“I’ve spoken with the owner of the horses,” Cillian reported, positioning himself on Lady Agnes’s other side. “He agreed that the boy handlin’ the beast shouldnae have been in charge of such a creature though he was adamant that the horse had been thoroughly desensitized.”
“A poor handler could certainly cause an animal to behave erratically,” Liam said, wondering if he should have been harsher on the boy. In spite of what his grandmother said, he was certain that she hadn’t come away from the fall without injury. “Regardless, it seems the issue has been taken care of now that the crowd’s settlin’.”
A voice, the same one that had come from the gorgeous young woman with freckles across her rosy cheeks, rose above the chatter. He couldn’t make out what she’d said exactly, but he picked up on the laughter from the women that followed. Next to him, Cillian made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
“She’s drawin’ quite a bit of attention,” Cillian said casually though years of working with him told Liam his query was anything but.
“Too much attention,” Liam replied, watching as her bright green eyes flashed in the sunlight. His gaze drifted lower to her high, firm breasts and hips that promised to bear strong heirs. “She speaks with the others too freely.”
She makes herself a target.
“Nay sane man would leave a woman like that to another,” Cillian said before dropping his eyes to Lady Agnes. “I do hope ye’ll excuse me for bein’ crass, Me Lady.”
“If ye’re tellin’ him that she’s the one he should choose, I agree with ye,” she replied, flashing him a smile. “And I am willin’ to excuse ye for bein’ crass, but only because ye’re on me side.”
“I will behave for the rest of the trip,” Cillian promised, bowing his head a bit dramatically. “Ye have me word.”
Ignoring the exchange happening beside him, Liam continued to observe the woman. She was striking, and as Cillian said, the kind of woman a sane man wouldn’t leave to another, but that was precisely why she was trouble.
For me own sake and Agnes’s safety, this betrothal must go as quietly as possible. Me wife needs to be undetectable and quiet. And she is anythin’ but quiet.
* * *
Katherine’s back grew impossibly straight as the chatter faded away. A man stepped forward, cleared his throat, and welcomed the patrons with warm words that didn’t reach her mind. When she was socializing with the other women, it had been easy to fool herself into thinking this would be a positive experience.
Now, standing on display as though she were a slab of meat at the market, every part of her recoiled at the spectacle.
“Before the biddin’ will officially begin,” the man, who had called himself Laird Bickerson at some point during his introduction, was saying when she finally forced herself to focus on his words. “We will conduct an appraisal of the women available. When ye’ve asked yer questions, we can proceed.”
In a way that ignited an inexplicable bubbling of dread in Katherine’s stomach, the men, theprospective buyers, stepped forward. They formed a loose counsel, speaking quietly amongst themselves as their gazes devoured each tribute. Refusing to show any outward signs of discomfort, she watched them back.
Finally, a man stepped forward, looking at one of the quieter women in the group. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Have ye ever assisted anyone with plannin’ a ceilidh?”
“I havenae,” the girl replied, struggling to look at him as her fingers worried at the fabric of her fine, pink gown, “but I’m quite resourceful.”
The man examined the girl, ignoring the person she was for the skills she could offer. Maybe Katherine spent too much time daydreaming, but it felt wrong for marriage to be so… transactional. Still, she supposed it could be worse. The men might be crude, but at least she and the others were being seen as true members of the clan.
“What about orderin’ for the pantries?”
“I’m good with numbers,” the other girl offered weakly, clearly embarrassed at having so much attention directed toward her. “I used to spend hours in me father’s study readin’ his ledgers.”
That answer seemed to satisfy not only the man asking the questions but also a few others who had been listening intently. As he stepped back, the girl took a visible breath, her hands trembling as she still fiddled with her dress. Katherine looked down at her own hands, feeling a small jolt of relief when she saw they weren’t trembling.
“Miss,” an older man said to Katherine, stepping closer but stopping more than an arm’s reach away. Several other men were nearby, clearly interested in the outcome of this interrogation. “Ye seem as though ye’d be an excellent hostess. What are yer favorite topics to discuss when ye’re hostin’ company?”
“I suppose most would give a safe answer, such as the weather or what kind of flowers they’re plannin’ on askin’ the gardener to find,” Katherine said to fill the air, her voice a bit too loud.Taking a deep breath and adjusting her tone, she said, “But I believe that discussin’ stories is much more interestin’.”
“Stories?”
“Aye,” she said, ignoring the way his blank look made her feel completely bare before the other strangers. “Everyone has a favorite story, or perhaps someone has read somethin’ with a particularly movin’ message. I believe it’s a much better method of gettin’ to ken someone.”
“Durin’ dinner, though?” the man asked, taking a step back. His brow was raised, and Katherine felt as if she’d failed some exam that she hadn’t been aware she was taking. “Discussions of stories can quickly change from polite to heated. I would be more apt to discuss stories in the privacy of me solar.”
“Then I suppose the two of us have different ideas of what successfully hostin’ guests looks like,” she replied.
The man was unimpressed with her reply but didn’t push any further. A few of the men chuckled quietly while one turned away. As the group shifted, another stepped forward.
“It seems ye’re comfortable with speakin’ freely. Am I correct in thinkin’ ye would be capable of managin’ the household while yer husband attends to matters pertainin’ to his land?”
