“Why? Are we expecting company?”
Angus merely waved a hand.
***
Knowing it was important to carefully choose her battles with her future husband, Gwendolen decided to obey him in the small matter of her choice of gown for the evening. He had told her to wear something colorful, so she selected a crimson gown of silk and velvet, with gold trimmings across the brocade stomacher, and tiny sprays of white flowers along the hem of the skirt.
She entered the Great Hall and spent some time conversing with members of both clans, while going over in her mind what she had accomplished that day. She wondered how long it would take for her message to reach Fort William, and if the English army would even come. It seemed to be her only hope, for she had no idea if Murdoch even knew of their father’s death, much less the MacDonald invasion. They’d had no word from him in over three months, and he could be dead for all she knew.
Her mother approached and fingered an errant lock of hair that fell across Gwendolen’s forehead. “You look lovely this evening, darling, but do try to keep up a flawless appearance. Sloppiness will not do, now that you are the laird’s wife.”
“I am not yet his wife,” Gwendolen reminded her.
“No, but you will be soon enough. You may as well start playing the part now. Why wait?”
Gwendolen frowned. “This is not a theater, Mother. If I am to be his wife, I will take my position seriously, and I will use it to serve my clan.”
Onora glanced the other way. “Did you find out what his plans are for Kinloch? Does he intend to use it as a base for another Jacobite uprising?”
Gwendolen lowered her voice. “No. He says he has no interest in rebellion. He wants to live here in peace.”
“And you believe him?”
“I’m not sure.”
Onora shook her head. “Use your brains, Gwendolen. He is a warrior at heart. He won’t know what to do with himself once the smell of battle wears off his shirt. He’s a hot-blooded Highlander. He’ll be looking for another fight.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps he’s already experienced enough violence to last a lifetime.”
Her mother shot her a frustrated look. “He’s a man, Gwendolen. They thrive on violence. Even if they are quiet for a while, they will eventually feel the need to roar.” She smiled at a MacDonald clansman who walked by. “Besides that, he could simply be lying to you. If he were planning something, he certainly wouldn’t trustyouwith it. At least not yet. Which is why you must try harder to capture his heart.”
“He is not capable of that sort of thing.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Hislust,then. Whatever you wish to call it. I fear you are a very slow learner, Gwendolen. You have no concept of the power you could have over him, and others as well.”
She sighed irritably. “I don’t want power over my husband. All I ever wanted was love and respect. I wanted to be my husband’s equal, his supporter, and perhaps occasionally his adviser.”
Her mother cupped her daughter’s chin in her hand. “Darling, you must get your head out of the clouds. We are women, and love will get us nothing. We’re not the equals of men, therefore we must protect ourselves by being quietly cunning.”
Gwendolen felt a great wave of melancholy move through her. “Sometimes I believe you speak the truth, Mother, but other times, I want something more. I want to have influence, but through honest means. I want to earn my husband’s respect, so that he can rely on me. I do have an intelligent mind. I can offer insight.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, then her mother’s eyes softened with a show of sympathy. Gwendolen was surprised to feel the touch of her hand at her back. “Perhaps you are not such a slow learner after all. Perhaps you are faster and more ambitious than all of us. I am just not sure that you are realistic.”
Her future husband entered the hall just then, and Gwendolen wondered if she was indeed a dreamer. Of all the men in the world, this one was least likely to bend and allow anyone to wield power over him. He’d already told her in no uncertain terms that romantic love made a man weak, and that he wished to avoid it at all costs.
He seemed just as determined to avoid feminine manipulations of a sexual nature. When it came to the bedroom,shewas the one who was seduced into a puddle of dazed surrender—and that did not bode well for her future influence as Mistress of Kinloch.
***
It was a fine night for a feast, Angus thought as he entered the Great Hall and was arrested on the spot by the sight of his future bride on the other side of the room, dressed in a bloodred velvet gown that accentuated the curve of her hips and heightened her full, luscious bosom. The gold trimming transformed her into a priceless trophy, and her purity somehow mixed sensuously with the red-hot color of the gown against her ivory skin and glossy black hair. It was hot sex and sweet innocence combined, all wrapped up in one tempting, pretty package, and it aroused a rough and unruly restlessness in his core.
Someone knocked into him and apologized, then engaged him in conversation. Yes, it was a fine night for a crowd. He needed the diversion, for he’d had trouble during the day concentrating on more important matters, like the management of Kinloch, now that he was chief.
He’d spent many hours going over the record books in the treasury and had found everything in order—perhaps even better managed than it had been when his father was laird. Revenues were up in all areas, and a number of useless, miscellaneous expenses had either been decreased or removed from the accounts entirely. As a result, he decided to allow Gordon MacEwen to keep his position as castle steward, with one of his own men to take on the role of assistant, and keep a watchful eye.
A chorus of laughter from the interior of the room drew his attention. He found Lachlan in the center of it and led him away to discuss the matter with him, but was again preoccupied by the attendance of his future wife, who was moving about the room with effortless charm and a smile more dazzling than the sun.
He realized at that moment that this political marriage was going to be a problem, for he was completely out of his element. He was an experienced warrior who faced lethal deathblows on the battlefield and struck back with ferocity. When he fought, he fought fearlessly, but he was not on a battlefield now. This was foreign territory, and he had no idea how to “conquer” a proper wife. She was not a woman of loose morals, like his usual sexual partners, who were more than happy to lift their skirts for the famous Scottish Lion. He certainly couldn’t challenge her to a swordfight. Nor could he bed her against her will. Life experience prevented that sort of thing.
