Henry knew that the laird's health was to blame for the need for privacy, but he couldn't help but also wonder if Laird Henderson feared Belle's ethereal presence as much as he did; that she might, one day, suddenly evaporate into the wild Highland winds from whence she came.
Now, however, the gates were being unbolted. The guards stationed on either side were welcoming a small entourage of a half dozen horses and a formal carriage inside.
Henry paused to one side of the main doors, his hands buried deep inside his tunic against the cold, and his eyes narrowed at the approaching envoy.
A sense of unease curled in his gut when he recognized a noble herald of arms painted on the side of the carriage.
Drawn to a halt, the riders took their lead from the man up front. He was a big gentleman, both tall and wide. His attire was formed from layers of velvet, including an unattractive yellow beneath his furlined cloak. His hands were masked in leather gloves and his feet equally covered. The hat on his head was silky and sported three large peacock feathers.
"Ah, well met, young man," the gentleman called from the back of his horse. "I warn you now of the bay on the left. He can be a little spirited, but otherwise they should be no issue. Though I think it wise you fetch some of your peers to take their heads, else you'll be making several trips. Were you not expecting our coming?"
Used to being addressed with more respect, Henry was thrown off pace by the way the laird entirely dismissed him with his eyes. Not once did he grace Henry with a glance or look of equality and, despite his words being friendly, he spoke with a natural air of authority that betrayed his inner view: that there were people that mattered and people who didn't. And he had already decided that Henry belonged to the second class.
"I am not a groom, my laird," Henry said to the man's shoulders as he was dismissed. "I can summon the stablehands to tend to your horses, but I shall not be doing so myself. Much as I'm sure they are temperate creatures."
For a counselor of etiquette and interprovincial politics, Henry instantly knew that he could have handled the exchange with more grace. While it was insulting to be instantly assumed inferior, it had not been an entirely poor assumption on the lord's part.
Having grown up in the world of the rich and affluent, Henry was more than familiar with this divisive view of the world. It had never bothered him before.
Now... Now, it felt different.
The quiet that followed Henry's little declaration was eerie. Feeling the burn of a half dozen stares, Henry straightened his shoulders and maintained his posture. He was slighter than most of the men riding with their master, but he was also taller than them. He would use that if necessary. Self-pride was something worth having.
The laird was turning back to look at Henry with a renewed eye, narrowed with skeptical assessment. It was not, however, he who broke the silence.
A young and handsome gentleman, new to his years of adulthood, slid from the back of his steed and came upon Henry with a smile. His hands were spread in peace, and his eyes were beseeching of forgiveness.
"Our apologies, sir. It would appear that the journey has shortened my uncle's patience and seen him make an error in judgment. Might I ask who we have the pleasure of meeting first, here at the Henderson estate?"
It was a moment before Henry allowed his stare to transfer to the younger of the men. The boy was grinning in a way that would melt butter, and his blue eyes sparkled beneath a mop of blonde hair. Henry knew little enough of the female eye to recognize a male that would attract it. The nephew was, by all definitions, a strapping young lad.
"I understand completely," Henry assured the man, reaching out to take the offered hand. "I am Counselor Henry Munro, aide to Laird Anderson of the Lowlands and entrenched here with the Henderson household upon a favor owed."
"Ah!" the man cried with understanding. With one hand still held in Henry's, the other reached up to slap upon his arm. The leather of his glove gave a muted slap. "You must be the tutor employed by Laird Henderson for his daughter, no? I do not envy you the task. I hear the young woman was raised beyond the boundaries of court. I cannot imagine the wildness of her."
Henry was shocked!
Arabelle had not been formally acknowledged by her father at a public function. His claim of her as his heir had not been issued across the lands. And yet, this man knew the inner workings of the household. How could this be?!
A single nod was all the confirmation he seemed able to make as he assessed the two men before him. Each was clearly of noble heritage, and those that surrounded them were hired guards. The sliver of a face in the carriage suggested that the uncle may have brought his wife in tow.
"Is our greeting to be so entirely lacking?" the leader of the group said again. His attitude was one of imperious offense. "A single man, a guest here by happenstance our only—"
"I apologize on behalf of my current host that you are being left to the cold, my laird," Henry quickly jumped in. "I can only assume that the laird's health has kept his wife occupied, else I can assure you that she would be here to welcome you herself. She is most studious in her manners." That was at least one compliment that Henry could truthfully offer. She was polite enough to those she considered worthy. "Perhaps I can ferry a message inside and announce your arrival? Who might I say has arrived?"
The uncle seemed less than impressed and communicated his displeasure by refusing to answer.
The nephew was more accommodating and turned upon Henry with a smile.
"My uncle Murdock Hunter and myself are here at the behest of Laird Henderson's aide. My name is Lord Lachlan, and I am here to claim the hand of Lady Arabelle in matrimony."
Instantly, every corner of savored warmth in Henry’s body dove for his toes and left him a block of ice upon the Henderson threshold.
"Hurry, mistress!"
Coira practically flew down the hallway. Belle had no idea how the woman managed it so effortlessly.Herskirts kept tangling about her legs, and she could not keep her steps both fast and quiet. Breathless, she turned the far corner and almost collided with her maid and new friend.
"Wait! Wait, my lady," the woman now whispered. "We must set your appearance to rights."
