Page 8 of Kilted Sins

“Nay,” said the man, forcing the words out with some difficulty. “I simply hope I willnae dae anythin’ tae offend ye again.”

“It is in yer hands,” Enya said. The smile the laird gave her was more like a baring of teeth.

“O’ course,” he said in a strained voice. “Well, tae make amends, I thought I could perhaps introduce ye tae Skye, our healer. I saw yer men as they brought yer belongings in an’ noticed that ye have books about healin’ with ye.”

It was a touching gesture, and Enya could hardly believe the laird had even noticed the books when he had hardly noticed her at all when she had arrived at the castle. There was a problem, though, one that only occurred to her now that the laird had mentioned her interest in healing.

She was the one who enjoyed it, who had the healing powers. Thora had no interest in the art at all.

Enya had managed to pass off the books in her belongings as a mix-up between her things and her sister’s, but how was she going to explain this to the laird?

Well, I willnae speak o’ it. If everythin’ goes accordin’ tae me plan, he will never even meet Thora.

“Thank ye, I would like that very much,” Enya said, figuring it was best to go along with it. If nothing else, perhaps she could make a friend while in MacDonald Castle, someone with whom she could spend her free time. “Is that all?”

“Nay,” said Laird MacDonald. “I wished tae inform ye that there will be a formal dinner tonight. Everyone from me council will be in attendance an’… they are very traditional men.”

Enya raised a curious eyebrow at that, uncertain of what it was, precisely, the laird meant. “Traditional? How so?”

“They will expect ye tae look proper an’ tae dress accordingly tae yer future role as the Lady o’ the Clan,” Laird MacDonald said. “An’ they will expect ye tae speak when ye are spoken tae.”

Enya could understand the first request; after all, her governess had made sure to drill the importance of making a good first impression in her from a very young age. What she couldn’t understand—or condone, for that matter—was staying silent until she was allowed to speak.

Of course, Laird MacDonald didn’t need to know that.

“They are old men. Narrow-minded,” he continued, perhaps feeling the need to make an excuse for them while at the same time removing himself from their group. “It will be best if ye follow me fer the night an’ dae as I dae.”

Only ye dinnae wish fer me tae dae as ye dae. Ye wish fer me tae act as a puppet.

But again, Enya said nothing. It would be to her advantage if Laird MacDonald thought she would obey him so easily, and so she merely smiled and nodded.

“O’ course,” she said. “As ye wish.”

Her easy agreement seemed to please the man. For the first time since Enya had first set foot in MacDonald Castle, the laird gave her a genuine smile, one that softened his harsh features and strict countenance until he almost resembled a pleasant man.

Such a shame fer someone tae be so handsome an’ so terribly rude.

“Good,” said Laird MacDonald, nodding to himself. “Excellent. If ye need anythin’ fer the dinner, the servants will provide it. All ye need dae is ask.”

“Thank ye, me laird,” said Enya and this time, she decided to play a little nicer, standing from the settle to curtsy as the man left the room. The moment he was gone, though, she fell back down on it with a sigh, grabbing the book and covering her face with it as she leaned back.

It was bound to be a long and unpleasant night.

CHAPTER FIVE

Enya stared at her reflection in the looking-glass with the kind of satisfaction that only came after a job well-done. A pleased smile spread over her lips as she regarded herself, hands smoothing the fabric of her dress over her torso.

She had never looked worse.

The dress she had chosen was one she had packed in her belongings in a whim, thinking that perhaps at some point in her stay in Jura, she would have to do something that involved a lot of mud, a lot of saltwater, or a lot of both. The weather was bound to be miserable most days, after all, and so any task that involved being outside for a long time—even horse riding—required a dress that she didn’t mind ruining.

This was such a dress. The plain, brown fabric sagged around her shoulders and waist, giving the sense that she was rather oddly-shaped under her clothes. There was nothing on it to suggest she was of noble blood—no intricate details, no embroidered decorations—nothing but a stretch of muddy brown, covering her from head to toe.

She had allowed the maids to braid and pin up her hair, though, thinking that perhaps it would only add to the effect. Not only would she look even stranger, but she could also feign innocence once Laird MacDonald questioned her on her sartorial choices—and he was bound to question her. He had specifically instructed her to wear something nice, something flattering that would impress the elders of the clan. Enya doubted he would let it go without berating her for it. He was not the kind of man to fear confrontation.

Luckily for Enya, neither did she. Though she didn’t seek it, she had no problem putting the laird in his place. After all, he had been rude to her first, and terribly so.

After this, he will certainly hate me.