“I ne'er said that. I said it was impractical to wear them year-round. I wear it when it's appropriate.”
“Like at balls?”
“Aye, and formal occasions.”
The green and blue was different from the MacKinnon plaid, and she frowned.
“I thought you were to wear your father's tartan?”
He nodded.
“That is the general rule.”
“But you wear the McTavish plaid. Not MacKinnon.” She gestured towards his sash. “You're supposed to be wearing red and green.”
His eyes narrowed as her hand drifted absentmindedly to the brooch at the center of her neckline.
“And how would you know about the MacKinnon plaid?”
She fumbled slightly with the brooch and gently popped the hidden latch on the side. The locket opened up in her hand, but she did not reveal its contents. Instead, she looked into hiseyes and saw an ocean of emotions that she couldn’t decipher. It occurred to her that he might be offended by what she’d done. Perhaps it was poor etiquette to have a piece of his family's tartan into jewelry.
Hope snapped the locket back together, suddenly unsure. She didn't want to upset Graham, and she worried for a moment that he might try and take it from her. He would be well within his rights, she supposed, but she wouldn't let him.
Her hand dropped from the brooch.
“Oh, I made the mistake of asking a shopkeeper in the village about tartans and how they worked. He was very well informed,” she said. “Besides, the painting of your grandfather is rather, well, menacing. I'm afraid the MacKinnon plaid has been burned into my mind.”
His eyes lingered at the spot her hand had been, and there was a new emotion on his face that made Hope's cheek flush.
Just then Faith, Grace, and Rose appeared on either side of Hope. Faith handed Hope a glass of lemonade while Grace nodded along with the music, smiling. Rose wasn't smiling. Her attention seemed focused on a group of boisterous lads not too far away, listening to Jared McTavish speak.
“It's terribly exciting, isn't it?” Grace said as she watched. “I never dreamed we would be invited to a clan banquet. It's wonderful.”
“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” Graham said.
“It is rather interesting,” Faith said, sounding more apprehensive than enthusiastic. “I've never seen so many kilts in one place. It's a fascinating piece of fashion. Don't you think, Hope?”
“Faith,” Hope said under her breath as she took a sip of lemonade, praying silently that her sister would stop teasing her.
“Do you like kilts, Miss Sharpe?” Graham asked Faith.
Faith smirked.
“Well, not as much my sister here, but—”
“So, this is your uncle's home?” Hope interrupted quickly, taking a step forward, so that Faith was partially blocked from Graham's view. He raised his brows, but he didn't pursue the topic.
“Yes. It was built in the tenth century, originally. Actually, there's a bit of a romantic origins story. And considering how much you enjoy romance, I suppose I should tell you about it.”
Hope's cheeks warmed. He was teasing her, but not in a cruel manner. Rather, it was like he was inviting her to be in on the joke.
“How did you know Hope likes romantic stories?” Grace asked.
Graham shrugged.
“All women do, don’t they? Besides, I owe your sister a story,” he said and to Hope’s utter embarrassment and delight, he winked.
“Not all women,” Faith muttered, taking a sip of her beverage.
