Perhaps my day shall come, Margaret reasoned inwardly, trying to soothe her momentary disappointment.And when it does, no doubt the lad who marries me will be equally desirable.
Somehow, though, she found that impossible to fully accept.
Once they reached the courtyard of the castle, there was an immediate flurry of activity to announce the new arrivals to Laird Malcolm. He emerged moments later, joined by Seamus, Isla, Leslie, and Bonnie. The girls were wearing their best dresses, though it was clear they had been caught off-guard, expecting Brodie and his fellows to arrive later in the day.
“Well met, young Master MacKenzie!” Seamus called out, hurrying to reach them. “Margaret, thank ye for bringing them to us at once. Ye may take yer leave now.”
As Margaret bowed and scurried away, Brodie felt a strange pang of disappointment at her departure. He tried to clear his head and focus on the eldest of the three girls in front of him as their father made the introductions. “An honor to meet you at last, sir. I am Seamus MacLeod, and these are my daughters Isla, Leslie, and Bonnie.”
Each of the girls curtsied in turn, and Brodie gave Isla his full attention.
In that moment, the breadth of his feelings toward her could not be expressed…
...because he found, to his dismay, that there were none.
He had been preparing himself for love and passion to strike him like a bolt of lightning, making him burn with desire for the woman he’d been promised to. She was fair indeed, just as her portrait had made her out to be. Her outfit was lovely and suited her well. Her hair was well-coiffed, and her demeanor seemed genteel and demure.
He had no earthly idea why she did not stoke a fire within his heart.
She simply did not. There was no desire to make her his.
Brodie thought that an alliance was more important than being attracted to his woman. After all, she was healthy and could bear healthy sons. And that is what mattered the most.
Even so, as he kissed Isla’s hand and agreed to join the family for supper, he found he could not stop thinking about Margaret and wishingshehad been the one to greet him in the courtyard, rather than the one who had simply led him there. But she was not.
Later the same day—once Brodie, Magnus, and Maxwell had settled into their guest chambers, and once Elspeth had ample time to prepare a meal while making Ainsley weep at least four times in the process with her spiteful invective—the visitors sat down to dine with the MacLeods.
“I was saddened to hear of yer father’s passing this past season,” Seamus commented mildly.
As he did, he cleared his throat, giving Isla a stern look. The girl had been keeping her eyes pointed down at the table ever since she’d sat down, and when she looked up at Seamus, he inclined his head to indicate that she should turn her attention to her suitor. She sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically, reluctantly obliging him.
“Thank you, sir,” Brodie answered. “Your condolences are much appreciated. Truly, he always spoke well of you and your clan.”
“I must admit,” Malcolm chimed in, “I was quite surprised to learn that ye did not immediately become laird upon his demise. Ye would seem old enough, by custom.”
Before Brodie could answer, the door opened and Margaret entered with a pitcher of wine. Brodie’s eyes were instantly drawn to her.
And when they were, Isla’s fixed upon him and narrowed suspiciously.
Suddenly, all thoughts left Brodie’s head, except for the notion of how it might feel to stand up from the table, go to Margaret, and kiss her.
She went about the table refilling the wine goblets, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep the shy smile from her face.
“Ahem. Young Master MacKenzie?” Seamus spoke up.
Brodie jumped in his seat as the words broke through his reverie. “Yes, sir?”
“The lairdship?” Seamus reminded him. “Why did it not go to ye directly?”
“Ah, y-yes,” Brodie stammered, regaining his composure with some difficulty (and hastily tossing his napkin across his lap before Margaret reached his end of the table). “‘Twas my father’s idea, you see. He entrusted stewardship of the clan to my uncle for the twelve months following his death. He decreed it upon the day of his passing.”
“That must have displeased ye mightily, eh?” Seamus observed. “Yer own father didnae have enough faith in ye to believe the title should go to ye at once?”
“No, sir, quite the opposite,” Brodie said quietly, trying to banish the bitter memory of his father croaking his last words on his deathbed. “It was a great relief to me. My uncle is a wise and courageous man, and I knew that the clan would be in fine hands until its lairdship passed to me. My father explained his reasons to me, you see. When he looked up at me and saw the grief in my eyes…when he understood how deeply and terribly I would mourn his passing, he decided that I should have a year’s time to accept his loss, that I might ascend to lairdship with a clearer head when the proper time came. Many fathers would not have shown such understanding, I feel. Many would have pressed their despairing offspring into leadership before the time was right, and thus jeopardized the affairs of the clan as a whole. I feel most fortunate, sir, that my father gifted me adequate time to heal.”
There was a sudden crash from the corner of the room, and when Brodie and the others turned to look, they saw that Margaret had tripped on the edge of a rug and dropped the pitcher. She picked it up again sheepishly, trying to avoid eye contact with those who stared at her. “My apologies. I…was simply overcome by the sentiment, that’s all.”
“Show a bit more care in the future, child,” Seamus harrumphed. “Ye have not yet been maid so long that ye cannae become a servant girl once more.”
“Yes, sir. I shall fetch more wine at once.” Margaret backed out of the room, her eyes flickering toward Brodie one last time before she withdrew.
Brodie glanced over at Isla and saw that she was now regarding him quite shrewdly indeed—not as though she admired or desired him, but rather as though he were a puzzle she intended to solve.
