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“Gillian.”

Everyone called her Gill here, except her mother.

“So, my lord, tell us,” Allie said to Graeme, “how fares Highgate End and Scotland?”

“Very well now that it has your sister for its lady,” he responded.

If only he believed that to be true.

“Has your clan accepted my sister then? Even though she is English?”

Gillian rolled her eyes. “I am sitting between you,” she said. “If you were not aware.”

“Indeed you are, dear sister,” Allie said, feigning surprise. “How did that come to be?”

Gillian tried not to smile but failed when she caught Graeme’s expression. His ear-to-ear grin made her want to melt beneath the table. And kick his leg in aggravation.

“Clan Scott has a history of caring more for peace along the border than anything else. Those who would not accept Lady Gillian because she is English would not be made welcome by me or, indeed, their clansmen.”

Graeme’s answer was only partially for her sister. Much of it was directed at her father, who seemed more interested in the freshly-served mince pie than in the conversation around him.

“And you, sir? You’ve accepted Gillian as well?”

“Allie!” She turned to Graeme, prepared to apologize for her sister, but he was already answering.

“I am not a ‘sir,’ but a simple clan chief,” he said, though his words held no malice. “And as for your question . . .”

He looked at her then, his eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t identify.

“I accepted her the moment I handed her that wreath of flowers.”

She looked away, her anger at him beginning to dissipate despite her best efforts.

“Then a toast to the happy couple,” Allie said, raising her cup. When none but Graeme moved to join her, she prodded them each individually.

“Mother. Father. Gill. A toast.”

When each of them had raised their mug or goblet, Allie smiled. “To a happy marriage, to salvation, and to peace.”

If she thought it was an odd toast, she wasn’t alone. Her father frowned gruffly and said, “Salvation? And whose salvation are we toasting to, my dear?”

Though his tone was softer than it had been with Gillian, he was clearly displeased by Allie’s choice of words.

“Why, all of ours, of course.”

Allie was up to something. Gillian suddenly knew it in her bones. Earlier, Allie begged, pleaded, for Gillian not to intervene, but she could not possibly want to marry the earl. So why did she seem so unconcerned about pacifying their father?

“Allie?” she whispered into her sister’s ear after everyone had finally returned their attention to the meal. “What are you planning?”

Allie grinned. “I told you to trust me, did I not?”

Gillian glanced at Graeme, certain he was listening. But to her dismay, her husband simply smiled.

“It seems you’re not the only one here with plans, my dear.”

21

“Don’t you dare tell me something is afoot, Allie.” Gillian used the “big sister voice” her sister hated. Deliberately.