Page 13 of In Love With the Wrong Highland Sister
Eloisa knew she had stepped on forbidden ground, but this conversation with her sister had been long overdue. Her mother and father had been tiptoeing around it for at least the past six months, and it was time that one of the family spoke up, and if that meant that she had to bear the brunt of Laria’s ire, then so be it. However, she sensed that perhaps she had misjudged the timing.
“I am sorry,” Eloisa said, her voice subdued. “Would you like me to try to find you another dress?”
“No. This one will have to do,” Laria replied. “I have never liked frilly concoctions of satin and lace anyway. Leave me alone to dress myself, Sister. I can manage on my own.”
Eloisa left. She was not particularly worried; Laria always heated up until she was boiling, then cooled down again. In a few hours, she would apologize and be her old affectionate self again, or at least she hoped so.
Looking down at the dress, Laria felt the old anger and sadness well up within her once again. She had first donned this dress six months after Robbie’s death when she had cast off the black of full mourning and had begun to wear half-mourning colors. Now, she wondered why she still wore gray and brown clothes most of the time. Perhaps it was because she no longer cared what she looked like, or perhaps it was because she was too lazy to order more dresses. However, in truth, she had to admit that she had never really worn any other color but black inside herself.
“Well, it seems that you and I will have to become reacquainted, old friend,” she said aloud to the garment, sighing. She put it on and buttoned it up to the top of the high neck, which ended just below her chin. It was a loose, shapeless thing that did nothing for her figure, but Laria cared nothing about that.
However, in deference to the occasion, she put a rope of pearls around her neck and twisted her abundant hair into a tight knot on top of her head, then pulled a few strands loose in imitation of Eloisa’s style. Then she added a pair of black suede boots and set off. The sooner she arrived, Laria reasoned, the sooner she could leave.
7
“‘Pro libertate,’” Gavin quoted as he pinned the Elliott clan crest onto his brother’s plaid. “‘For Freedom.’ Our clan motto is very inspiring but has never seemed very appropriate for a man who is contemplating marriage.”
“What are you trying to say?” James asked, with a half-laugh. “Are you comparing the esteemed institution of marriage to the despised practice of slavery?”
Gavin laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. “I am sure many men do,” he remarked. “But then, they probably wed the wrong women, which is why so many of them have mistresses.”
“I don’t know how they find the energy,” James remarked drily, grinning. He filled up a wine glass for himself and drank half of it in one gulp.
“Are you nervous?” his brother asked.
“Weary,” James replied. “I have been to so many ceilidhs I have lost count, and each one is more tedious than the last. I am thoroughly bored with it all. There must be an easier way to find a wife.”
“But do you not have a wife picked out already?” Gavin asked. “A very pretty one too.”
“If I accept her,” James pointed out. “I may not. I fear she is a little too young for me.” He shrugged as he finished his wine and went to pour another, but his brother put his hand over the glass.
“You will need to be standing up to dance,” he pointed out as he took the glass away. Then he returned to the subject they had been discussing earlier. “If you were not happy with your wife, would you take a mistress?” His tone was sly, but his eyes were twinkling with mischief.
James shook his head vehemently. “No. I would take my marriage vows seriously or remain a bachelor. I have no intention of becoming an adulterer, and I despise those who are. If you wish to have lovers, then have as many as you wish, but not after you marry.”
“And Eloisa? Do you think she will become your wife?” Gavin turned away and began to put his own clothes on, carefully avoiding his brother’s eyes.
James frowned. “Would you mind if she did?” he asked carefully.
“It is not my business,” Gavin replied. “I am only here to keep you company, Jamie, not to be your counselor. Do as you please. If you feel she is the right woman for you, then marry her.”
* * *
A great deal of food had been eaten, and a great quantity of wine, ale, and whisky had been drunk before the laird stood up somewhat unsteadily, held his glass of wine up, and tapped it. The bell-like tinkle attracted the attention of the guests, some of whom had come from as much as ten miles away to eat with the MacLeans. Their food, and especially their wine, had a reputation far and wide for being the best for miles around, and this evening was no exception. Everyone looked at the laird expectantly.
“Ladies, lairds, gentlemen, gentlewomen, and whoever else I may have forgotten,” he said happily. “We are all here tonight to greet my guests, the future Laird James Elliott, and his brother, Gavin. Now, as I have two daughters, and these are two fine young men, I am sure I can guess what you are all thinking. However, I must disappoint you. No agreements of any kind have been made, so tonight is merely a gathering of fine people, all of whom we know and love. So dance, drink, and enjoy yourselves! Sláinte Mhath!”
“Sláinte Mhath!” the guests chorused.
* * *
When Laria walked into the great hall, her mother rushed over to her, anger written all over her fine-boned face. “Laria! What is that rag you are wearing?” she hissed.
Laria’s face and voice were expressionless. “It is the best I have, Mother. I have had no need for fancy dresses during this past year.”
“And your hair!” Margaret put her hands to her face, her mouth a perfect circle of shock. “You have such lovely hair. What have you done to it?”
Laria shrugged. “Mother, if you are ashamed of me, then I will leave. I assure you it will not faze me one jot. I would rather not be here, as you know.”
