Mary took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “How soon do ye expect a wedding to take place? There will be much to do to ready the keep for the wedding of the laird.”
“I’ll leave that to ye and to my future bride.”
Of course he would. “And what do ye plan for me when ye have wed?” She might as well get that answer while he was in a good mood, enjoying his surprise.
“Married elsewhere,” he smirked, “because I’ll get a son.”
Her father’s words should not have shocked her, but they did. Despite wanting exactly what he’d described, she found they cut. Mary threw up her hands, hurt and confused about her future—and his. Her father was daft. Lady Mhairi Grant was close to his age, surely past her childbearing years.
“Whatever ye say, Da.” She wouldn’t argue with him. There were too many ears to hear if their voices rose. And while disagreements between a laird and his heir were inevitable, as were disagreements between James Rose and any of his daughters, Mary didn’t wish to make this one quite so public within the clan.
He lifted his chin and kicked his mount into motion, making Mary struggle to catch up. When she did, he frowned at her. “The clan comes to you for most things, I ken that. But dinna plan to succeed me with that Sutherland invalid. I see how ye look when ye speak of him. Ye have spent so much time with him, ye have begun to imagine a future with him, though I canna see why.”
Insulted for Cameron, Mary’s ire rose. “He’s no’ an invalid. And I speak of him only as someone under my care.” She swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. Aye, she’dthought of him that way for weeks, until he’d started to feel better and his personality had come to the forefront instead of his fever-induced ravings and pain-filled irritation.
Her father might be mistaken about Cameron, yet he seemed deluded about the Grant woman. If her father wanted to marry, and if Lady Grant could make him happy, so be it. But if he wanted to believe that woman could give him a son, well, nothing Mary could say would dissuade him.
When they arrived at Grant,Mary had to admit the stronghold was impressive. Larger than the Rose keep and surrounded by wooden palisades topped with spikes, it looked formidable enough to hold off Domnhall and Albany combined. The steward greeted them and showed them to their chambers. Before he left, he advised them the evening meal would be served in an hour. Mary appreciated having a few minutes to rest before meeting new people and being judged as her father’s heir. She spent part of the time exploring her chamber. Spacious and filled with fine French furniture, rich fabrics and a gleaming collection of small porcelain dogs, it was more luxurious than any she’d ever seen. She wondered what Lady Grant, once she became Lady Rose, would do to improve the furnishings at Rose. The tug-of-war between her notoriously tightfisted father and Lady Grant would be interesting to watch—if Mary remained there and her father didn’t immediately arrange a match for her.
With Grant? She glanced around her spaciouschamber again. Living here would be comfortable, but with a stranger? The thought made her shudder and she wrapped her arms around herself. Prospects at other Rose allies were no better. Rose was closest with Brodie, but with two sisters already wedded to Brodie men, a marriage there was out of the question. Since he was not favorably disposed toward Cameron, her father seemed intent on wasting the opportunity he represented, even when it brought Sutherland to her father’s aid.
She couldn’t think where else her father coveted an alliance. Until his surprising announcement on the way here, he’d been determined to keep her as his chatelaine. They never discussed her future beyond that duty.
A knock at her door roused her from her worries.
“Milady?” A lass’s voice sounded from the hall.
Mary opened the door to a maidservant who announced, “My Lady Grant sent me to see to ye. I’m to unpack and prepare ye for supper. We must hurry. We haven’t much time.”
“Of course,” Mary said and stepped aside to allow her to enter. “What is yer name?”
“I am called Jean, milady.” She immediately set to work laying out Mary’s dresses. She stowed everything else back in the trunks. “This one seems least crushed,” Jean announced, shaking out Mary’s fine, blue woolen kirtle. “Then I’ll do yer hair.”
Mary agreed and changed from her travel-worn clothes as quickly as she could.
“While ye are with the mistress, I’ll see to yer dresses,” Jean promised and chattered on as she undid Mary’s braid and brushed out her hair.
Mary, unused to such treatment, relaxed and enjoyedthe feel of Jean’s ministrations. She was nearly dozing, dreaming about Cameron’s touch on her face, when Jean finished and began twisting her hair into an arrangement Mary had never attempted on her own.
Someone knocked at the door. “Mary, ’tis time,” her father announced as he pushed it open.
“Already?” Her heart thudded in her chest, surprising her. Suddenly nervous about what this meal might bring, she hesitated.
Her father smiled. “Ye look lovely, lass.”
The unexpected compliment added to her nerves. “Thank ye, Da. I’m nearly ready.” Jean nodded and stepped back, allowing Mary to stand. She smoothed her skirt and turned to her father. “Shall we?”
He held out a hand, escorting her from the room and down the steps with uncharacteristic care. Had he, too, been entranced by their more luxurious surroundings?
Lady Grant herself greeted them at the entrance to the great hall. She hadn’t changed much from the way Mary recalled her at Annie's wedding. Petite, with blonde hair going gray, thin features and pale blue eyes, she nonetheless had an air of command about her, assumed, perhaps, when her husband passed away and left her in charge of the clan. Her smile failed to reach her eyes as she chided Mary’s father. “I did no’ ken ye were bringing one of yer daughters. I thought ye had gotten them all safely wedded away by now.”
“Nay, no’ Mary. She is my eldest and serves as my chatelaine,” he replied, then colored. “At least until I marry again. My future wife will take over those duties, of course.”
Mary cringed at his gaffe. Of course Lady Grantwould become chatelaine at Rose. And she hated to admit it, but from the look of the Grant keep, they’d be lucky to have her—if Rose could afford her refined tastes.
“Of course. Yer eldest. Yer heir then, too?” Lady Grant gave Mary a speculative glance.
“For now,” was the extent of her father’s reply. Mary stiffened, but let it pass. She dared not make a scene, though she was still annoyed with her father for refusing to tell her the purpose of the trip until after they were on their way. And for not admitting he intended to offer for Lady Grant.
