Page 2 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

The bitterness of that memory only added to her anger. It didn’t help that his only answer was a twist of his lip and a curtly spoken “Drinkin’. Or I would be, had I nae been accosted by a shrew of an English lass in a temper.”

“I am not… you know nothing of me, to make such statements!” Grace felt her fists clench tightly against the fabric of her dress. “And you are the one who bumped into me.”

“Dinnae care.” He gave her a look full of such mocking that it stung, and his words were no better as he waved an exaggerated bow with his near-empty mug. “Apologies, girl, fer spillin’ ale on yer dress. Well, I’m off fer another mug. And ye can…”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and can’t…”

“Grace!” The single word, spoken in a tone as sharp as a knife blade, carried clearly across the noise of the tavern. Grace winced and turned to look at her uncle.

Lord Ambrose looked distinctly unimpressed, even a little disgusted, by the man standing in front of her. Uncle William looked about ready to burst a blood vessel in his anger. Likely, he would have already started yelling, had they not been in public.

Abruptly, she realized how it must look, her speaking to a Highlander. Certainly, they’d been arguing, but who would know that, or what their discussion had been about? It was far too easy for someone to get the wrong impression.

She ought to have sniffed, raised her chin, and brushed past him the instant she’d realized the truth, but it was too late now.

“Excuse me.” She turned away from the man without another word and rejoined her uncle and his guest, sitting with as much grace as her ale-soaked skirts would allow.

“You didn’t tell me your niece was the clumsy sort. And associating with one of those… savages.” Lord Ambrose was frowning.

“She is not, generally,” Uncle William scowled at her. “What were you doing, talking to that brute?”

“I… wished for him to apologize for dousing me with ale.” There was nothing she could say that her uncle would accept, and she knew it. But even so… she had to try. “He was being unconscionably rude…”

“They’re all like that. Barbarians.”

“You should have walked away instead of engaging in conversation with him. What if people thought you were a sympathizer with those beasts?” Uncle William’s scowl was dark as a thundercloud. “Next time, you ought to keep your mouth shut and walk away. Perhaps a slap to remind him of his place, but not… conversation.” The frown deepened. “Better yet, have enough awareness and grace to prevent a ‘next time’ from occurring.”

“Indeed. Indeed. I have to say, Lord Lancaster, your daughter doesn’t much live up to her name, now does she?”

“Pardon, Lord Ambrose, but Grace is my niece. I took her in after my brother and his wife were killed in the border wars.” Uncle William’s voice was cold, and Grace felt the sting of it, knowing as she did that the harsh words were meant to remind her of her place, and her position.

She was an orphan without a title or name of her own, living under her uncle’s roof and his sufferance. She was not supposed to embarrass him in any way, and talking to a Highlander? One of the Scottish barbarians who had been responsible for his brother’s death? That was a mistake, a shameful one.

The good Lord above only knew what her uncle would say if he ever discovered that her oldest and dearest childhood friend was from Clan Cameron, whose lands bordered what had once been her father’s.

“I don’t know about this.” The heavy, disappointed tone brought her attention back to Lord Ambrose, and a lump lodged in her throat. The lord was shaking his head. “Your niece is pretty enough, young too. But it seems her education is lacking. Not the proper sort for a lady, you know. I need a wife who can make a proper showing of it, not the sort of woman who talks to barbarians and can’t keep her feet in a crowd.”

He shook his head again and rose from the table. “I think it’s best I bid you both a good day. Time is precious for all of us, with the spring turning into summer. I think it’s time we all returned to our duties. Lord Lancaster.”

He bowed to Grace, but there was no warmth to his movement. “You can keep the hat, young lady. Hopefully, you’ll grow into it one day.”

Then he was gone, and Grace was left in her cold, sodden dress, to face her uncle’s wrath.

It was not long in coming. “I arrange a meeting. I sing your praises to a wealthy and well-connected suitor. And you…” Uncle William’s eyes flicked over her dirty skirt, the bedraggled hat, and the ale soaked fabric. “… You ruin your dress, insult his Lordship’s gift with your obvious disdain for it, and cannot make it to the privy and back without causing a scene, making a fool of yourself, and getting soaked in cheap drink, as if you were a dockside tavern wench. A poor showing indeed, and that is without mentioning your foolishness in speaking to a barbarian of the Scottish persuasion.”

Grace swallowed hard. She wanted to protest that it had been an accident, and that she had only demanded an apology. But she knew better. Uncle William would not hear a word she had to say.

It was her own fault, in part. She and Niamh had made a game of making themselves seem unsuitable for marriage, and they had played it for years. But Niamh was gone, and without her, the game had lost any amusement for Grace, especially in the face of her uncle’s growing exasperation. And what was worse this time, was that she hadn’t genuinely tried to drive Lord Ambrose away. It had simply been the result of a moment of inattention and clumsiness.

Uncle William continued, and the softness of his voice did nothing to disguise the venom of his words. “This is becoming disgraceful. You are all but a laughingstock among the peers of England. So heed my warning well, Grace. You shall behave with every bit of decorum, grace and attention you have at your command when the next suitor comes. If you fail again, then I will not invite you to meet the one that follows, until the day you meet him at the altar.”

Uncle William rose, and bent to whisper poisonously in her ear. “Never forget, dear niece, I can arrange a marriage for you without your input or your presence. And I shall, if you continue to embarrass me.”

Then he was gone, calling for the tavern keeper to settle his account, and for a boy to hitch up the carriage. Grace was left to gather herself and her things, her stomach churning.

Uncle William had been the one to arrange the meeting there. He’d known she would be at a disadvantage, in this tavern where she looked like a peacock among barnyard fowl. Perhaps the encounter with the Scotsman had been an accident, but… it felt as if her uncle had wanted her to fail to meet Lord Ambrose’s expectations.

Oh, he was angry enough, but she knew her uncle. Being angry at her faults wouldn’t stop him from looking forward to the day he could marry her off to whoever he chose, and claim the Lancaster fortune entirely, minus her dowry.