The carriagefinally drew to a halt, stopping amongst a scattering of other vehicles in the McFadden Keep courtyard. Catriona hesitated for a moment as Isla bounded to the door, throwing it open, to be met with a guard offering her a hand to help her out.
“Thank ye,” Isla told him, biting back a little giggle as she rested her hand in his and stepped onto the dusty ground below.
It had been a warm summer, and the Keep showed it; flowers decorated the courtyard, bright reds and yellows studding the grey, and the last vestiges of the day’s sunshine filtered down past the large towers above them to cast shadows on the ground below.
“Ah, ye must be the Ferguson girls!”
Isla looked up just in time to see a man who must have been Laird McFadden making his way towards them, an open door behind him giving her a quick glimpse into the feast beyond. She could already hear the music drifting from within, matched with voices and laughter overlapping with each other. Her heart flipped with excitement, but she knew she had to focus on ensuring that her sister found her place here first.
“That we are, sir,” she replied, curtsying as Catriona and her father made their way out of the carriage. “May I offer our thanks for yer invitation to this feast? I know that my sister has been excited all week for it to finally begin.”
“Is that so?” Laird McFadden remarked, glancing to Catriona, his grayish eyes glinting as he grinned.
He had a warmth to him, and, though he was an older man now, it was clear that he had once been a strapping Laird in his day. A swatch of McFadden tartan lay over his shoulder, matching the kilt that swung at his legs, and his sporran bounced against his torso as he went to greet their father.
“A pleasure to have ye here,” he remarked. "I ken that there are a few men in there rather excited to meet yer daughters, Laird Ferguson.”
“And quite rightly so!” Isla replied, looking back at Catriona and reaching for her arm to pull her forward.
She wanted Catriona to be the first person into the feast, the first person that anyone here would lay eyes on. If she was to find a husband, then she was going to have to start soon. In one night, she’d have to find someone who would suit her for the rest of her days, and that was not the kind of thing she could do hanging back and hiding herself away.
“Is that right?” Laird McFadden chuckled as he gestured for the three of them to follow him.
“Aye, of course, my Laird,” Isla continued. “My sister will make a fine bride for any Laird. She’s very intelligent. And kind. And she kens how to manage a household.”
“I’ll be sure to mention that to anyone who asks about her.”
“I’ll expect ye to be deluged with offers,” Isla went on, and she felt Catriona dig her elbow into her side, perhaps silently pleading with her not to lay it on quite so thickly.
But the Laird just laughed again, clearly amused by Isla’s certainty.
“And tell me,” he remarked as they stepped into the Great Hall. "Do you have any thoughts about who ye might be keen fer her to meet with?”
Isla cast her gaze around the room thoughtfully. If one thing was clear, it was that news of his legendary matchmaking feasts had stretched halfway across the country, at least. There were nearly a hundred people present already, men and women, most of them exchanging pointed glances as though trying to make sense of who they would dance with next.
A band of musicians was clustered in the far corner, beneath one of the arrow slit windows, a fiddler picking out a merry tune on his instrument as a group kept the pace with their feet on the flagstone floor. Cups of ale clinked together as people made toasts and promises to one another, and, for a moment, Isla was not sure where she should start.
Or, at least, she was not sure where to start for her sister. Because a man caught her eye at once. A man who was staring at her as if there was nobody else in the room at all. Heat rose to her cheeks as she locked eyes with him, and her heart stuttered double-time in her chest.
“Who’s that?” she murmured, pointing in his direction.
The man, though he was sitting, was a head and shoulders above everyone else around him, his dark hair falling in waves to his ears, outlining the stark blue of his eyes. He made no effort to pretend that he had not been looking in her direction, and she found herself rather impressed by it. For all the games and social niceties that were to take place under this roof tonight, he seemed to have no interest in playing any of them. He stared her down like he wanted the world to know of his curiosity about her.
“That would be Camron McLeod,” Laird McFadden replied at once, as he noticed the way that they were gazing at one another.
It took Isla a moment to make sense of what he had said to her. It felt like the whole world had narrowed to the feel of his dark gaze on her, as if the room had emptied to nothingness now that they had laid eyes on each other.
“The new Laird of the McLeod Clan,” he went on. "And a man in urgent need of a bride, by all accounts. Though I suppose perhaps fate is a better matchmaker than I could ever hope to be…”
“Perhaps,” Isla murmured, as she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear and glanced at Catriona.
She gave her sister’s hand a quick squeeze and, before she could protest, took off into the crowd to see what this McLeod fellow was all about. She imagined that her father would be too distracted in finding a husband for Catriona to worry much about what she got up to that evening—and she would use every inch of his distraction to enjoy this evening as best she could.
The crowd seemed to make way for her as she passed across the room, couples shifting closer to each other as the romantic tone of the evening got the better of them. She wished all of them the best, she truly did, but she knew that the best she could hope for out of a night like this was a memory she could savor forever.
And, judging by the way that man was looking at her, he seemed to be just the place to find it.
But, before she could reach him, another man stepped out in front of her—a little younger than the one she had laid her eyes on—but she was not too picky when it came to such matters.
