Lysander, however, was still expounding on the horrors of ancient castles and secret tunnels and outdated technology, so Max had to interrupt him teasingly.
“Yeah, that sounds like you, Lysander. Willing to pour yourself into amolderingsuit of armor, just to save your family the necessity of buying a new costume. You probably didn’t even clean it out first, did you?” he drawled, lifting one of Lysander’s arms. “Is that mouse shit in your armpit?”
With a mild curse, his brother yanked his arm out of his grasp and made a show of smoothing down the armor. “It isno’mouse shite, thank ye verra much.”
“Ah. Bat shit then? From the moldering?”
“Och, ye’re impossible. I had this breastplate scoured last time I had to wear it to a masquerade, I’ll have ye ken. Aye, I’ve worn the costume already, but no’ to Dumpkins’s Midsummer Masquerade, and I could no’ pass up the chance to do so.” His visor was still up, so Max could see when he winked. “The ladieslovea man in uniform.”
“I’ll bet. Because of the hardness,” Max managed with a straight face.
Another wink. “Aye.”
As the two men chuckled, Max felt his pulse began to speed in anticipation. Aball, and a chance to dance with pretty women—lasses, Lysander called them—and flirt, and yeah, try not to shift too awkwardly when he became the center of attention.
He waslucky, dammit, to be in this situation, and when things became uncomfortable, he would have to remember that.
Last Christmas, he’d been an unwanted, unloved second son, treated like shit and quietly pitied by his neighbors. Now? He had a father who’d welcomed him, brothers who made him laugh, and a good job. A way up in the world.
He was determined to do the Oliphant name, and Mr. Andrew Prince, proud.
Apparently, generations ago, the Oliphant lairds had planted a stand of walnut trees and founded an engraving school. Three generations ago, the laird’s daughter had married a man named Prince, which had resulted in the grove of trees going to Andrew Prince, despite him living in America.
The older man, with a shrewd business sense, had known limited supply would drive up prices of his already sought-after custom firearms, so he’d begun to produce the rifle stocks and revolver handles from the few walnut trees he had cut down and dried each year. And since the Oliphant engravers had developed a reputation across the continent for their art, he’d built a small factory to create and decorate the receivers and plaques and custom grips for his firearms.
The fact that the components had to be shipped across the Atlantic only made the eventual custom firearm that much dearer. A genuine work of art, which he was paid top dollar for. Prince had become a mentor to Max, back in Everland, but until he’d made the offer to travel to Scotland to oversee Oliphant Engraving, Max had never imagined there was more to it than mere kindness.
I guess he’s my cousin now, too.
It was humbling to Max, but exciting as well.
Yeah, Max had arrived in the Highlands as only a simple cowboy, but thanks to weeks under Lysander’s tutelage, he was a bit more now. He owned more suits than he could wear in a week—though they were modest compared to Lysander’s, which suited Max just fine—and now even ownedtwofancy hats.
What was a man to do with two fancy hats, when he had only the one head?
“Ye said those trousers of yers could bend, aye?” Lysander called over his shoulder. “Bend them a bit faster; we’re late. I told Da I’d have ye downstairs before the doors opened. If ye’d just agree to stay here with us…”
“I’m not a house party sort of guy; you know that.” Max hurried to catch up with his brother.How’d the man walk so fast with all that armor on? Well, hehadsaid he could dance with it on, hadn’t he?“I’m perfectly fine staying at the inn until my house is finished.”
One of the first things he’d done, after determining the Highlands were a place he could stay on a permanent basis and be happy, was commission a house to be built for him. It wouldbe modest, which suited him fine, but with the opportunity to add on to it in the future, if necessary.
But the idea of adding on to the house necessitated having someone to share it with, and if Max were honest with himself, he was more than ready for that. He’d lived over half his life in Everland, and within the last few years, had seen all his friends fall in love and get married.
There was no one for him back home, but he’d been promised the Highlands were full of beautiful “lasses,” and he was looking forward to meeting more of them.
But even as he considered who he’d likely dance with that night, his mind went back to the girl he’d bumped into just a few hours ago, before Lysander had dragged him off to the Dumpkins Estate. He’d been staying at the inn for a while now and had noticed her a time or two because of her uncommon loveliness when she smiled. She wasn’t one of the normal servers in the dining room, or he would’ve seen her up-close before that evening.
She’d been wearing a cap, which shadowed her face, but when she’d met his eyes, he’d been enthralled by that pretty blush which had swept up her throat.
And when he’d taken her hand…? Well, it was hard to forget the jolt of awareness which had passed through him.
“There ye are, laddie!” boomed the laird of the Oliphant Clan. Da was big, bearded, and good-natured, and was currently dressed as a…chicken?
“What are ye supposed to be, Da?” Lysander asked, as he jogged down the last few steps. “A pheasant? A grouse? An albino peacock?”
The older man harumphed and fluffed some of the feathers sewn around his expansive middle. “I’m aswan, ye young dobber. Everybody kens swans are expected attire for masquerades!”
“For youngladies, Father,” came the voice of Phineas, Lysander’s younger brother, as he stepped up to their little group. “Swans are held in high regard as costuming choices for young ladies, due to the generally accepted truth of their mating for life.”
