“Well,” Aunt Elena said finally, breaking the silence, “’tis a good thing we have our plan.”
Grandmama Marion nodded slowly, her gaze flashing as she looked between Lenora and Lillith. “We will start tonight. Lenora, you will ‘spill your wine on him and tromp upon his toes if he asks you to dance.”
“And talk to him endlessly at dinner about the weather,” Eve added.
“What shall I do?” Lillith asked.
The women all looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, there are no contests tonight, so there’s no way to ruin his pride there,” Eve said.
Grandma Marion clapped her hands together. “I know! You need to dance with several warriors, and I will suggest that Rory ask you to dance. Turn him down with the excuse of being tired, but then dance again right after that with another warrior.”
Lillith did not love that suggestion. She made it a point to never dance with the warriors when they asked, so they would not think she was interested in anything more than a simple dance from them. It had pained her in the past because she did so love to dance, but rarely got to, unless her da asked her to, which he did so from time to time now, unlike before he met Eve, and he became happy once more. But he was usually dancing with Eve. “I do nae think—”
Grandmama Marion gave her a dark layered look that surprised Lillith. Her grandmama was usually so sweet. “This is war, Lillith, and everyone must sacrifice in war—even you.”
Lillith nodded her agreement. “I’ll carve out his pride and serve it to him on a platter!”
“That’s a good lass,” Grandmama Marion said, her tone humorous but sharp.
“And I shall be so dull that watching plaids dry in the sun will seem exciting by comparison,” Lenora added with unexpected spirit, drawing surprised laughter from the women.
Grandmama Marion clasped her hands together. “Then we are agreed. Our plan begins at once.”
A small smile tugged at Lillith’s lips despite the gravity of their situation. There was something deeply satisfying about the thought of besting Rory Matheson, of watching his face when she outshot him or outran him, of seeing that insufferable pride of his crumble. She tapped her finger against her chinthoughtfully. “I believe I’ll wear my hunting leathers instead of a gown to supper. That should scandalize him thoroughly.”
“Your da will be furious,” Eve said.
“Aye,” Lillith agreed. “I’ll leave handling Da to ye.”
Eve winked her agreement.
“Mayhap this shall be fun!” Lenora exclaimed, obviously warming to her part of the plan to save herself. “I’m going to talk in excruciating detail about the cloud formations over the past fortnight. That should send him running from the great hall.”
The women laughed, the sound a welcome release of tension. Lillith met her sister’s gaze and found a mirror of her own determination there.
As the women continued to refine their plans, Lillith’s thoughts returned to Rory Matheson—to his icy blue eyes, his broad shoulders, the way his jaw had clenched when she’d crashed into him. A strange fluttering sensation stirred in her stomach at the memory, but she was certain it was worry for her part in the plan. She took several deep breaths until she felt settled. She was fierce. She was strong. She would prevail.
The Hammer of the Highlands had no idea what he was in for.
Chapter Six
Rory shifted in his seat at the high table, acutely aware of the MacLeod warriors and women who kept shooting him curious, not-so-subtle stares that made his right eye twitch. Being surrounded by those who had been his enemies for as long as he could remember felt unnatural, like sleeping beside a wolf and hoping it would not attack. Yet here he was, by the king’s decree, soon to be wed to one of the daughters of his clan’s enemy. He took a long breath to ease his tension. He would proceed with care but also an open mind.
His da had chosen to retire early, claiming weariness from their journey, though Rory suspected it was more to avoid another confrontation with Laird MacLeod. That left Rory to represent the Matheson clan alone at supper, surrounded by MacLeods who seemed to be sizing him up as if he were a sheep they intended to buy at market.
The massive doors at the far end of the hall swung open, drawing Rory’s attention. His breath caught in his throat as Lillith and Lenora entered side by side. Though identical in face, they could not have presented a more striking contrast in this moment. Lenora glided in, wearing an appropriate gown with her hands clasped in front of her, and a smile fixed on her face. She was the very picture of an obedient lass.
And then there was Lillith.
Rory blinked, certain his eyes were deceiving him. The lass who had shot him earlier that day strode into the hall wearing not a gown but hunting leathers—snug-fitting breeches that clung to the curve of her hips and thighs, a leather jerkin laced tightly over a léine, and boots that reached her knees. Her hairhung loose down her back in a golden cascade, with only simple braids at her temples keeping it from her face.
A surprised chuckle rose in his throat as she strode with purpose toward the dais. The lass clearly cared nothing for convention. There was something refreshing in her brazen disregard for propriety, something that stirred his blood in a way Lenora’s perfect decorum did not.
His gaze lingered on Lillith’s lush, womanly figure revealed by her clothing. Rory shifted again in his seat, this time for an entirely different reason, and forced his eyes away from the sight.
MacLeod frowned severely at his daughter’s attire but said nothing as the twins approached the high table. To Rory’s surprise—and consternation—he found himself flanked by the sisters, with Lenora settling gracefully to his right and Lillith dropping unceremoniously into the chair on his left.
“Good evening,” Lenora said softly, her voice as gentle as a spring breeze. “I hope ye’ve been made comfortable at Dunvegan.”
