CHAPTER TWO
“He’s Dair’s captain, John Erly,” Fia said when Gillian quietly asked the stranger’s name as they rode up to the castle.
Gillian recalled Meggie mentioning him, calling himEnglish John. What was it she’d said about him? That he was a Sassenach, but a handsome one. Meggie had doubted he had the cloven hooves or devil’s horns that most Scots thought Englishmen possessed. In her sister’s opinion, English John was well-mannered, chivalrous, and brave.
And Gillian’s opinion—which she kept to herself—was that John Erly was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. When she saw him later that evening in the hall at supper, he seemed a cocksure, charming rogue, and he filled the room just by walking into it and stole all the air. She was not introduced to him. She was seated between her father and her sister, and she watched him from a distance. Men greeted him, and the women cast long looks of such smoldering, wicked suggestion in his direction, they made Gillian blush. He grinned at them and winked, and Gillian’s heart did a slow roll in her breast, even though those looks weren’t directed at her.
He did not so much as glance in her direction. Gillian had never felt quite this invisible. It was as if her chair stood empty, or she herself was of utterly no interest to him, even as a visitor and Fia’s sister.
There was a place set for him at the table next to Dair, but he ate with the clansmen instead. Papa sat glaring at the Englishman as if he expected John Erly to leap to his feet and kill everyone in the room. The tension was so thick the weight of it was almost crushing—at least to Gillian. Fia scarcely seemed to notice. Her sister chattered happily about how good it was to be home, and the latest gossip she’d heard about local folk that Gillian didn’t know. Gillian stopped listening and watched John Erly from under her lashes. She learned about people by watching and listening, since few folk made the effort to draw her into conversation. She noted that John had a ready grin and a quick wit when the men seated around him laughed often. The light gleamed on the gold of his hair as if he was burnished. He’d shaved for the meal and changed his clothes. He dressed as the clansmen did, in a linen shirt and a leather vest, but he wore boots and breeches instead of a kilt, which marked him as different.Didhe have cloven hooves and a tail?
“Are you listening, Gilly?” Fia said, shaking her from her reverie. Caught staring, Gillian felt hot blood fill her cheeks. She smiled at her sister and took a sip of her wine. It was cold, clear, and sweet.
“I was telling you about one of the parties we attended in London—one of many, of course—but this was a masked ball.” Fia cast a sideways look at their father, but he was busy scowling at English John. “Such parties are considered slightly wicked, even in England. All the lords and ladies in attendance were in disguise, wearing masks and costumes, and there was no way to know who you might be speaking to, or who was watching you.” Fia grinned like a pirate. “It was great fun indeed. I thought we might have one at Carraig Brigh while you and Papa are here, to celebrate our new status. I intend to invite everyone we know—the captains of Dair’s fleet, his city friends, all the lairds and chiefs of our allies.”
Gillian scanned her sister’s face. Was this another ploy to try to find her a husband? And yet, how could anyone choose a husband from a roomful of masked men?
“Do you think Papa would approve?” Fia asked.
“Approve of what?” Donal MacLeod asked.
“A masked ball, Papa,” Fia said. “Everyone comes in disguise, unknown to their fellow guests until the unmasking at midnight.”
Donal MacLeod frowned. “How will ye know who you’re speaking to if everyone is wearing a disguise?”
Fia grinned. “That’s the point. Folk say things when they’re masked they wouldn’t otherwise and show sides of themselves they usually keep hidden.”
Gillian wondered just what kind of things people might be willing to reveal to strangers if they felt themselves anonymous. She glanced at English John again. To her surprise, he was staring at her.
Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes locked. He wasn’t smiling now. His face was in shadow, and she wondered what he was thinking.
“Sounds dangerous to me. Ye might think ye’re talking to a friend when it’s your worst enemy listening to all your secrets,” her father said.
“But they won’t know you, either, Papa,” Fia said.
“Then why would we talk at all if we’re strangers?”
“But when you unmask, you might find you’re friends,” Fia tried.
“Or not,” Donal grumbled.
Gillian was barely listening. She couldn’t look away from John. She felt heat filling her face, and every nerve grew taut as the Englishman held her gaze. Usually, when someone met her eyes, Gillian looked away, but this time, she couldn’t. She wished she were close enough to know what color the eyes were that stared into hers. It was impossible to tell across the hall by candlelight.
Her father and Fia were leaning across her, and Fia was still trying to explain the point of a masked ball to their father.
“Sometimes it’s not about talking. Sometimes it’s a look or a touch, and not knowing who might be behind the mask,” Fia said.
Gillian watched John Erly raise his cup to his lips and drink, his eyes still holding hers, and she swallowed with him, her mouth watering.
“D’ye mean to tell me ye wouldn’t know Dair no matter how canny the disguise he wore, or he wouldn’t know ye?” her father asked Fia.
“Well, of course I would, but—”
“Then if ye know the ones ye know, and have no care about the ones ye don’t, it makes no sense to go about in disguise,” Donal said stubbornly.
“Oh, Papa,” Fia said. “We shall have to find very clever costumes to fool you.”
The sound of their voices drifted away, and Gillian was only aware of the sound of her own breath, the beating of her heart—and John Erly.
