“M’sister would nae agree with ye there, lass.”
They had been the first words he had truly said to her, the first complete sentence of any substance.
“Yer sister?” When he had again only nodded, Laura had probed further. “She is no’ here?”
“Alice does nae go out much.”
In between joking observations about the other guests and drinking wine together, the rest of that evening had been spent in polite conversation, the same way injured animals prowled and sniffed around each other before trust could be gained. Laura had discovered that he lived in the north, far in the north where the mountains were covered in snow for many months, the thaw coming late in spring and the first frosts quick to arrive in fall. He had told her that he was currently assigned to a laird from the east. She had witnessed that he barely touched his wine and that he saw no reason for chatter when a gesture would suffice. He was a gruff young man, watchful and quiet, which only served to make his conversation and eye contact more precious.
She remembered warming toward him as much as her broken heart would allow her to feel. And then her mind drifted back to the way his taut stomach had felt when she reached out in the dark and touched it in the stable, and her dreams fragmented into something so close to heated desire that she had no choice but to wake with a breathless panting shudder.
The gentle hand of her maid shook her, and Laura’s dreams fled away. She felt significantly more prepared for the day upon her second waking, or at least as much of it as there was. Laura surrendered herself to Ethel’s busyness so that her outward appearance might be just as settled as her mind.
When Mary, her maid, determined she was ready, Laura was wearing a flattering deep burgundy velvet gown trimmed with gold braiding. Her hair, silky soft and curling into loose ringlets, was half clasped at the back of her head. The lower layer cascaded down her back in a torrent of light brown curls that were at once feminine and youthful. The gown was cut like two rising arches at the front to enhance her petite curves and then cut square at the shoulders. The skirts were thick and full.
“Beautiful,” Ethel assured her, looking at her from top to bottom with a proud glint in her eye. “If it is not too bold, M’lady, reckon Laird Halkerston should be mighty pleased with himself.”
Feeling nerves flutter inside her like butterflies, Laura swallowed back her anxiety and lifted her chin. She had arranged for this match. She had been the one to reach out and ensure that her brother invited the laird to visit. She would not cower now like a timid little mouse.
Meditating on the idea of a bright and bold rose in full bloom, Laura left her chambers and descended to the foyer in time for her brother to hurry over with eagerness.
“There ye are!” he exclaimed, offering a kiss to her cheek. “The lairds await, Sister. Come.”
Summoning a smile to her face, Laura took Henry’s offered arm while Arabella remained on his other side. Behind his back, she wrinkled her nose at Laura in an amusing wish of good luck. Laura winked back with a confidence she did not yet feel but hoped to bring to fruition.
Brother and sister stood on the wide stone steps splaying down into the dining hall. Laura and her little family watched as a series of dignified neighboring chiefs and lairds entered the foyer and made their way to the hall. As they passed beneath the stairway, Laura identified Bruce quickly enough. He was a head taller than the other men. He stood at the vanguard of the procession only to drop to the rear once Roy Halkerston led the men into the hall.
For a moment, when Bruce moved to one of the long tables and the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the stained glass panes caught his face, Laura felt a tightening in her stomach. There was a paleness to his complexion and a tinge of mauve heaviness under his eyes, and when these were added to the pallor of his skin, he did not look happy or healthy. She had missed this in the gloom of the early morning. With his strong jaw and chin exposed and with no beard, she could see it clearly; the sharp contrast between his natural dark coloring and pale skin.
Approaching the dais and bowing, Laird Halkerston straightened up and looked around to gain his bearings and then mounted the stone steps to where Laura sat. She was pleased to note his easy movement and jovial countenance, despite the thick gray streaks in his hair.
“I thank ye for this feast, Laird and Lady Henderson, and for meeting me to bring me hence, Laird Anderson.” Halkerston placed his hand on his chest to emphasize his gratitude. Laura noticed the fox emblem of the Halkerston clan glinting silver in the daylight. His eyes, a clear bright blue, fell upon Laura. “And to you, Lady Munro, whom I was most expressly eager to meet.” Unlike Duncan that morning, Halkerston was more than willing to take hold of her fingers, bending to brush a kiss to the knuckles. “I am pleased to see that your brother’s description of your beauty was not exaggerated by filial affection.”
Laura felt heat rising in her cheeks.
“Well, we shall have to hope that such accuracy extends to other aspects of both our characters, shall we not Laird Halkerston?”
The laird laughed at this, his joy taking decades from his face. Despite being older than Laura by more than thirty years, the experience only showed in the deeper lines in his face and the gray streaks of his hair. The rest of him, mind and body, seemed young enough to be both pleasant and familiar. His regular features helped to make him appear all the more amiable.
“We’re most grateful for your visit, Laird Halkerston, and have prepared this banquet feast in your honor,” Henry said loudly to the hall in general. A smattering of cheers and huzzahs rippled over the hall, and mugs were raised in a toast.
“I’ll admit to being a victim of my stomach for the last hour, Laird Henry,” Halkerston said with a laugh. His gaze fell on Laura as he mounted the dais to sit between Laura and her father figure, Laird Anderson.
“Let us begin the feast!” Arabella shouted in a merry voice, clapping her hands to alert the servants to start bringing in the food. She loved performing the role of dutiful wife and gracious hostess.
Henry gave his wife a look of such pride and devotion. Laura had to look away. It felt like an intrusion upon their intimacy to even observe such quiet interactions. Perhaps, one day, Laird Halkerston might look at her like that?
For now, the laird seemed more interested in the food and drink in front of him.
“He’s more pleasant and young-hearted for his age than I was expecting,” Arabella leaned over Henry to whisper at Laura.
But Laura was neither eating nor drinking. She was staring across the hall at someone.
“Are you listening to me? Who are you looking at?”
It had not been intentional, but Laura’s eyes had fallen on Bruce Duncan. In the courtyard when they had met up with her father and Laird Roy, she had seen him dismount from his horse with admirable grace for a man of his size, but she noticed the tense way he held himself after. Was it her imagination or had she seen the man wince?
The feast was a peculiar kind of torment. Never before had Laura felt so torn in her focus. The meal was glorious, as to be expected from the castle cook, and the company was congenial and stimulating for the most part. While Henry and Belle were always a joy to be around, Laird Halkerston made a comfortable fourth to the party seated at the dais overlooking the banquet feast. He spoke with confidence, experience, and just a little self-deprecation. He told anecdotes of his adventures as a soldier before he had been laird and his experiences overseas while handling his father’s trade connections abroad. He seemed to have a story for every occasion.
