Chapter Eight
Abby clapped to the bagpipes and singing from the two clans. The great hall echoed with laughter and joy and resembled what Abby assumed a medieval night club would sound like, should there ever be one. Whisky and wine flowed freely into goblets, and people danced, kissed in corners, and enjoyed the gathering of two great families, with little worry, for this night at least.
Gwen stood and pulled Braxton to the floor, and Abby laughed. The way the two looked at each other, was similar to lovestruck couples in the twenty-first century. It was strange seeing love, true love in this time. She’d always assumed historical marriages that involved affection were limited to the works of fiction and hearsay, but there was nothing fake about what Gwen and her guy felt for one another.
She caught sight of Aedan dancing with Aline, the young girl laughing up at him with large doe eyes. He, too, seemed to be enjoying himself, and he was actually smiling, not scowling at everyone.
A young man, one of the guards she’d seen outside the castle, bowed before her. “Would ye dance with me, Abigail, lass?”
Abby nodded. “I would love to. Thank you.” He took her hand and helped her down the dais. The dancing seemed to be going from large circles and then back into lines, the women weaving in and out of the men. She tried to copy, and managed not to embarrass herself most of the time, but for most of the dance it was a pretty mess.
“Yer doing wonderfully well, lass,” her dance partner said, laughing as she went to move in the opposite direction to everyone else. “Yer making me look the veritable expert. I’ll have to dance with ye again, me thinks.”
Abby laughed at his attempt to shade light on her dreadful dancing skills. “I do apologize. I’m not used to these sorts of dances.” And she wasn’t. The dances she was used to happened in nightclubs. Lots of people grouped together, grinding against each other, getting wasted with friends, hoping to find someone to get their rocks off with.
Dancing like she was now, with meaning behind the music’s tune, and the clans coming together in celebration in a form that hadn’t changed in centuries, made the ways of partying in the twenty-first century seem ridiculous. How stupid these people would think them should they see how they carried on. Like a bunch of drunken idiots, who were in competition to see who could vomit first.
“Ye doing fine, lass. Perfect, in fact.”
She smiled and laughed as he pulled her against him, dancing down a line of people. They turned at the end and went back the way they came. The music seemed to grow in volume with people almost yelling the lyrics. The atmosphere became unlike anything she’d ever known.
These people knew how to have fun, to enjoy themselves. “Thank you, but without your expert help I fear I would’ve failed miserably,” she yelled over the noise.
“Och, never. I don’t let any lass fail.”
“Stop flirting, Kyle. You’ll make Abigail blush.”
Abby stopped dancing and looked up at Aedan’s laughing gaze. “Kyle was merely being a good partner,” she said in his defense.
The young soldier clansmen laughed and bowed. “With a woman as handsome as ye are, I’d never do anything other than behave.”
He was flirting with her. Aedan clapped him on the back. “May I steal her away for a time? It’s only fair we all should have the pleasure of dancing with Abigail tonight.”
“Of course.” Kyle bowed. “Mistress.” He smiled and danced off toward a group of young kitchen servants who stood huddled near an arch beside a storeroom.
“I must warn you, I’m not the best at these types of dances,” Abby said, placing her hand in his. His skin was warm, and his hand much larger than hers. Aedan pulled her against him, and the scent of soap and something that was only him, assailed her senses. Taking a deep breath, she fought to calm her nerves at his nearness.
Why did he have such an impact on her? No one she’d ever met before had sent her into such a dizzying spiral of awareness. What’s more, his arrogance when they’d first met wasn’t something she’d forget. The instant dismissal of her as someone who was nothing but trouble for his well-planned life had annoyed her. But then, the worry he must have over the O’Cains and his other sister, would be a heavy burden to bear.
His hand skimmed down her back, and she bit her lip. “This dance seems to go for an awfully long time.” She was blabbering now, trying to think of anything to say that would take her mind off what his presence was doing to her body.
“Aye, ’tis.” He weaved them through the other couples and laughed when she made a mistake. “It’s one of the longest dances I know. Don’t tell me you’re already sick of dancing with yer laird.”
She met his gaze and raised her brow. “My laird?”
He grinned and again her stomach flipped at his physical charm. Who is this man? And what did he do with the surly, authoritative, and anal Laird MacLeod?
“You’re an intelligent woman, and I’ve been watching your conduct over the last week and I’ve come to a decision.”
He was serious again, all laughter wiped from his visage.
“Okay. What is it you want?”
He pulled her to a stop and moved to the side of the room. “As you know, I’m making use of the Highland Games to find a wife, but not in the conventional way. This is where you come in.”
“Me?” Abby crossed her arms over her chest, not liking the sound of this. “How so?”
“I need ye to help me pick the most appropriate, even-mannered, accomplished young lady there is on offer.”
“On offer.” She nodded. “You do understand it sounds like you’re about to purchase a horse and not a wife. Don’t you think your heart should have some input into your decision?”
He looked appalled, and she fought not to roll her eyes. This man really had not one ounce of brain. Not when it came to happiness in the marriage bed, at least.
“Nay. The heart has no impact on my decision. This is an important step in my life. It must be right.”
“Hence, why I suggest you use your heart.” She sighed and pulled him farther away from the gathered throng as their conversation was starting to pull inquisitive eyes. “Listen, if you choose your wife based on her abilities, what happens when you go to lie with her each night? If you don’t want a woman who’ll tempt you every hour for the rest of your life, or if you do not love her, your attraction will wane. It’ll end up being the worst kind of marriage.”
“And you’re an expert on this, how?” He stood tall, seemingly mocking her average height. He crossed his arms, the muscles in his biceps bunching; a fine vein of blue running through one.
Abby snapped her eyes back to his. “I’m an expert because after my parents died, my foster parents had such a union, and believe me, no one should be made to watch the train wreck that that was.”
“What’s a train wreck?”
“A type of vehicle.” She waved his question aside. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, you asked me to help and this is me helping you. Not by scoping out the women for you.”
“Please, Abigail.”
Damn it. She hated when people begged, it always made her cave and give in to their demands. “This so goes against who I am, but fine. I’ll help you, but on one condition.”
“Only one?”
“Make that two,” she said, wanting to smack the condescending smirk off his face. The man really did have it coming to him. Perhaps she ought to let him marry an asshole and he could rot in the marriage forever and a day.
She caught the hopeful look of Gwen from across the room and knew as much as she thought such things, she wouldn’t let Aedan make such a catastrophic mistake. It wasn’t in her nature to be mean.
“What are yer conditions?”
“That you’ll listen to what I say without judgment. If you want my help, be willing to consider what I have to say, without interrupting me and dismissing my opinions.”
“I asked for your advice, why would I dismiss yer opinions?”
“Because you seem to like the sound of your own voice.” Abby grabbed a goblet of mead from a passing servant and took a sip. The fruity drink wasn’t her favorite, but at least it afforded her some time while the laird digested her words.
“Your tongue is sharper than my blade, Abigail, lass.”
He stared at her. She wondered if he was thinking of how to be rid of her, instead of making use of her while she was stuck here.
“What’s yer second condition?”
“That your choice will be based on at least a fraction of what your heart desires. You must feel more for the woman than admiration over her skills at stitching or archery and her family’s value to your plans. You have to desire her.”
“Ye place a lot of merit on feelings, Abigail. Why? You’re not married, from what I’ve been told.”
Abby stepped toward him, bringing her nose equal to his chest. She glared up at him and poked him in the rib as hard as she could, ignoring the solid mass that her finger met, and that the action actually hurt her digit. “I may never have been married, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. And anyone with an ounce of common sense knows a union without love is never going to last. You’re welcome to marry without affection, go right ahead, but don’t look back on the day of your decision and wince when you’ve married a block of wood that doesn’t care for you, your lands, or your people, and only your purse.”
He scoffed, and she poked him again. “And need I remind you, that you asked me for help, not the other way around.” Abby turned him about and looked over his many guests. “I tell you what, why don’t you walk up to Lady Aline and ask her to marry you? Since you’re so bloody smart, why not marry the first woman who’s shown an interest in you?”
His face turned thunderous, and Abby wondered if she’d overstepped. But damn it, he couldn’t keep being contradictory. He had to choose a path and go with it. She was only trying to help him not make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Why did he have to be such a Neanderthal?
“Very well, I’ll consider what my heart is telling me, but be warned, I don’t take nicely to being talked to so dismissively or without respect.”
“And neither do I, so from now on, we’ll not do it to each other,” Abby said, patting his arm. “I would like to help you, Aedan, but you must be willing to help yourself, as well.” Abby spied Gwen, who was gesturing to her to come across the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have mingling to do.”
Abby walked quickly toward Gwen, all the while feeling her back burn with the heat of his gaze. It was no surprise he was pissed off, but he’d pissed her off, too, so they were even. Laird or not, it was his sister’s fault she was here, and she’d be damned if she’d cower to him.
Abby hadn’t put up with such treatment in the twenty-first century, and she wouldn’t in the seventeenth, either.
...
Aedan took a deep breath and relaxed his fisted hands. Revelry continued, unaware of the seething temper a lass with dark brown locks and knowing eyes had brought forth in him. With a defiant tilt to her chin, she joined his sister and didn’t even look to see if he was watching.
He was watching. Couldn’t take his eyes off the bonny chit. The fact that he’d wanted to follow her across the room and berate her for her rudeness was another matter entirely. Berate her and possibly something else. Kiss the wicked mouth silent. But he couldn’t. As to why, he didn’t want to think about it, but he had asked for her help. Not the other way around.
Abigail was a woman who could help him. A woman who was strong of character, had lived a life free of restraint that he could only imagine. Having been made the laird at the young age of sixteen, he’d not dallied with the lasses like Abigail seemed to have with the boys of her time.
Of course, when he’d grown a few inches, and his body had filled out, the lasses had soon rectified the lapse. He certainly knew what to do with them now. His gaze traveled down Abigail’s form, the dress in no way hiding what delicacies were hidden beneath.
She was bonny, probably the bonniest woman he’d ever met. Her skin was flawless, not marked with childhood scars or illness. Her eyes were clear and bright as the stars, and her breasts, pert, a good handful that begged for a man’s touch.
His touch.
He ground his jaw and tore his attention elsewhere. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. She wasn’t Scottish enough, nor of his time, notwithstanding the fact she wanted to go home as soon as she may.
Her words flittered through his mind. No. His heart couldn’t be used in the decision of choosing a wife. As long as he lusted for his future wife, there wasn’t a need to be any more emotionally attached to the woman. There were plenty of marriages where such an agreement was entered into, and they still procured offspring.
He caught sight of his sister laughing at something Braxton said, her eyes alight and looking at his best swordsman with affection. She, too, would be married soon, and although she would have a marriage of love, he would not. A laird’s first and foremost role was to ensure his people were well cared for and safe. Having a wife he loved would distract him from that role. To care was dangerous.
He walked over to a servant, and giving the red-headed lass a wink, took a goblet of wine from her tray. He captured Abigail’s eye and nodded. Aye, he’d let the lass think he’d include his heart, if only to keep her happy and quiet. He’d use her advice, and then she would be gone. His life would resume order and peace with a wife who knew her role and responsibilities and no more.
He inwardly smiled. ’Twas a good plan, sure not to fail.