Page 17 of In Love With the Wrong Highland Sister
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James stood for a long time watching the door through which Laria had run to escape from him. He was still breathless, aroused, and unfulfilled, but he had, at last, realized how he felt about her. He had shown her in the most primitive way possible, however, and he hoped she did not think of him as an animal.
Moreover, that still did not address the question of Eloisa. What on Earth was he going to do about her? He went over to the wall where Laria had been standing and looked down into the moonlit valley, but it did not have the same soothing effect on him as it had on her.
“Why are you so different from all other women?” he said aloud. “Why do you affect me like this? No matter how many ladies I meet from now on, I will always be comparing them to you and finding them wanting.” He sighed and went downstairs again, but instead of heading back to the great hall, he went to his chamber and fell into bed.
* * *
Laria spent a sleepless night wondering what to do, and when the morning was half over and she had not appeared for breakfast, Lady Margaret came to see her, bearing a tray. It was not common to see the mistress of the castle carrying breakfast to her daughter, but the MacLeans had always been on the unconventional side. Besides, Lady Margaret was worried about her elder daughter. She knocked on the door, and a gruff voice told her to come in.
“Laria! It is midmorning already.” She put the tray down and went over to her daughter, who was lying in bed with her eyes half-closed. Thinking that the fever might have returned, her heart skipped a beat. “Are you well, my dear? Do you feel ill?” Trembling with anxiety, she felt Laria’s forehead and was profoundly relieved to find it cool to the touch.
“I am fine, Mother,” she answered, yawning. “I did not sleep well, that is all.” She rubbed her eyes and reached out for the tray her mother placed on her lap, feeling surprisingly hungry.
“What happened last night?” Lady Margaret asked. “We could not find you after we saw you dancing with James.”
Laria swallowed a mouthful of egg before answering, and she avoided her mother’s eyes. “I went for a breath of air, then I decided to go to bed.” She shrugged. “You know that I hate ceilidhs. They always remind me of Robbie. After I had been outside for a little while, I became cold, but I could not bear the thought of going inside again with all those people, so I went to bed.”
Her mother studied her for a moment. “There is something you are not telling me,” she said shrewdly. “Laria, I know every one of your facial expressions, and you are either lying to me, or you have not told me everything. Look at me.”
Laria sighed and looked up into her mother’s hazel eyes and shifted uncomfortably as Lady Margaret meticulously examined her face.
“I thought so.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “You have left something out.” She paused, then asked: “Has it something to do with James, perhaps?”
Laria’s eyes flew open. “There is nothing between me and James!” she cried indignantly. “Why does everyone seem to think that?”
“Did I say there was?” Lady Margaret asked, standing up. She arched a brow at her daughter. “We are having a fitting for a possible wedding dress for Eloisa. Do come and give us your opinion, please, Laria. While you are there, we can order new dresses for you. You truly looked awful in that sack you were wearing last night!”
“I can always rely on you for the truth, Mother, no matter how brutal,” Laria remarked drily as Lady Margaret left. She sighed, then flopped back on her pillow and closed her eyes again, trying to collect herself.
It was going to be a long day.
* * *
“You look as though you have been dragged through a hedge backwards,” Eloisa said as Laria sat down, still yawning. “Look at your hair!”
Instead of braiding her hair into its usual neat plait, Laria had scraped it back off her face in an unflattering ponytail she had tied with a piece of string. Loose ends were flying everywhere. She had dark circles under her eyes from her fitful night’s sleep and had chosen the ugliest, dowdiest dress she possessed to wear that day.
“Thank you so much!” Laria’s voice sounded more like a growl. “Between you and Mother, I feel like drowning myself in the Broon Loch.”
Eloisa knelt by her side and looked into her face. “Who has upset you so much, Laria?” she asked gently. “This is not like you at all. You look so sad.”
“No one,” Laria answered, shaking her head. “I hardly had a wink of sleep last night. I feel as though a puff of wind could blow me over.”
Eloisa grinned. “Well, after I try on my dress, maybe we can find a few new ones for you?” She looked at her sister hopefully, then fingered the worn fabric of the old garment. “Not only is thisthingyou are wearing ancient, but it is falling to pieces. Moths have been feasting on it.” She pointed to a hole halfway down one of the sleeves
“Today is about you, Ellie,” Laria pointed out, laughing. “This is your wedding, and nobody will be looking at me. You will be the queen, and I will not even be a princess.”
Just then, the seamstress came in, carrying a deep red velvet creation over one arm and a pale blue velvet one over the other. She held them up for inspection.
“Which one is the bride wearin’?” she asked, smiling. “Mind, they arenae finished yet.”
Laria pointed to the blue for her sister while Eloisa chose the red.
“Oh, dear,” the seamstress, Frances, pretended to look worried. “What are we goin’ tae dae now, ladies? Must the bride wear both o’ them?”
Eloisa giggled. “I could wear the red, and Laria could wear the blue. She is to be my bridesmaid.”
