Rebellion & In From The Cold (17 page)

“No.” His throat was dry as dust. “You’re the most beautiful woman in Scotland, and I—” Now his throat was not only dry but seemed to have swollen to twice its size, and his collar threatened to strangle him.

“And you?” Maggie prompted.

“I should find Gwen.”

She nearly screamed with frustration. “I don’t need Gwen, Coll. Can’t you—don’t you see?”

He did, the moment he braced himself to look into those dark blue eyes. He was thunderstruck for a moment, then terrified, and then he was lifting her out of the chair and into his arms. “You’ll marry me, Maggie?”

“I’ve waited all my life for you to ask.” She tilted her face up for his kiss.

“Coll!” Fiona stepped into the room. Her voice was ripe with warning and disapproval. “Is this how you treat a young female guest in our home?”

“Aye.” He laughed and carried Maggie forward. “When she’s agreed to be my wife.”

“I see.” She looked from one to the other. “I won’t pretend I’m surprised, but—I think you’d best refrain from carrying Maggie around until after the wedding.”

“Mother—”

“Set the lass down.”

Stiff with annoyance, he complied. Maggie gripped her hands together, then relaxed when Fiona opened her arms. “Welcome to the family, Maggie. I can only be grateful my son is finally showing good sense.”

* * *

She still couldn’t believe it. As she finished up the morning milking, Serena thought over Maggie’s breathless announcement. Coll was getting married.

“What do you think of that?” she asked the placid cow as milk squirted into the pail.

No one was supposed to know yet, of course. Fiona had insisted that Coll approach MacDonald with an offer first, as was proper, but Maggie hadn’t been able to hold the news inside. In fact, Serena’s eyes were gritty this morning because Maggie hadn’t let her sleep until it had been nearly time to rise again.

There was little doubt that when MacDonald arrived later that day with many of the other guests he would agree to the betrothal. Maggie was nearly delirious at the thought of announcing the engagement at the ball that night.

Ready to dance out of her shoes, Serena thought as she squeezed and pulled the last of the milk from the bored cow. Then there was Coll, strutting around like a rooster with two tails. With a shake of her head, Serena set the milking stool aside and lifted her two pails.

Of course she was happy for them. As long as she could remember, Maggie had dreamed of marrying Coll. She would be a good and loving wife to him, calming his more radical impulses, indulging the harmless ones. She would be content to spin, ply her needle and raise a brood of raucous children. And Coll, like their father, would be devoted to his family.

For herself, she had reaffirmed her decision never to marry. She would make a poor wife. It wasn’t that she minded the work, or that she wouldn’t dearly love to have children of her own, but she hadn’t the patience or the biddable nature to sit and wait, to nod and obey.

In any case, how often did anyone find a mate to both love and respect? She supposed she’d been spoiled by being a part of her parents’ marriage. Settling for less would make her feel like a failure.

How could she marry anyone, she asked herself as she came out of the cow shed, when she had fallen in love with Brigham? How could she give herself to a man when she would always wonder what it would have been like with another? Knowing she could never be a part of Brigham’s life, or he a part of hers, didn’t change what was in her heart. Until she could convince herself that the love she had for him was dead, she would remain alone.

It would be harder now, watching Coll and Maggie. Serena balanced herself with the pails as she started down the rise. The sun was struggling to brighten the sky and melt the last of the winter’s snow. The path was slick, but manageable for one who had made the trip day after day all her life. She moved without hurry, not for caution’s sake but because her mind was elsewhere.

No, she wouldn’t begrudge them their happiness because she could never have the same. That would be mean-hearted, and she loved them both too much for that. But she had to wonder at the way Maggie had claimed her heart’s desire simply by tumbling off a ladder.

The way Coll had looked at Maggie! As if she were a piece of precious glass that might shatter at a touch, Serena remembered with a quick shake of her head. How would it be to have a man look at you that way? Of course, it wasn’t what she wanted, Serena reminded herself. Still, just once it might be nice.

She heard the sound of boots ringing on rock and glanced up to see Brigham striding toward the stables. Without giving herself time to think, she changed directions so that they would pass each other. Offering a silent apology for the spilled milk, Serena let out what she hoped was a convincing gasp of alarm and slid to the ground.

Brigham was beside her instantly, his hands on his hips, his face already darkened by his black mood.

“Have you hurt yourself?”

It was more an accusation than a question. Serena bristled, then forced herself to play the part. She wasn’t precisely sure how it was done, but Maggie had used her lashes. “I’m not sure. I may have twisted my ankle.”

“What the devil are you doing hauling milk?” Disgusted, he bent down to examine her ankle. The communication that had been brought to him late the previous night was weighing on his mind. But for that, he might have seen the thunder come into her eyes. “Where’s Malcolm or that scatterbrained Molly or one of the others?”

“The milking’s not Malcolm’s job, and Molly and everyone else are busy preparing for the guests.” All thoughts of being fragile and feminine were whisked away. “There’s no shame in hauling milk,
Lord
Ashburn. Perhaps your dainty English ladies wouldn’t know a cow’s teat from a bull’s—”

“This has nothing to do with my English ladies, as you call them. The paths are slippery and the pails are heavy. So it has to do with you doing more than you’re able.”

“More than I’m able?” She knocked his hand away from her ankle. “I’m strong enough to do as much as you and more. And I’ve never in my life slipped on this path.”

He sat back on his heels and let his gaze sweep over her. “Sturdy as a mule, aren’t you, Rena?”

That was it. A woman could take only so much. Serena sprang up and emptied the contents of one bucket over his head. It was done before either of them could prevent it. She stood, swinging an empty bucket, while he swallowed a mouthful of very fresh milk.

“There’s a warm milk bath for your soft English skin,
my lord.
”

She grabbed the other bucket, but before she could toss it in his face, his hands closed over hers on the handles. His grip was very firm, very steady, but there was smoke from a volatile fire in his eyes.

“I should thrash you for that.”

She tossed her head back and watched with growing satisfaction as milk dripped down his cheeks. “You can try,
Sassenach.
”

“Serena!”

The challenging gleam in her eyes turned to one of distress when she heard her father call her name. She braced herself as she waited for him to rush the last few feet toward her.

“Father.” There was nothing to do but hang her head before his glowering eyes and wait for the worst.

“Have you lost your mind?”

She sighed. Because she was looking at the ground, she didn’t notice that Brigham shifted just enough to put himself between Serena and her father’s wrath. “My temper, Father.”

“There was a slight accident, Ian,” Brigham began. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped milk from his face. “Serena lost her footing while she was carrying the milk.”

“It wasn’t an accident.” It would not have occurred to Serena to claim it as one and save herself. “I poured the pail of milk on Lord Ashburn deliberately.”

“I had eyes to see that for myself.” Ian planted his feet. At that moment, with the sun rising behind his back, his plaid tossed over one shoulder and his face hard as granite, he looked fierce and invincible.
“I’ll apologize for the miserable behavior of this brat, Brigham, and promise you she’ll be dealt with. Into the house, girl.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Please.” Brigham put a hand on her shoulder before Serena could make her humiliated retreat. “I can’t in good conscience allow Serena to take the full blame. I provoked her, also deliberately. I called you a mule, I believe, did I not, Serena?”

Her eyes kindled as she lifted her head. She was careful to lower it again quickly lest her father see she was unrepentant. “Aye.”

“I thought that was it.” Brigham wrung out his sodden handkerchief. What Parkins would say to this, Brigham couldn’t even surmise. “The incident was as unfortunate as the insult, and as regrettable. Ian, I would take it as a favor if you would let the matter drop.”

Ian said nothing for a moment, then made an impatient gesture toward Serena. “Take what’s left of that milk into the house and be quick about it.”

“Yes, Father.” She sent a quick look at Brigham that was a mixture of gratitude and frustration, then ran, milk slopping at the lip of the pail.

“She deserved a whipping for that,” Ian commented, though he knew he would laugh later at the memory of his little girl dumping milk all over the young English buck.

“That was my first thought.” Brigham glanced idly at the ruined sleeve of his coat. “Unfortunately, on further consideration, I’m forced to admit I quite deserved it. Your daughter and I seem unable to maintain a polite demeanor with each other.”

“So I see.”

“She is stubborn, sharp-tongued, and has a temper that flares faster than a torch.”

Ian rubbed a hand over his beard to hide a smile. “She’s a curse to me, Brigham.”

“To any man,” Brigham murmured. “She makes me wonder if she was put here to complicate my life, or to brighten it.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

It was only then Brigham realized he had spoken his last thoughts aloud. He glanced back to see Serena disappear into the kitchen. “I intend to marry her, with your permission.”

Ian let out a long breath. “And without it?”

Brigham gave him a level look. “I shall marry her anyway.”

It was the answer Ian wanted, but still he hedged. He would know his daughter’s mind first. “I’ll think on it, Brigham. When do you leave for London?”

“The end of the week.” His mind returned to the letter and his duty. “Lord George Murray believes my presence will help gain more support from the English Jacobites.”

“You’ll have my answer when you return. I won’t deny that you’re a man I would be content to give my daughter to, but she must be willing. And that, lad, I can’t promise you.”

A shadow came over Brigham’s eyes as he dug his hands into his pockets. “Because I’m English.”

Ian saw that this ground had been crossed before. “Aye. Some wounds run deep.” Because he had a generous heart, he clapped a hand on Brigham’s damp shoulder. “Called her a mule, did you?”

“I did.” Brigham flicked his sodden lace. “And should have moved more quickly.”

With a rumbling laugh, Ian gave Brigham’s shoulder another slap. “If you’ve a mind to marry her, you’d best be a fast learner.”

* * *

She wished she were dead. She wished Brigham were dead. She wished fervently that he had never been born. Setting her teeth, Serena scowled at her reflection as Maggie fussed with the curling irons.

“Your hair is so thick and soft. You’ll never have to sleep in papers all night.”

“As if I would,” Serena mumbled. “I don’t see why any woman goes to so much fuss and bother just for a man.”

Maggie smiled the wise smile of a woman in love and engaged. “What other reason is there?”

“I wish I could wear mine up.” Gwen scooted around to the mirror to study her own hair. “You did make it look so pretty, Maggie,” she said, afraid of seeming ungrateful. “But Mother said I couldn’t pin it up until next year.”

“It looks like sunbeams,” Serena told her, then went immediately back to frowning.

“Yours looks more like candlelight.” Gwen sighed and tried a few dance steps. This would be her first ball, and her first gown. She could hardly wait to put it on and feel grown-up. “Do you think anyone will ask me to dance?”

“Everyone will.” Maggie tested the iron.

“Perhaps someone will try to kiss me.”

“If they do,” Serena said grimly, “you’re to tell me. I’ll deal with them.”

“You sound like Mother.” With a light laugh, Gwen twirled in her petticoats. “It’s not as though I would let anyone kiss me, but it would be so nice to have someone try.”

“Keep talking like that, my lass, and Father will lock you up for another year.”

“She’s just excited.” Expertly Maggie threaded a green ribbon edged in gold through Serena’s hair. “So am I. It feels like my very first ball. There.” She patted Serena’s hair before she stepped back to study her handiwork. “You look beautiful. Or would, if you’d smile.”

In answer, Serena bared her teeth in a grimace.

“That should send the men scurrying to the hills,” Maggie commented.

“Let them run.” Serena almost smiled at the thought. “I’d as soon see the back of them.”

“Brigham won’t run away,” Gwen said wisely, earning a glare from her sister.

“It’s of no concern to me what Lord Ashburn does.” Serena flounced away to snatch her gown from the bed. Behind her back, Gwen and Maggie exchanged delighted grins.

“Well, he is rather stuffy, isn’t he?” Maggie put her tongue in her cheek, then moved over to check her own gown for creases. “Handsome, certainly, if one likes dark, brooding looks and cool eyes.”

“He isn’t stuffy at all.” Serena turned on her. “He’s—” She caught herself, warned by Gwen’s giggle. “Rude is what he is. Rude and annoying, and English.”

Dutifully Gwen began hooking Maggie’s gown. “He was kissing Rena in the kitchen.”

Maggie’s eyes went as round as saucers. “
What
?”

“Gwen!”

“Oh, it’s just Maggie,” Gwen said with a move of her bare shoulder. “We always tell her everything. He was kissing her right in the kitchen,” Gwen continued, turning dreamy circles as she remembered it. “It was so romantic. He looked as though he might swallow her right up, like a sugarplum.”