Page 36 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“Only the one wing.” Lord bless Mama. She was always and ever Isobel’s champion.

Aunt Hannah nodded. “And it’s been fixed now. Much better than before.”

“She. Blew. Up. His. Castle.” Lady Frey repeated herself in a tone that inferred this was the worst thing a person could possibly do.

“She was five.” Mama shrugged dismissively. “Children will be children.”

“I’ve hardly blown up anything since,” Isobel said agreeably.

It was, perhaps, wrong, playing with these women the way a cat toys with a mouse, but they were more annoying than mice. And this was . . . fun. More fun than she’d ever imagined she would have in London, in fact.

Besides, it wasn’t as though she wanted or needed to impress them—or their sons, if they had them. Even if she were in the market for a husband, which she decidedly wasn’t, she wouldn’t want one of theirs.

Needless to say, the women collected themselves and left shortly thereafter, hopefully to never return.

“Oh, well,” Mama said, with a glance at Isobel. “That could have gone better.”

“I think it went perfectly well,” she responded.

Sorcha patted her on the shoulder. “They are a wretched crowd,” she said. “Especially that Celia.”

“Really?” Celia had barely said a word. In fact, of all of them, she’d been a perfect lady.

“She’s the worst.”

“Now, Sorcha,” Kaitlin said. “Do be kind.”

Sorcha pulled a face. She leaned closer and whispered, “She fancies herself in love with my brother.”

“Poor thing,” Catriona murmured.

“He says she’s practically hunting him.” She sighed. “Can you imagine my misery if she catches him? Having her for a sister-in-law?”

“Because it’s all about you,” Kaitlin murmured.

“You know it is.” Sorcha sighed again and took a cake. Then she gasped so loudly, Isobel started. “Do you know what would be famous?”

“What?” Isobel stared at her new friend, enjoying the wicked light in her eyes.

“If you and my brother fell in love. Then Celia’s plot to win him would be scuttled and we would be sisters. Wouldn’t that be divine?”

Isobel smiled, but it was an effort. She did adore Sorcha, but her brother was, no doubt, one of those stuffy popinjays she deplored. Aside from that, a certain stable hand had undoubtedly ruined her for all men.

But she didn’t have it in her heart to disappoint Sorcha, so she simply nodded and bit her tongue.

“Well,” Aunt Lana said primly. “At least Lady Swofford had the good grace to invite us to her ball.”

Mama snorted. “Probably only because Kaitlin was here. I sincerely doubt she wants us to come.”

The duchess laughed. “Of course she wants you to come. Why, it would be a coup to be the first to parade the wild Lochlannachs before her crowd.”

“We’re not going, of course,” Mama said.

Kaitlin drew herself up into a starchy pose. “Oh, but you will.”

“We will?” Isobel asked. Certainly not on a whine.

“You will. And we will make sure you outshine everyone else.” She winked. “I’ll command all the Wyeth boys to attend and shower you with attention. It will be famous.”