Page 23 of Claimed Highland Brides

JEALOUSY AND ENVY

Fiona jerked awake, an idea fully formed in her mind. She would go to her uncle and beg him to choose someone else for her to marry. The man she had met yesterday was not just repulsive to behold, he also had the coldest eyes she had ever seen. His touch was almost reptilian and she struggled not to shudder for the duration that he had her hands between his own.

He also had exhibited no shame as he blatantly looked down the decolletage of her gown. Although she had worn a modest brown gown with a square neckline, he still made her feel as if she was stripped naked before him. The thought of him touching her everywhere had her wanting to burst into frantic tears.

Uncle Donnchadh will have to listen to me. I cannot entertain any other outcome or I am doomed before I ask. I am not obligated to marry that man. I was supposed to do so because my Uncle said he was a good choice.

She turned to her maid. “Julieta? Please hand me my emerald-green gown wi’ the gold accents.”

The maid looked surprised. “I thought ye would save that one frae yer engagement dinner. Ye ken yer uncle will likely haud one soon.”

“I dinnae care. I wish tae wear it the noo.”

Julieta blinked at her a few times. “Verra weel, Miss Douglass. As ye wish.” She curtsied with exaggerated care before going to the closet where she had hanged their clothes as she waited for Fiona to return from her meeting, and handed the gown over.

“Would ye like me tae steam it frae ye?”

“Aye.” Fiona sat at the armoire, brushing out her long hair.

Julieta watched her for a while, gown in her hand. “If’n ye wait ten minutes I can brush yer hair for ye.”

“Aye I ken tha’ dear Julieta. But I need something tae do while I wait frae ye tae finish.” She looked pointedly at the gown. “And this will do weel enough.”

Julieta jumped, coloring briefly as she stepped out of the room, dress in hand. She knew vaguely where the kitchens were from their tour the day before. She felt sure she could find a steamer there.

When she returned with the newly steamed gown, she found that Fiona was powdering her face; and had even added a little beauty mark with a piece of charcoal just above her jaw. She turned, smiling at Julieta as she tilted her head for inspection. “What d’ye think?” she asked, her verdant eyes gleaming with something Julieta could not identify.

“I think ye’re gilding the lily.” She shrugged at Fiona as she laid the gown on the bed. “Now come here and let me help ye wi’ this gown.”

She felt her hands shake with nerves as she walked down to breakfast but refused to let that deter her. Chin up, she opened the door and walked into the room. There was a loud silence as the two men who were sitting at the dining table froze. Her heart sank. She had hoped to have her uncle to herself. Fixing a smile on her face, she stepped forward and sat herself down on a chair as a servant pulled it back from the table. “Guid morning t’ye both,” she said breezily.

“My dear Miss Douglass...ye look quite...fetching this morning,” Mr. Hunter said.

Fiona nodded. “How kind o’ ye t’say.”

“Och, I should say quite a bit more if ye let me.” He smiled smarmily and nausea roiled in her belly. She turned her eyes to her uncle. “Have ye nae greetings frae me, Uncle?”

His smile was strained even as he bowed at her. “Guid morning my dear. I trust ye slept well?”

“Ah, the tiredness from the road had me sleeping like a bairn.”

“That is guid. Please help yersel’ tae some breakfast.”

“Thank ‘e Uncle.” She pulled the oatmeal porridge towards her and poured some in her bowl, eating slowly as she plotted on how to get her uncle alone.

Surely the other laird has some business elsewhere to attend to? Or I can ask for a word?

“What are ye thinking about my dear? Ye shouldnae have such serious thoughts when we are tae be wed. I will take sufficient care o’ ye that ye never have tae think again.”

Fiona swallowed hard at the laird’s words, wondering how to tell him that she quite liked to think and had no plans to stop doing it. It was even more expedient that she speak to her uncle. Once she’d scraped the bottom of her bowl she got to her feet and smiled at her kin. “Uncle Donnchadh, may I have a word wi’ ye in yer office?”

He looked up, surprised, but got to his feet at once. “O’ course, Fiona. Come wi’ me.” He extended his elbow for her to slip into and they walked out of the dining hall, arm in arm. Fiona had worn the green gown because she knew how much it brought out the color of her eyes. She had heard Laird McCormick wax lyrical about the color of her mother’s eyes, and how much Fiona’s resembled them. She was planning to use that connection against him this morning and hoped that he could not resist.

He spoke only pleasantries as they walked, and she smiled politely in response. As soon as he closed the door to his study, she whirled on him. “Uncle Donnchadh?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I want to make a request o’ ye.”