"Yes, well,"the Earl answered as Isabella felt his direct gaze bore into her. It was as if he could read the script written on her heart. "I had to come and greet you all. Are you all well?"
"My lord,"Catherine said through gritted teeth, "I was wondering if maybe you might have some time for me?"
Isabella watchedthe Earl's eyebrows arch for a moment as he reined in whatever dark thought was skipping through his mind. How Isabella wished she could read his mind. It would make the whole situation far easier to read.
"I thinkI might have a few dances in me for a young lady," the Earl said as his eyes shifted off Isabella and skipped over Josephine in her emerald dress and Margret, who seemed to be far too occupied with her pale orange skirt to notice the Earl right next to her.
"Perhaps you could be so kind asto humor me now?" Catherine asked as Isabella watched her shamelessly throw herself at the Earl. Rolling her eyes, Isabella wished she could leave already. If it wasn't the harpies hounding her, it was her aunt's loaded glares that made her want to find someplace to hide.
"If that's what you wish,"the Earl said as he flashed Isabella an apologetic smirk. "I do hope that we'll get a chance as well."
"She has two left feet,"Catherine said, trying to curb the ire in her tone. "Surely you wouldn't want to waste your time with the likes of her."
"I thinkI can make my own judgment on the matter," the Earl answered, his tone sharp with authority and power. There wasn't a girl in the room who wouldn't kill to be in Isabella's shoes. Yet, as she watched the Earl stroll to the dance floor with Catherine, she couldn't help but think they looked like a cute couple.
"Did you see that?"Daphne gasped the second the Earl was out of earshot. "He was right there. Standing in that very spot. Oh, I do hope you get a chance to dance with him."
"And why wouldn't I?"Isabella asked as Josephine and Margret strolled off to watch Catherine and the Earl dance till morning. The thought made Isabella sick. To have Catherine rise so high would be like throwing pitch on an open fire.
"I'm goingto go get something to drink," Daphne said, batting her fan as Isabella glanced about the room, wondering how many had seen the spectacle. To her luck, it didn't seem like anyone was paying any attention to her at all. Well, no one except the Scot standing at the staircase.
"Who is that?"Isabella asked as she grabbed her aunt by the shoulder, stopping her from leaving. Daphne froze.
"He's here."
"Wait, you know that man?"Isabella asked as panic set in the moment she realized his gaze was directly on her.
"Not exactly,"Daphne mumbled as the brute of a man charged through the crowded dance floor, heading right for her. With each step that drew him closer, Isabella's heart fluttered. There was something menacing about the man. It wasn't just the scars that riddled the left side of his face, making him look far more formidable than he was, but his green eyes bored into her as if they could drill out her deepest hidden secrets.
"Are ye Isabella Grant?"the man asked, his voice thick with the Scottish accent that grated on Isabella's nerves.
"And what if I am?"she answered as her aunt stepped away, leaving Isabella to stand before the wall of a man on her own.
"I thought as much,but where's the rest of ye?" he asked as he tilted his head and gave her a once over. "I was expectin' a bit more. Daenae all English have the heavy hips?"
Isabella's eyeswidened with shock. Never in all her life had anyone talked to her in such a way. The fury flared through her like a wildfire.
"I beg your pardon,"she growled as the man gave a shrug.
"If ye wish,but I daenae think ye can do much with it," he said as he pulled forth a piece of parchment and handed it to her. Isabella's chest tightened as she noticed the music had stopped and all attention had turned to her and the Scot who had crashed the Baron's party.
"Why are you even here?Don't you have some village to raid or something?" Isabella asked as she tucked the parchment under her arm, refusing to give it any attention.
"Can ye nae read?It's all in there," he urged with a nudge to the parchment Isabella had tucked away. "Oh, ye poor dear. I think I can help ye with that, if ye want of course."
"What are you going on about?"Isabella grumbled as she wished he'd find someone else to harass.
"Helpin'ye to read. If ye cannae, well, I can teach ye after we're married," he offered with a chipper smile that made every hair on the back of Isabella's neck to tingle.
"I know how to read,"she snapped back.
"Oh,well, then that takes a load off my back. Then there seems to be nay reason to tarry; get yer things, and we'll be off," he urged as Isabella glanced at Daphne for some sort of answer. Daphne kept her head low and eyes off her.
"What is going on?I am not going anywhere with you. Just who do you think you are by the way? The king of a hill?" Isabella snapped as Daphne stepped closer, her eyes wide with fright. The sting of Daphne's fan hitting Isabella's arm was more than worth it to Isabella. Especially when she was faced down by a tall, broad shouldered, wiry brown haired Scot.
"Keep your voice down.There's already enough people watching," Daphne pleaded.
"You have some explaining to do,"Isabella demanded. "Who is this man? Why is he here?"
"Oh, right,"the man said and raked his fingers through his hair as he stood taller. "Aaron Wilson, Laird McNeil to some. I'm here due to the King's decree."
"What decree?"Isabella asked as Aaron glanced to the parchment under her arm.
"The one ye're holdin'that will tell ye, if ye ever get around to openin' it, that ye're to be me wife."
