Page 63 of When the Laird Conquers

Gordon dearly wanted to protest, to insist that everyone would be perfectly fine behind the high walls of his castle, to rebuke the fact that anyone needed anyone other than themselves for company. But the words wouldn’t come because he knew they were untrue, and he was not someone who lied easily.

And it’s probably the least I can do for the lass.

He eyed his quill and thought of the likes of Laird McCandless. Maybe at a cèilidh with an array of honored guests, some without wives, he might find a more suitable arrangement for Agnes.

It would torment him to have to imagine her with someone else, tangled up, breathless and hungry for one another, but at least she would be safe from a worse fate. Namely, the nothingness that he could offer her.

“Very well,” he grumbled. “Speak to Keith and come up with a list of guests. Bring it to me to examine and then send out the invitations. It should happen soon.”

While Agnes still has some cheer left.

Iona brightened. “Are ye serious, me Laird?”

“Aye.”

“How soon?”

He paused. “In a fortnight.” He considered the failed excursion to the village. “And ye should be the one to tell Agnes. Discuss fabrics with her and have them sent for, along with a seamstress. If she’s pretendin’ to be a laird’s bride, she ought to look like one.”

“Och, me Laird, this will be wonderful!” Iona cried, dancing a little jig.

“But daenae, under any circumstances, let Agnes go to choose her own fabrics. I’m nae havin’ her risk herself again by settin’ foot outside these walls,” he said coolly, ignoring the old woman’s merriment.

The ladies of the household might relish the idea of a gathering, but he was already dreading it.

24

So, he thinks he can placate me with a party, does he?

Agnes fumed as she wandered the overgrown path through the gardens, kicking at the weeds that crept through the thinned-out gravel. A light drizzle misted down from an overcast sky, suiting her mood perfectly. The gloomier the better, as far as she was concerned.

“Can you believe the gall of the man?” she mumbled to Lizzy, who was strapped to her in a newly fashioned sling, the material supplied by the housekeeper after Snout’s toothy destruction.

Lizzy babbled, though it was unclear whose side she was on.

“I am not some vapid lady who can be won over with a soirée,” Agnes continued to grouse, her heart and mind still aching with the sting of Gordon’s injurious words.

However, she did feel somewhat guilty that she had not shown quite as much enthusiasm as Iona had clearly been expecting when she had come to inform her of the ‘good news.’

“We’re to have us a cèilidh here at the castle, Miss Agnes!” the housekeeper had gushed, bursting into the nursery. “I’ve just this minute come from the Laird’s study, and he’s agreed. I didnae think he would, but it seems ye’ve had a rare effect on him, miss.”

“A what?” Agnes had replied coolly, cursing as she had pricked her finger on a needle while trying to repair the wrap that Snout had savaged.

Embroidery, or sewing of any kind, had never been her forte. That had been Christine’s arena, as with so many things that required patience, talent, and a bit of creativity.

“A gatherin’, miss. A… um… a party. There’ll be lairds and ladies here, as well as the commonfolk. And I daresay there might be an English lass or two!” Iona had replied brightly, a note of uncertainty in her voice, as if she wasn’t sure she was conveying the message properly. “It’ll be a grand occasion, and I’m to help ye choose a gown. Goodness, we havenae had a cèilidh here in years! Och, ye’ll love it.”

“I don’t think it would be wise for me to attend such a public spectacle,” Agnes had replied, feeling that first twinge of guilt.

“The Laird and I have discussed that already. There’ll be guards aplenty to keep ye and the wee one safe. The wee one doesnae even have to come along. She can stay up here in the nursery, with soldiers at her door.”

Agnes had sighed. “I never much cared for gatherings back home. I may keep to my rooms with a good book instead.” It was only the sight of Iona’s crestfallen face that made her add with some reluctance, “But I suppose it would not hurt to be prepared with a gown and such, in case I feel compelled to attend when the event comes.”

After all, she owed the old woman a great deal for showing such kindness.

“Och, I promise ye’ll nae want to miss it,” Iona had urged, grinning again.

But now, away from the sweet housekeeper, Agnes’s anger had returned with a vengeance, her wounded heart festering a little. Indeed, she could not escape the feeling that this was all some sort of trick to try and get her to share the same air as Gordon again, when she had every intention of avoiding him for as long as possible.