Page 1 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

CHAPTER 1

Ceana caught the ribbon of her mask before a turning dancer pulled it loose.

Good God, she was really cutting it close.

She stepped away from the reel, tightened the knot beneath her hair, and checked that the painted leather still covered the upper half of her face.

If it slipped, anyone close enough would see that the woman beneath it had smooth cheeks. Daphne’s freckles were the easiest way to tell the Tulloch twins apart, and the borrowed mask had hidden that difference for most of the afternoon.

The people gathered for the final day of the Leanan Festival believed they were looking at Daphne Tulloch, the elder twin and intended bride of Angus MacWatt. Daphne’s dark green gown, Morrag cloak, and silver ribbons completed the deception from a distance. Ceana had spent the day ensuring that no one came close enough to question what they saw.

“Lady Daphne,” a man called from beside one of the ale tables.

Ceana continued for two steps before remembering that the name was hers now. She turned and found an older clansman raising his cup toward her. His mask had slipped sideways, exposing one flushed cheek.

“A fine evenin’ for ye,” he said. “Enjoy it while ye can. By tomorrow, ye may be promised to Gilmore.”

“A warnin’ delivered with such cheer deserves another cup,” Ceana replied, lowering her voice. She inclined her head and moved away before he could study her face.

She passed between two garlanded posts and forced herself to keep an easy pace. If Daphne was safe when she found her, she intended to embrace her first and strangle her immediately afterward. Daphne had disappeared before dawn without leaving her a destination, a companion’s name, or any promise beyond a hurried request for time.

Ceana had given her that time by putting on her clothes.

A group of musicians played near the central fire while masked couples moved through a reel on the flattened grass. Beyond them, armed retainers stood at the edge of the grounds and watched men from rival clans share the same ale tables.

Every participating laird had pledged safe conduct for the festival week. Quarrels that might have drawn steel elsewhere were expected to remain words beneath the eyes of witnesses here.

A cheer rose near another garlanded post, and Ceana turned long enough to see a masked couple exchange braided ribbons while their families gathered around them. A herald called their names, and members of both clans answered with applause. Such matches carried no force without the couple’s agreement, yet a public promise made during the festival placed both families under heavy expectation.

Daphne was supposed to make that promise before the celebrations ended.

Their father would soon demand that his elder daughter appear beside Angus. Ceana had planned as far as delaying that moment. Every path beyond it ended with questions she could not answer.

The drunk clansman had followed her. “The Gilmore alliance will serve yer faither well,” he said, reaching for the ribbons at her wrist. “A valuable bride brings valuable friends.”

Ceana moved her hand before his fingers reached her. “Then I must pray they value me enough to let me keep me ribbons.”

He laughed as though she had invited further conversation. “A face such as yers could have brought twice the offer.”

The compliment belonged to Daphne’s name and Daphne’s gown. Contracts had always found her sister, and Ceana had learned long ago that affection and marriage were separate matters. Anyway, the old whispers surrounding her had made certain no laird looked twice in her direction.

The familiar tightness returned beneath her ribs, though she kept her smile in place.

“Twice the offer would require twice the husband,” she remarked. “One seems trouble enough.”

The man laughed again and lifted his cup.

Ceana used the moment to slip into the moving crowd. She had nearly reached the musicians when a woman wearing Morrag colors stepped directly into her path.

“Daphne, there ye are.” Mistress Isla Lennox lifted her mask and smiled. She had visited Morrag Castle often enough to know both sisters. “Yer maither has been lookin’ everywhere for Ceana. Have ye seen her? I expect she has hidden somewhere quiet again.”

Ceana’s fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak. Hearing herself discussed as an absent inconvenience should not have hurt. She had spent years being the quieter twin, the daughter guests remembered after Daphne left a room.

“I daenae ken where she is,” she answered. She kept her voice low and leaned closer to the musicians as if their music forced it. “Perhaps she grew tired of watchin’ everyone else arrange her life.”

Isla frowned. “Ye sound strange.”

“The pipes have left me half deaf.”