“Och,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “I know the running of this place and the temper of the Scots. We’re born with a contrary side and what makes sense among you milksop Sassenach will no’ work here.”
He crossed his arms. “Not milksop. We’re civilized.”
“Not civilized. You’re mutton-headed.”
He snorted. “I pray I am there at your come-out ball, Miss MacAdaidh. I should enjoy watching as you realize the English are completely uninterested in your coarse manners.”
“And I will enjoy dazzling your chicken-hearted compatriots. Every man loves a woman with spirit.”
He looked at her a moment, then shook his head. “Not if they’re a rude, impertinent busybody.” He turned to Clara. “If we’ve made the decisions here, we should address the matter of the laundry now.”
Clara nodded as she turned to Rhona. “Can you send Deirdre to us, please? This is her area of expertise.”
“Yes, my lady,” Rhona said as she dashed away.
Then Clara turned back to Mrs. Boyce. “Are you able to manage dinner here now? Or do you require help?”
“I am well able to do my duty,” the woman said stiffly. “The MacCleal sent me ahead to do just that.” Her brows rose in challenge. “He’ll be here by tomorrow’s evening meal.”
The laird and his rowdy companions would be here before Liam returned. That made her gut tighten with fear. She was not prepared to face them alone. but she knew better than to let the panic seep into her features. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said.
She turned to go but caught sight of the fierce defiance that blistered across Mairi’s features. What had happened, she wondered, to carve this woman into the firebrand she was now? She didn’t know, and truthfully, she feared that Julian was right. The English she knew would not appreciate a woman who spoke her mind so forcefully.
“Mairi,” she said gently. “There is society in Edinburgh. Perhaps a London season is not the right choice—”
“I will be a sensation in England!” she declared with a determination that startled Clara. Mrs. Boyce, on the other hand, seemed to be well-versed with Mairi’s temper. She shook her head as she spoke.
“You’ve too tart a tongue for a Scotsman, Miss Mairi. It’ll cost you more in England, and well you know it.”
Instead of a response, Mairi gathered her pride about her like a royal crown. Clara had never seen anything like it. If the woman were clad in rags, she still projected the bearing of a warrior queen. She didn’t bother to defend her case. She simply pinned them both a withering glare before walking away.
Clara had never been one to focus on the social whirl. Truthfully, she hadn’t been strong enough to hold her head high despite all the sniping and whispering around her. But Mairi was a different sort of creature. If anyone could thumb her nose at society and win, it would be her. But to what end? And what man would value her strengths over her rougher aspects?
She didn’t know, and she had her own troubles to handle anyway. She had sent the letter of introduction to Lilah. It would be up to her sister-in-law to navigate Miss MacAdaidh’s marital prospects. In the meantime, she had a rowdy laird to welcome, and without her husband to help. That was challenge enough.
