, they appeared relieved.

“ ‘Tis brushed! O’ course!” Simon said.

Donald beamed. “That was me next guess.”

“Whist, now,” Will said, sending a stern glance at Donald. “Ye weren’t a-goin‘ to say nary a thing aboot her habit and ye know it.”

“I was, too,” Donald protested, his face flushing. “Was goin‘ to say that if ’twasn’t her hair, and ‘twasn’t her boots, then it had to be her riding habit. Whot else could it be?”

“Donald has a point, he does,” Neal said, nodding wisely.

“Whist now, all of ye,” Hamish said in his quiet way. “Miss Kat looks loverly in her habit, she does. And that’s all she needs to hear from us.”

The others nodded their agreement.

Simon appeared relieved the moment had passed. “There ye are, Miss Kat. We all agree ye looks wondrous.”

Kat had to smile. Over the last few years, these men had become her family, and she loved them dearly. It was wonderful how they each added to Kat’s life and livelihood. After years of practice, Simon was better than she was at glazing, his touch delicate and smooth. Both Donald and Hamish had a way with soldering that made her shake her head in wonder. Alistair could get the most cuts out of a pane of glass. Neal was a marvel at etching, while Douglas’s ability to trace and replicate a design was almost uncanny. He had but to see a picture to reproduce it. And Will’s exquisite woodworking skills made suitable frames that blended the beauty of the glass with the more functional aspects of the windows and doors Kat’s patrons demanded.

But for all the talents of her apprentices, none had her eye for design and not one understood the use of color, though she’d tried time and again to explain it to them. It was the combination of all their skills that made the glasswork so unusual, so exquisite.

A noise arose outside, and Simon crossed to the window. He frowned. “There’s that Sassenach again. Does he have nothin‘ better to do than come here?”

“He came to see me. We are going riding.”

The warm glow of approval evaporated as quickly as it had come. “Riding?” Donald said. “With a Sassenach?”

“With one of Malcolm’s guests,” Kat said a bit defensively. “Besides, I get to ride his gelding.”

“ ‘Tis a bonny horse,” Simon said, “but I hope ye’ll have a care. I don’t trust any of Lord Macdonald’s guests, particularly not the Sassenach ones.”

Kat placed the hat on her head, tilting it to a jaunty angle, then she went to the door. “I will take care, Simon. You have my word on it.”

“Like ye’ll remember once ye’re cavorting with the Sassenach,” Simon said sourly.

“I promise not to let the ‘cavorting’ go to my head.” She grinned at the lads. “I will be back soon, and then we’ll begin working on the designs for the windows for that London church. I’ve an idea for a panel that will leave them all breathless.”

With that, she waved a good-bye and then almost danced out the door, closing it behind her.

Most men are trustworthy providing you trust them only after they’ve proven themselves worthy.

Miss Elizabeth Standon to a rather distraught Lady Lucinda Sutherland upon discovering Mr. Poole’s duplicity