Page 10 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
“Aye, if ye please,” Anna replied, as Jane ladled out a serving.
The maid retreated to the corner of the room, keeping a vigilant eye on things. Only then did Gordon lean in, rather too close to be considered appropriate, and said in a low, throaty voice: “Does yer plan to test the Lairds begin with this dress?”
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “That would be tellin’. If ye think it does, act accordingly.”
He sat back in his chair, bringing a cup of spiced wine to his lips. And though she was determined not to pay him any attention, she couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of her eye, fascinated by the soft, almost tender press of his lips against the pewter rim of the cup. And the way his throat moved as he swallowed.
Can he see me observin’ him?She was seated on his left, his leather eyepatch covering that eye.
Before she could dwell too deeply on what might have happened to that eye, the Laird toherleft leaned toward her, clearing his throat.
“Ardal,” he said.
“Pardon?” She glanced his way, remembering a moment later to put a pleasant smile on her face. Jackson was always telling her that she had something of a cross expression when she was at rest.
The man swept an anxious hand through his hair. “My name, M’Lady. It’s Ardal. I havenae been a Laird for long, so I daenae always remember to answer to Laird Glendenning.”
“Oh… oh, I see.” She forced a chuckle, covering her mouth the way her mother did, playing the ill-fitting role of demure damsel. “It’s a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Ardal.”
“And ye, Lady Anna,” he replied, relaxing a little. “I must say, yer dress this evenin’ is…”
Anna waited with interest as Ardal visibly searched for the right words, tilting her head slightly.
“It’s… unusual,” Ardal managed to say, adding hastily, “but in a good way. Ye look… ye look good. Quite beautiful. Do ye… wear such things a lot? I confess, I’ve never seen anythin’ like it… but it becomes ye, of course.”
Anna chuckled. “I like to experiment.”
To her right, she heard a strange sound: a quiet cough, as though Gordon had just choked on his spiced wine. But when she glanced back at him with a glare, his expression was blank, his cup nowhere near his lips, his attention fixed on the piece of bread he was in the middle of ripping in two.
Ewan was on the other side of Gordon. Perhaps, the sound had come from him instead. A cough of disapproval.
“Do ye mind a lass who wears bold garments?” she asked Ardal, returning her attention to him.
The man shrugged. “I havenae much thought about it.” He paused. “I suppose nae, dependin’ on the situation. Ye wouldnae very well wear such a gown to an important gatherin’, for example, but for dinner, why nae? ”
“Ye daenae think this would be suitable for an important gatherin’?” she challenged, a little disappointed.
Ardal laughed as if she had told a glorious joke. “I think there’s a lot to be said for tradition, and ye wouldnae want to ruffle feathers. Me maither wouldnae like it.” He took up his cup and drank deeply. “I like it, though.”
This might be easier than I thought.She let her disappointment at Ardal’s words bolster her encouragement that she’d end the auction without anyone claiming her hand at all. If all she had to do was wear bold and strange clothes, the other Lairds—when they arrived—would take one look at her and leave.
“What about ye, Laird Lyall?” she said, intrigued to hear his assessment.
The stony-faced man rested his steely eye on her, letting his cold gaze rove over her. Her breath caught in her chest as he did so, almostfeelingthe trace of his gaze, as if he were undressing her at the dining table. She couldn’t move, his observing eye as tangible as fingertips against her skin, her body rigid beneath his keen judgment.
“Ye could do without the squirrel on yer head,” he said at last.
When he removed his gaze, focusing on his supper once more, it was like a taut rope being cut. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, only able to breathe evenly again when he’d stopped looking at her.
Dipping her spoon into her own broth, she struggled to shake off the strange, tight feeling in her chest. Perhaps, the tales of the Devil of the Highlands weren’t so outlandish after all. Perhaps, therewassomething unnatural about him. How else could she explain the complete control he’d just had over her body, as if he’d put her in a trance?
CHAPTER 6
“It’s nae a squirrel,”Anna muttered, glaring down into her bowl as she ate. “It’s a headpiece.”
Gordon knew he’d annoyed her, insulted her perhaps, but she’d asked for his opinion, and he’d given it. What was he supposed to do—lie? He had no doubt that the other Laird would have said whatever she wanted to hear to win her favor, but he would not partake in false flattery.
Although, he couldn’t deny that he liked the strange dress she wore: it was a daring feat of fashion, the side panels of the bodice replaced with a gauzy fabric that hinted at bare skin beneath. Upon that skin, she appeared to have written words that were blurred by the material. At a distance, it just looked like unusual fabric; it was only on closer inspection that it became obvious that there was only a thin layer between his eye and her skin.
