Page 3 of Highlander’s Lust

“Er...very well, Charlie. And I’m sure I dinnae need to remind ye to act with the proper amount of dignity such a solemn occasion demands o’ ye?”

Charlie gave a chuckle. “Och, aye, Sorley. Dinnae ye fash, lad. I ken how to behave in front of maidens, although truth to tell, I have nae been allowed near one for over ten years!”

In fact, it had been longer than that; Charlie Brisbane having started in the petticoat line before he turned five and ten years of age—over twelve years ago now.

The new laird did not stay to deliberate the exigencies of his father’s wake any longer. He strode up the dais steps, gave his father’s hand one last affectionate pat, and after ordering the steward to call up four strong footmen to carry away the body, left the room with a careless wave of his hand.

Sorley turned to speak to Bess, but she was hurrying out of the bedchamber in the new laird’s wake, and if he was to be honest with himself, Sorley could not blame her.

More than fifty leagues to the west, but worlds apart when it came to dignity and restraint, Miss Jean Macanroy sat in front of her looking glass, watching patiently as her maid pinned the glorious auburn ringlets on top of her head.

Eby Borkum could not stop herself from saying, “Och, Miss Jean, it brings tears of pride to me eyes to see ye in yer best looks. This new dress robe makes ye so pretty—not that ye need to be wearing fine robes to appear beautiful! I cannae understand why ye are no’ yet wed. When I took this position as yer new maid and discovered ye’re nine and ten years old. Why, I nearly fell off my stool with surprise!”

Jean enjoyed her new maid’s company. She was a breath of fresh air after her previous lady’s maid, who had been nearing retirement age and surly to boot. Only after her mother, Lady Kirsty Macanroy, noticed the unbrushed satin overrobe and broken hairpin her eldest daughter was wearing at dinner one morning, had things been brought to a head.

“Jean! Never tell me ye left yer dressing room looking like that this morning! What if we had visitors call at the lodge? They would have written ye down as a positive zany.”

Jean had glanced down at her robe and given a nonchalant shrug. “I have told Matilda many times to brush my dresses before putting them back in the chest, Mither, but how would she ken the difference? She being almost blind an’ all. The poor woman has been a seamstress at Macanroy Lodge for over sixty years! What induced ye to make her my lady’s maid, I have no idea.”

Lady Macanroy had tutted, turning to her husband, Laird Callum Macanroy. “What will ye do, Cal? ‘Tis high time Matilda was given an annual stipend and a wee cottage in the village. Her husband too. Is he not one of our gardeners? I doubt his rheumatism even allows him to hold a rake anymore.”

Laird Callum Macanroy lifted his eyes from the gentleman’s quarterly almanac he was reading, saying, “I will leave it in yer capable hands to organize, my sweet. Ye ken I have never interfered in how ye see fit to raise our daughter.”

Lady Kirsty Macanroy was considerably mollified by these gracious words but could not resist adding a rejoinder to this. “I am done raisin’ her, Husband. Now ‘tis up to ye to find her a good husband.”

And so dear old Matilda had been provided with a comfortable cottage on the edge of the expansive Macanroy Lodge estate, and Eby Borkum had replaced her.

It proved to be the most advantageous change to the household and one that was made none too soon as it so transpired.

Laird Macanroy entered the morning room as his wife and son were midway through breaking their fast.

“Where’s Jeannie?” Laird Macanroy wanted to know. “I have news so good she will nae want to miss out on hearing it.”

His son, Lachlan, and Lady Kirsty pricked up their ears at this. It was not very often Laird Callum would break off his inspection of the whisky distilleries to come back and read the post to them. Most mornings, he would grab a quick bite for breakfast—a bannock and a mug of small ale or posset—and would not be seen at the lodge again until dinner.

“Dinnae wait for Jeannie, Faither,” Lachlan insisted. “Tell us the news first. Me sister’s always running late since that new maid of hers began insisting on dressing her so fine.”

“What news?” Jean asked as she breezed into the morning room.

Lachlan’s words proved to be prophetic. Once again, Eby had outdone herself in presenting Miss Jean in the best possible light. Not that the Macanroy’s outstandingly beautiful daughter needed much work done in order to present a pretty picture to the world.

Considered to be willowy and tall, standing five feet and seven inches in her stockings, Jean had more to recommend her than simply being able to stand out from the crowd. Her angular slimness suited her regal air and gamine beauty. Whenever she attended the local assemblies or traveled further south for the Royal Reelings held at Holyrood Palace, the lairds and gentlemen would ponder and debate which one of her features best captured Jean’s divine allure. Voices were raised as they argued whether it was her fresh-faced elfin loveliness, deliciously pale cleavage that rose like polished marble from the neckline of her low-cut dresses, or her waist, which any man could have easily encircled with two hands.

Many noble ladies were overheard to acidly admit that no fault could be found with Miss Jean Macanroy’s auburn hair, so long it was reported to hang down to the back of her knees. When pressed, they would add that the girl’s blue eyes and pink, pouting lips were also impressively desirable.

It was enough to make any lady curl up her toes with jealousy when it was mentioned that Jean Macanroy happened to be an heiress of considerable fortune into the bargain as well.

When Jean showed no inclination to favor any of the eligible men who threw themselves at her dainty feet at balls, mothers with daughters of marriageable age could only thank their lucky stars. It was generally believed that Laird and Lady Macanroy were saving their daughter to make an advantageous match with a noble Frenchman from His Majesty King Louis the Fourteenth’s court, her father having connections in that country.

Lady Kirsty nodded appreciatively when Jean sat down. Her daughter was looking particularly fetching in an overrobe of sapphire blue silk with satin manteau pinned to the fine white muslin chemise under her tight stays. She looked like an angel.

Satisfied he had every member of his family’s attention, Laird Callum opened a folded parchment; a large red seal hung heavily from the back of the parchment as the laird began to read.