The Highlander's Enchantment Page 30

  Och, she hated it when the lot of nosy bodies couldn’t get enough of the family drama. Granted at least fifty percent of the time she was involved in said drama.

  Lorna studied her brother, who, despite his grimace, waited patiently for her to answer.

  The truth was, she did wish to marry—at some point. Having lost her mother when she was only four years old, she longed to have a child of her own, someone she could nurture and love. But that didn’t mean she expected to marry now. And especially not the burly MacOwen who was easily twice her age, and had already married once or twice before. When she was a child she’d determined he had a nest of birds residing in his beard—and her thoughts hadn’t changed much since.

  She cocked her head trying to read Magnus’ mind. Was it possible he was joking? He could not possibly believe she would ever agree to marry MacOwen.

  Nay, Lorna wished to marry a man she could relate to. A man she could love, who might love her in return.

  “I dinna wish to marry a man whose not seen a bath this side of a decade.” Lorna spoke with a reasonable tone, not condescending, nor shrill, but just as she would have said the flowers looked lovely that morning. It was her way. Her subtlety often left people second guessing what they’d heard her say.

  Magnus’ lip twitched and she could tell he was trying to hold in his laughter. She dared not look down the table to see what the rest of her family and clan thought. In the past when she’d checked, gloated really, over their responses it had only made Magnus angrier.

  Taming a bear meant not baiting him. And already she was doing just that. She flicked her gaze toward her plate, hoping the glance would appear meek, but in reality she was counting how many legumes were left on her trencher.

  “Och, lass, I’m sure MacOwen has bathed at least once in the last year.” Magnus’ voice rumbled, filled with humor.

  Lorna gritted her teeth. Of course Magnus would try and bait her in return. She should have seen that coming.

  “And I’m sure there’s another willing lass who’ll scrape the filth from his back, but ye willna find her here. Not where I’m sitting.”

  Magnus squinted a moment as if trying to read into her mind. “But ye will agree to marry?”

  Lorna crossed her arms over her chest. Lord, was her brother ever stubborn. “Not him.”

  “Shall we parade the eligible bachelors of the Highlands through the great hall and let ye take your pick?”

  Lorna rolled her eyes, imagining just such a scene. It was horrifying, embarrassing. How many would there be in various states of dress and countenance? Some unkempt and others impeccable. Men who were pompous and arrogant or shy or annoying. Nay, thank you. She was about to spit a retort that was likely to burn her Aunt Fiona’s ears when the matron broke in.

  “My laird, ’haps after the meal I could speak with Lorna about marriage…in a somewhat more private arena?” Aunt Fiona was using that tone she oft used when trying to reason with one of them, that of a matron who knew better. It annoyed the peas out of Lorna and she was about to say just that, when her brother gave a slight wave of his hand, drawing her attention.

  Perhaps his way of ceasing whatever words were on her tongue.

  Magnus flicked his gaze from Lorna to Fiona. Why did the old bat always have to stick her nose into everything? Speaking to her in private only meant the woman would try to convince Lorna to take the marriage proposition her brother suggested. And that, she absolutely wouldn’t do.

  “’Tis not necessary, Aunt Fiona,” Lorna said, at the exact same time Magnus stated, “Verra well.”

  Lorna jerked her gaze back to her brother, glaring daggers at him, but he only raised his brows in such an irritating way, a slight curve on his lips, that she was certain if she didn’t excuse herself that moment she’d end up dumping her stew on his head. He had agreed on purpose—to annoy her. A horrible grinding sound came from her mouth as she gritted her teeth. Like she’d thought—brother first, chief second.

  “Excuse me,” she said, standing abruptly, the bench hitting hard on the back of her knees as so many people held it steady in place.

  “Sit down,” Magnus drawled out. “And finish your supper.”

  Lorna glared down at him. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Magnus grunted and smiled. “Och, we all know that’s not true.”

  That only made her madder. So what if she ate just as much as the warriors? The food never seemed to go anywhere. She could eat all day long and still harbor the same lad’s body she’d always had. Thick thighs, no hips, flat chest and arms to rival a squire’s. If only she’d had the height of a man, then she could well and truly pummel her brother like he deserved.

  She sat back down slowly and stared up at Magnus, eyes wide. Was that the reason he’d suggested MacOwen? Would no other man have her?

  Nestling her hands in her lap she wrung them until her knuckles turned white.

  Magnus clunked down his wooden spoon. “What is it, now?”

  “Why did ye choose MacOwen?” she whispered, not wishing the rest of the table to be involved in this particular conversation. Not when she felt so vulnerable.

  He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “The man asked.”

  “Oh.” She chewed her lip, appetite truly gone. ’Twas as she thought. No one would have her.

  “Lorna…”

  She flicked her gaze back up to her brother. “I but wonder if any other man would have me?”

  Magnus’ eyes popped and he gazed on her like she’d grown a second head and then that head grew a head. “Why would ye ask that?”

  She shrugged.

  By now everyone had gone back to talking and eating, knowing there’d be no more juicy gossip and Lorna was grateful for that.

  “Lorna, lass, ye’re beautiful, talented, spirited. Ye’ve taken the clan by storm. I’ve had to challenge more than one of my warriors for staring too long.”

  “More than one?” She couldn’t help but glance down the table wondering which men it had been. They all slobbered like dogs over their chicken.

  “None of the bastards deserve ye.”

  She turned back to Magnus. “And yet, ye picked the MacOwen?” She raised a skeptical brow. Ugh, of all men, he was by far the worst choice for her.

  Magnus winked and picked up another scoop full of stew, shoveling into his grinning mouth.

  Lorna groaned, shoulders sinking. “Ye told him nay, didna ye? Ye were baiting me.”

  Magnus laughed around a mouth full of stew. “Ye’re too easy. I’d see ye married, but not to a man older than Uncle Artair,” he said, referring to their uncle who had to be nearing seventy.

  “Ugh.” Lorna growled and punched her brother in the arm. “How could ye do that? Ye made every bit of my hunger go away and ye know how much I love Cook’s stew.”

  Magnus laughed. The sound boomed off the rafters and even pulled a smile from Lorna. She loved to hear him laugh, and he didn’t do it often enough. When their parents died, he’d only been fourteen, and he’d been forced to take over the whole of the clan—including raising her, and her siblings. Raising her two brothers, Ronan and Blane, and then the youngest of their brood, Heather was a feat in itself, one only Magnus could have accomplished so well. In fact, the clan had prospered. She couldn’t be more proud. If anyone deserved a good match, it was Magnus.

  Her heart swelled with pride. “Ye’re a good man, Magnus. And an amazing brother.”

  He reached toward her and gave her a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder. “I’ll remember that the next time ye wail at me about nonsense.”

  Lorna jutted her chin forward. “I do not wail—and nothing I say is nonsense.”

  “A true Sutherland ye are. I see your appetite has returned.”

  Lorna hadn’t even realized she’d begun eating again. She smiled and wrapped her lips around her spoon. Resisting Cook’s stew was futile. The succulent bits of venison and stewed vegetables with hints of thyme and rosemary played blissfully over her tongue.
/>
  “My laird.” Aunt Fiona’s voice pierced the noise of the great hall.

  Magnus stiffened slightly, and glanced up. Their aunt was a gem, a tremendous help, but Lorna had heard her brother comment on more than one occasion that the woman was also a grand pain in the arse. Lorna dipped her head to keep from laughing.

  “Aye?” he said, focusing his attention on their aunt.

  “I’d be happy to have Lorna return home with me upon my departure. Visits with me have helped Heather so much.”

  Lorna’s head shot up, mouth falling open as she glanced from her brother to her aunt. Good God, no! Beside her on the bench, Heather kicked Lorna in the shin and made a slight gesture with her knife as though she were slitting her wrist. Lorna pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

  “I’m sure that’s not necessary, Aunt,” Lorna said, giving the woman her sweetest smile. At least she’d not told her there was no way in hell she’d step foot outside of this castle for a journey unless it was on some adventure she chose for herself. She’d heard enough horror stories about the etiquette lessons Heather had to endure.

  “Magnus?” Fiona urged.

  There was a flash of irritation in his eyes. Magnus didn’t mind his siblings calling him by his name, but all others were to address him formally. Lorna agreed that should be the case with the clan, but with family, Lorna thought he ought to be more lenient, especially where their aunt was concerned.

  Aye, she was a thorn in his arse, but she was also very helpful.

  Before her brother could say something he’d regret, Lorna pressed her hand to his forearm and chimed in. “’Haps we can plan on me accompanying Heather on her next visit.”

  That seemed to pacify their aunt. She nodded and returned to her dinner.

  Ronan, who sat beside Magnus on the opposite side of the table, leaned close to their brother and smirked as he said something. Probably crude. Lorna rolled her eyes. If Blane was here, he’d have joined in their bawdy drivel. Or maybe even saved her from having to invite herself to stay at their aunt’s house.

  As it was, Blane was gallivanting about the countryside and the borders dressed as an Englishman selling wool. Sutherland wool. Their prized product. Superior to all others in texture, softness, thickness, and ability to hold dye.

  She stirred her stew, frowning. Blane always came home safe and sound, but she still worried. There was a lot of unrest throughout the country, and the blasted English king, Longshanks, was determined to be rid of them all. It would only take one wrong move and her beloved brother would be forever taken away.

  Lorna glanced up. She gazed from one sibling to the next. She loved them. All of them. They loved each other more than most, maybe because they’d lost their parents so young and only had each other to rely on. Whatever the case was, they’d a bond not even steel could cut through.

  Magnus raised his mug of ale. “A toast!” he boomed.

  Every mug lifted into the air, ale sloshing over the sides and cheers filled the room.

  “Clan Sutherland!” he bellowed.

  And the room erupted in uproarious calls and clinks of mugs. A smile split her face and she was overcome with joy.

  She’d be perfectly happy never to leave here. And perfectly ecstatic to never marry MacOwen.

  Even still, as she clinked her mug and took a mighty gulp, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a man out there she could love, and one who just might love her in return.

  Want to read more? Check out The Highlander’s Temptation and the rest of the Stolen Bride series wherever ebooks are sold…

  About the Author

  Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. Under the name E. Knight, she pens rip-your-heart-out historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very naughty puppies. Visit Eliza at http://www.elizaknight.com or her historical blog History Undressed: www.historyundressed.com. Sign up for her newsletter to get news about books, events, contests and sneak peaks! http://eepurl.com/CSFFD