“Some people enjoy it. Getting offended, I mean. Go on, have a drink. I just need to talk to Colby and Dominic about something. Ye sit here, lassie.”
He steered her to a seat in a relatively quiet corner of the bar and signaled for a cup of ale to be brought. He patted her shoulder and disappeared back into the crowd.
Emma let out a sigh of relief. It was good not to be constantly smiling, constantly straining one’s ears to hear over the din. In the corner, some musicians were unpacking their instruments. There would be dancing soon, and then things would get noisier still.
“Is this seat taken?” a cool female voice asked just as Emma was taking her first long draught of the ale.
“Hmm? What? Oh, nay, not at all,” Emma spluttered, wiping away a foam mustache from her upper lip.
The woman—tall, graceful, beautiful—smiled benignly down at her and sat, gesturing for a cup of ale for herself. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and stared pensively into the distance.
That gave Emma the perfect opportunity to stare at her.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, even on close inspection. Her skin was perfect, rich and creamy, with tapering white hands without a trace of calluses and certainly no green-stainedfingertips. She had a figure most women would die for, and a tantalizing flash of her bosom was revealed through the thin linen shirt she wore. A necklace with a blue pendant hung between her collarbones, neatly directing a person’s eyes to the swell of her cleavage. Her hair was long, glossy, black, and curling, and she had the sort of large blue eyes poets might callflashing.
On cue, she glanced down and caught Emma staring, probably open-mouthed.
I must look like a wee stocky goblin next to her.
Hysterical laughter welling up inside Emma.
The woman smiled. “I’m Astrid. And ye are Emma Gallagher.”
“Aye, that’s right, I am. I’m sorry, have we met?”
Astrid laughed.
Emma had read passages of stories where women’s laughter was described as ‘tinkling silver bells’ or something equally ridiculous, and she’d never been able to imagine what on earth that was meant to sound like.
She could picture it now. It would sound like Astrid’s laughter.
“Nay, we have not met. But everyone here knows of ye.” Astrid tilted her head to one side, her icy blue eyes assessing. “Ye are Laird MacPherson’s fiancée.”
There was something about the way she saidfiancéethat hinted she did not like the word.
Or maybe, much more likely, she did not like Emma.
“Aye, I am,” Emma replied, shifting uncomfortably on her stool. She was sweating in the heat of the room, perspiration beading on her face and neck. Astrid, of course, was not sweating. Not so much as a single drop of moisture appeared on her immaculate skin. “It’s nae common knowledge, of course, so I’d thank ye to keep it to yourself.”
Astrid smiled. She didn’t show any teeth, and the smile did not reach her eyes.
Emma’s gut was boiling urgently, and she already knew that she had an enemy here, not an ally.
“Well, perhaps ye ought to have thought of that before ye told everyone here, eh? It’ll be all over the countryside by tomorrow.”
Yes, it would, Emma realized, and that was what Thomas wanted. She wondered uneasily what it would mean for her. She’d never imagined their faux relationship progressing beyond the bounds of the pub. But of course, it would. She ought to have considered that before.
“Oh, well,” she said lightly, turning her attention back to her ale. She hoped that Astrid would get the hint and move off, but of course, she did no such thing.
“I’m glad I had a chance to talk to ye. I think we have something to discuss,” Astrid said, finally receiving her own mug of ale and taking a delicate sip.
Emma swallowed hard. “What exactly is yer relationship to Thomas, if ye don’t mind me asking? Are ye family?”
She knew fine well that the woman was not family. She didn’t need to ask anyone to know that.
Astrid smiled demurely, glancing pointedly away. “We are… friends. Good friends. We have been friends for a while.”
Emma clenched her teeth. She could hear them squeaking in her head and forced herself to deliberately loosen her clenched jaw. The last thing she wanted was for Astrid to see if she was angry or uncomfortable.
