Page 14 of Highland Vows of Betrayal

It struck Scarlett that the man who spoke had an affable smile and pleasant features. His blond hair was quite light as he flipped it back behind his ears and stepped toward her, smiling as he offered her a hand.

“Lady Eloise, ye seem in quite a pickle. Care for a hand up?”

Aye, that’s me!

Scarlett reminded herself to respond to her sister’s name and took the gentleman’s proffered hand.

“Thank ye. What must ye think of me. I cannae even walk straight in these ridiculous shoes, and now I’m falling over and making a fool of myself.”

“Nae a fool, I assure ye,” the gentleman said with ease. He didn’t release her hand as she stood to her feet and smoothed out her skirts with her other hand. She remembered how Eloise had urged her to stand taller, though she never lifted her chin properly.

“I think ye are rather kind,” Scarlett murmured playfully, prompting the gentleman to smile again.

What was Eloise so worried about? This man seems kind enough and affable in manner. Even charismatic!

“I always try tae be,” he said and winked at her. Scarlett still did not remove her hand from his, figuring that if this was Laird Chattan and she was supposed to appear to be marrying him, then she could at least hold on a little longer.

“How was yer journey?” the man asked with that kind smile still in place. “I trust ye are nae too tired. I thought to show ye the castle.”

“I’m nae tired at all.” She shook her head, then reminded herself exactly what her task was here.

Eloise doesnae wish tae marry him!

Before Eloise stepped onto the boat, she mentioned Laird Chattan's reputation. He disliked overly sweet or clingy women and preferred to keep his distance from them. It gave Scarlett an idea as to how to scare the man off.

“A tour would be most lovely if ye would be the one to conduct it.” Her suggestions prompted the man to smile once more.

Oh, dear. He wasnae supposed tae smile at that.

She decided she would just have to put on a better front. As she began the conversation again, she tried something she’d never done before—flirting.

“I hope ye nae have anywhere else tae be. I’d be sorry tae lose yer company so soon,” she said, aware that she still had hold of the laird’s hand.

“For the time being, I am happy tae be yer escort, Lady Eloise,” he said, keeping a polite distance. “Are ye steady on yer feet now? As happy as I am tae stand here holding yer hand, I dinnae imagine ye need my help anymore.”

“Forgive me,” she said, dropping her head forward as she had seen Eloise do so often over the last few days. “Ye have a strong hand.” She retracted her touch, watching from the corner of her eye as the man blushed a bit.

“Well…” He seemed at a loss for words and pulled on the high collar of his waistcoat, loosening it slightly. “Allow me tae welcome ye tae yer new home. Laird Chattan will be along soon tae welcome ye himself.”

Wait… what did he just say?

She was certain she must have heard him wrong.

“What in the name of hell’s demons is going on here?” A sudden cold voice reverberating across the great hall stole Scarlett’s attention. Angling her head toward the sound, her eyes shot to the doorway, seeing another well-dressed man standing there, glaring at her with such ferocity he could have been a lion transformed into a man.

His face had to be the most captivating Scarlett had ever seen. His hair was blond but darker than the other man’s before her, curling loosely around his ears as if he had just left his bed where a lover had tugged at those tendrils.

What am I thinking?

Her eyes traced the strong features down to an angular jaw and wide-set eyes, plus a whisker stubble on his chin. His face, let alone his body, was difficult to ignore. His booted feet stood far apart, his arms folded, revealing shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and what appeared to be tattoos across his forearms. Scarlett had seen such marks on soldiers in the tavern before. They said the marks were caused by burning gunpowder on the skin. Scarlett wondered where else those marks appeared on his body after the tattoos vanished under his sleeves.

“Ah, yer here, brother,” her first host declared, though the words didn’t soften the newcomer’s glare or his fixed gaze on Scarlett. “This is Lady Eloise MacLaren.”

Oh, yes, that’s me.

She hurried to shift her focus, finding it impossible to look away from the man glaring at her.

He was Eloise’s future husband. And he was mad.