Rogue of the Isles (26 page)

“Mostly to the coast to burn kelp for the new industries. I dinnae understand much of it, but some of Shane’s ships carry the dried kelp to the Continent.”

“Why would that make your uncle and his brother angry?”

Shauna paused again. “Sometimes, if crofters dinnae want to move, the landlords burned them out of their homes.”

“That is awful. Was the Countess of Sutherland one of those landlords?”

“Aye. Just last year she burned over two hundred homes in one day in the middle of winter. Some crofters starved. Some froze to death on the way to the sea.”

“How terrible,” Mari exclaimed, shuddering at such a plight. She had seen Elizabeth Gordon Levenson-Gower, the Countess of Sutherland, on one occasion at a ball. The woman had been haughty and did not deign to speak to anyone less than an earl. Mari had no idea the woman had been responsible for such mayhem in Scotland.

An idea began to form in Mari’s mind. Perhaps Duncan and Broc would not hate the English so much if they knew at least some English sympathized with them. Perhaps she could be some sort of goodwill ambassador by engaging the men in conversation and winning their confidence.

It was certainly worth a try while she was here.

The family had their evening meal in a room they also used for breakfast rather than eating in the great hall where most of the servants, groundsmen and guards took their meals. Mari had wandered through the cavernous room earlier in the day, amazed it still had such a medieval feel to it. Tapestries graced the stone walls, although she wasn’t sure how old the weavings were. At the far end of the rectangular room was a raised dais with a long table and heavy, high-backed armchairs reminding her of when Jillian had received title to Newburn and Mari had accompanied her to the English court. The MacLeod crest of the horned bull, with the motto
Hold Fast
emblazoned above it, hung on the wall behind the dais along with numerous shields and swords, including huge claymores. Perhaps in times past, those weapons needed to be handy, but Mari was just glad she didn’t have to eat in a room that reminded her of war.

Although the smaller dining room had something of the feel of a war room this night. Broc, sporting a black eye and swollen nose, sat across from her, staring sullenly at his plate. Duncan sat beside him, his face grim. Jamie sat to her right, and she could practically feel anger roiling off him. To her left, Bridget’s rigid posture suggested she too was watchful. Shauna and Fiona conversed quietly at one end of the table while the twins, seated at the other end, seemed oblivious to the tension.

She might as well begin her campaign of befriending Jamie’s uncle and his brother. Once they realized not all English people were bad, things would be better. Mari smiled brightly. “I have an interest in what happened with the Clearances.”

Both ends of the table went silent. Broc looked up, his eyes menacing while Duncan set his mouth in a tight line. Jamie turned sharply toward her. It wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected from any of them. Perhaps if she explained… “I was talking to Shauna earlier—” Mari fumbled, surprised at the stricken expression on Shauna’s face. What had caused that? “Er, she was quite helpful in explaining the horrible plight of the crofters.”

“’Twas the damn English—”

“There will be nae cursing at this table,” Bridget said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.

Broc stabbed the meat on his plate with a vengeance that made Mari cringe. He certainly had a temper.

“I understand that,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone, “but not all English feel that way. I would like to learn more.”

“’Tis a subject we nae discuss,” Jamie said with finality.

There he went being bossy again. With an effort, Mari managed not to glare at him. Couldn’t he see that she was trying to be nice?

“How am I to learn then? I do not think it is too much to ask—”

“Enough, lass. As long as I am head of this table, there will be nae discussion.”

Mari kicked him under the table, wishing mightily that Ian had not taken his dinner with Jillian. Of all the insufferable—ooh! Jamie had kicked her back, although it was more of a tapping of his boot than anything else. Still. She gave him an indignant look, but he just smiled benignly at her. Something about his smile made her wary…and then she felt his boot again, only this time it circled her foot, nudging it toward him where he trapped her calf between his legs.

He spooned some gravy over his meat and then proceeded to slice a small portion that he lifted to his mouth. “Ye really should eat before yer dinner gets cold,” he said.

Eat? How could she eat when her leg was trapped firmly between his? She tugged, but he tightened his calf muscles, keeping her firmly grasped.

Her body went into instant betrayal in spite of her indignation. Heat flared through her, sending nerve endings tingling in unmentionable places. She squirmed, which only made the situation worse. She was getting strange looks, but her butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach and she knew she would not be able to swallow a thing.

Jamie calmly took another bite of meat and chewed thoughtfully.

Mari sighed. The man was impossible.

“The man is impossible.” Mari closed the story of the Green Knight and laid the book on Jillian’s nightstand. “Absolutely impossible.”

“Gawain? I always thought him rather gallant,” Jillian said.

“Not Gawain. Jamie.”

“What has he done this time?” Jillian asked.

Mari relayed the incident at the dinner table. “How dare he trap my foot and act like nothing is wrong?” she finished.

“Well, you did kick him first.”

“Because he told me I could not talk.”

“Only about the Clearances.”

Mari frowned. “Just whose side are you on?”

Jillian smiled. “No one’s. The Clearances are a very sore subject with Duncan and Broc. I am sure Jamie thought to protect you from their venom.”

“
Ordering
me to be silent is not protection. It is arrogance.”

“I thought the same thing when I met Ian, remember? I was sure he took delight in not complying with the rules of English Society. It is just the Highland way. The land is beautiful, but unforgiving.” Jillian pointed to the book. “In a way, Highlanders remind me of King Arthur’s knights. To survive and protect their families, they have to be hardened, but they also have a code of honor. And part of that code is to protect their womenfolk. Jamie reminds me of Gawain in a way.”

“I am not one of Jamie’s
womenfolk
though.”

Jillian smiled again. ”Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I told you about Nicholas, the French painter. He has been paying me court and has perfect manners to boot.”

“Ian said he did not meet Nicholas.”

“There really was not time,” Mari replied.

Jillian’s brow furrowed. “Was Ian not there for over a week?”

“Well, yes, but the opportunity did not come up.” Mari wondered how much Ian had told Jillian about the fiasco at the park. She was sure that was why Nicholas had not shown up before they left, even though she had sent a note. He probably did not want to deal with two MacLeods.

“Hmmm. I would think a man who is serious about courtship would make certain to meet his future brother-by-marriage.”

“Nicholas is a perfect gentleman,” Mari insisted. “I do not need two protectors. One MacLeod following me around is quite enough.”

“Hopefully, one day you will appreciate that.”

“I do not want to argue with you, Jillian, even if you are feeling a little better. Jamie is a good person, but he does enjoy irritating me.”

“Ian did the same thing to me.” Jillian reached out and patted Mari’s hand. “I do not wish to argue either. All I am saying is to be careful and take your time. Do not rush into anything. And please, give Jamie a chance. Promise me?”

Mari wanted to roll her eyes. Give Jamie a chance for what? Driving her to Bedlam? But for the sake of not fatiguing Jillian, Mari promised. She just hoped Jillian would not spill those beans to Ian who, no doubt, would tell Jamie. And Jamie would delight in thinking such a bit of information gave him permission to do more
protecting
.

Besides, what could possibly happen in this remote region of Scotland?

Chapter Twenty-One

“So tell me about London,” Fiona said as they were seated for the evening meal the next night.

“‘Tis a filthy city full of soot and thieves,” Broc answered before Mari could say anything.

“When did ye go there?” Bridget asked. “I dinnae recall ye going beyond the Borders.”

“Ye dinnae ken everything,” Broc replied.

“It is true parts of London are dirty,” Mari interjected before an argument would ensue and wondered where Jamie was since he had not come to the table. Duncan was not present either, but perhaps that was good. Mari continued, “And certainly London has criminals as does every big city, but Mayfair—where I live—is quite safe and lovely.”

“Tell me about the parties,” Fiona said, seemingly unaware of the glare Broc leveled in her direction.

Mari frowned too. What on earth would be wrong with talking about parties? Fiona was maybe a year younger than she was and would naturally be curious about such things—especially as isolated as the castle was.

“They are grand affairs,” Mari replied. “One or another of the matrons of Society host
soirees
and crushes every week with lots of wonderful finger foods and music or entertainment. It gives all of us young ladies a chance to mingle and meet eligible young bachelors.”

“Ye can do that at the local inn with nae the fancy stuff,” Broc said with a smirk. “There be plenty of willing lasses—”

“Hold yer tongue,” Bridget snapped, “or ye can leave this table and eat with the mongrels outside.”

Broc narrowed his eyes. “I dinnae take orders from a woman.”

“Then ye will take orders from me,” Jamie said as he entered the room and took a seat beside Mari. “I dinnae ken what was said before, but I heard yer reply. ’Tis nae fitting for the lasses to hear.”

The sheer presence of Jamie’s muscular bulk was comforting. The fresh scent of the outdoors wafted from him as well as a hint of peat smoke, and Mari wondered where Jamie had been. His long hair was windblown, one dark curl hanging over his forehead, and she had the sudden urge to push it back for him. Her fingers actually twitched, and Mari clasped her hands in her lap, not quite sure what had put that thought into her head. For once, though, she was actually glad Jamie was so bossy.

Broc glowered at him. “Ye are nae head of this clan.”

“I stand for Ian when he is nae here. If ye doubt me, ye can ask him.”

“I might if the mon ever comes out of the bedchamber.”

Jamie eyed him steadily. “Have a care. Ye tread on boggy ground.”

For a moment, Mari thought Broc might actually challenge Jamie. Given the man’s black eye and still-swollen nose, she had no doubt Jamie would be victorious, but she did not understand why Highlanders thought to solve everything with fists or weapons. Maybe she could smooth some ruffled feathers.

“We were just talking about London Society,” she said quickly. “Broc was trying to make a jest.”

Jamie stared at her as though she were daft. Mari felt her face warm since the remark sounded asinine even to her, but she truly wanted Broc—and the uncle—to see that not all English people were bad. Broc narrowed his eyes, but his look was more thoughtful than sinister.

“Aye,” he said slowly. “A jest is what it was.”

Jamie’s expression told Mari he did not believe one word of it, but at least he did not comment. A servant hurried in with a steaming bowl of stew along with fresh bread for Jamie, and Broc resumed eating.

Mari let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Perhaps she had averted a crisis.

“What are the balls like?” Fiona asked, oblivious to the tension that had been building.

“Absolutely wonderful,” Mari responded, glad to be back on safer ground. “The girls all wear pretty pastel gowns—only the matrons wear dark colors—with the latest fashionable bows and ribbons from Paris now the war is over.”

“And the dances?” Fiona asked breathlessly. “Do you dance every one?”

Mari smiled at Fiona’s enthusiasm. “We try. When a gentleman requests a dance, he writes his name on a small card we have attached to our wrist. It is quite the thing to have the entire dance card filled at the start.”

“It sounds like such fun. Have you danced a waltz?”

Jamie choked on a piece of bread, and Mari avoided looking at him. She remembered all too well what it felt like to have Jamie’s strong arm wrapped around her waist while his other hand caressed her fingers sensually and he tugged her close enough on the turns that her breasts brushed against his hard chest. Just recalling that dance made her nipples tighten.

Mari cleared her throat. “How do you know about the waltz? It has just been introduced in London.”

Fiona giggled. “Jillian showed me the steps and told me Ian had to learn how to do it. It sounds so romantic.”