“Oh, are we speaking now?” she returned sotto voce, keeping her gaze on the group of young, unmarried people practicing making marriage knots and laughing over the degrees in difficulty of untying them again.
“Dunnae push me, Marjorie. What did Brendan say to ye? Ye lied the last time, but this isnae just aboot ye, ye ken.”
“Don’t push you?” she repeated, a day’s, a lifetime’s worth of frustration and disappointment bubbling over. “Where were you when Hamish Paulk decided to show me about the fair? I thought his presence here was the entire reason it wouldn’t be safe for me to leave. Wasthata lie? Because you wanted me to stay and didn’t have the spleen to tell me so until this morning? And then you stomped off because I won’t give up my own plans?”
Silence, though she could practically feel the heat and anger radiating from him. “Aye,” he finally growled. “Ye have every damned thing figured oot. Except fer yerself. Now. Did Brendan threaten ye?”
Just the way he pronounced every word spoke of fury. Putting her hands behind her back and clenching them together, she turned to face him. The icy steel of his gaze made him seem an utter stranger, not the man with whom she’d shared a bed for the last few, best, nights of her life.
“No,” she stated between clenched teeth. “He did not threaten me. He asked me for advice, which I gave him.” Marjorie stalked closer so she could lower her voice still further. “And why didn’t you tell me that Hamish Paulk is the uncle of my brother’s betrothed?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Because I didnae want ye thinking he’s anyone ye could trust. He isnae. He turned his back on his own niece in exchange fer Dunncraigh’s table scraps.”
For a long moment she held his angry gaze. “Well?” she finally asked, tapping her foot against the ground. “Do we stand here glowering at each other till moonrise, or are you going to apologize to me?”
Both of his brows lifted. “I’m nae apologizing to ye, Marjorie. I told ye how I felt, and ye stomped all over it.”
The nerve!“You told me that you wanted me to stay. That’s all. That doesn’t say anything about how you feel. For all I know, you want me here because Connell does need a tutor, and the rest of you Maxtons need to learn some damned manners. Well, I amnota tutor, and I amnota governess, and I amnota lady’s companion. Not any more, and never again.”
“I havenae said ye were.”
“You never say anything I want to hear.” She could feel tears burning at the corner of her eyes, but she was not going to cry in front of him. Not for all the tea in China. “Now go away and be your clan’s chieftain.”
***
What the devil did that mean?He never said anything she wanted to hear?For God’s sake, he’d told her the decision he’d made not to allow any lass a piece of his heart, and that she’d taken one anyway. Not in those words, but he didn’t know how anyone could interpret it differently. He’d asked her to stay, when he’d determined that no lass would be sharing his life. If that didn’t qualify as him telling her how he felt, he had no idea what did.
Graeme tangled with it, argued silently with it, all through the evening’s bonfire and the carving of faces in gourds and vegetables to ward off evil spirits. The lads and lasses lit the candle stubs set inside the hollowed-out lanterns, leaving unsettling sets of yellow eyes glowing all around the meadow. If he’d been the superstitious sort he might think the eyes were all looking at him, accusing him of doing whatever the hell she’d said he’d done.
Sassenach women. Of course he knew better than to tangle himself up with one. In a sense, though, that had been part of the problem. He’d figured his attraction to Marjorie Forrester was lust. Lucifer knew he didn’t have anything in common with her, or even much sympathy to begin with. And then with her sharp wit and her defiant spirit, her calm presence and kindness to Connell and the lads, she’d crept beneath his skin before he’d even been aware of it.
A small hand grabbed his. “They’re hanging apples on strings. Can I try to catch one?”
Ruffling Connell’s hair, Graeme shook his head. “Ye’re nae old enough.”
“If I stood on a chair, I could reach.”
“Aye, but whoever snags the first apple will be the next one to marry. Do ye have a lass in mind?”
The eight-year-old made a face. “Brendan says he’s going to do it, and he only just kissed Isobel Allen an hour ago.”
Well, that straightened his spine. “How do ye know Brendan kissed Isobel?”
“Because I thought they were going to look fer rabbits and I followed ’em,” the boy said matter-of-factly.
One kiss, and the lad was ready to catch an apple. Whatever Marjorie had advised the sixteen-year-old, he doubted she’d suggested marriage. But something had happened, because while Brendan pining after Isobel Allen was nothing new, her being impressed enough with him to grant him a kiss was.
He walked over to where most of the young people had gathered. Technically he supposed that at twenty-eight he could be considered one of them, but it seemed like a very long time ago in both age and distance since he’d nervously tried to bite an apple and then been supremely relieved when he hadn’t managed it. And then, after the deaths of Deirdre and Brian Maxton, he’d never done it again. On purpose.
Brendan stood close by Isobel, which wouldn’t make a conversation with his volatile brother any easier. Graeme draped an arm across the lad’s shoulder. “After an apple, are ye?” he murmured under his breath.
“I told Isobel I mean to try,” Brendan whispered back. “But nae, I dunnae mean to catch one. I cannae be a married man before I can manage to sprout enough chin hairs to need a razor.”
That was damned unexpected, and refreshing. “Have fun, then. I think ye’ll impress her just by stepping forward.”
“Aye.” He squared his shoulders and stepped forward out of Graeme’s grasp. “I’m next, I reckon.”
Some teasing and laughter followed that announcement, but to Brendan’s credit he managed a grin before he had apples bouncing off his nose, mouth, chin, and one ear. He actually made it look like a decent effort before the unofficial timekeeper called him to step back.
