Page 24 of Taken By the Ruthless Highlander
Morgana beamed with pride as she glanced at the table covered in various delectable foods. She had slices of cheese, from sharp to mild cheddar, along with roasted wild turkey and an assortment of fruits, spread out among pastries and cakes.
“Do ye think the Laird will like it?” she asked as she pulled Orella into a hug.
As she looked at her honored guests, she did not miss the pity on their faces. It was as if they were keeping an important secret from her.
But it took her two days to organize the dinner, and for that alone, Morgana refused to let their sour faces ruin her moment.
“My dear, I ken that ye’re eager to impress the Laird and all, but there are some things ye have to understand,” Orella began as she drew her to the table of goodies. “Men dinnae like these sorts of gatherings. Now, tell them that the whiskey will flow freely and ye willnae be able to get them to leave. But this… I wouldnae get my hopes up if I were ye.”
“Take heart,” Cohen chimed in. “I’m sure one of these days—maybe years down the road, when things arenae so turbulent—he’ll have the time for ye. But Laird McKenzie is a very busy man. And he has many enemies.”
“Oh?” Morgana murmured, her eyebrows rising more from curiosity than anything else.
She had barely heard anything about her husband but rumors. From his criminal activities to the whores he bedded at night, she was desperate for any nugget of information she could get about him.
“And pray tell, what do ye ken about the Laird?”
Orella looped her arm through Morgana’s and pulled her closer. “From the things I’ve heard,” she murmured in a conspiratorial tone, “the Laird was kicked out for killin’ a man.”
“Now, we dinnae ken that for certain,” Cohen interjected as he nibbled on the bits of cheese he’d piled on his plate. “It’s hard to distinguish the man from the myth. And even harder when the previous Laird refused to keep any records of him. The only thing provin’ filiation… well, let’s just say ye cannae save everythin’ in a fire.”
“Do ye ken if he’s upset about that?” Morgana asked, itching to hear more. “If I had kenned how important that tapestry was…”
“And if ye hadnae, the whole west wing would be nothin’ but ash and soot, and I’d be bones,” Orella said, giving her a tight reassuring squeeze.
“Aye, ye cannae dismiss yer heroic act. The fact that ye put out the fire should have squashed all doubts about ye,” Cohen added with a wink.
But it did nothing to quell the worry growing like a weed in the back of Morgana’s mind.
“But it didnae,” she mumbled. “I dinnae think I could do anythin’ that would put me in the council’s good graces.”
“Ye ken what ye need to do?” Orella spoke up, her voice high-pitched with excitement. “Ye need to have dinner with Nathan. He’s the one who has been against ye from the start.”
“Orella,” Cohen hissed.
The warning was like a whip to Morgana’s ears. She glanced pitifully at Orella, wishing there was something she could do to comfort her.
“I’d suggest ye remember what I told ye about appropriate topics of conversation.”
“Of course, husband,” Orella mumbled, keeping her eyes trained on the floor.
The tension in the air crackled as a servant came into the room and cleared his throat. Outside the door, a loud commotion echoed through the corridor, drawing Morgana’s attention.
“Husband?” she gasped as she watched the Laird stumble down the hall. “Laird McKenzie. It’s so good to see ye. Are ye nae joinin’ us for dinner tonight?”
Her heart sank as she spotted the flush on his cheeks and the glazed look in his eyes.
Daring to step out of the room, Morgana caught a whiff of strong liquor. The Laird squinted his eyes at her as he swayed on his feet.
“Ye’re drunk,” she whispered.
The heat of embarrassment shot through her veins, igniting every fiber of her being.
This was beyond rude. It wasdisgraceful.
“Maybe just a wee bit,” the Laird slurred as he pinched the air, indicating the tiny space between his fingers.
“I thought we had an agreement,” Morgana said through gritted teeth.
