Page 39 of In Love With the Wrong Highland Sister
Eloisa’s eyes were round with amazement. “No, Laria! You didn’t!” Then she thought for a moment. Her sister was more than capable of such acts. “From whom?”
“From Father’s cousin, Angus. You remember, the big fat one?” she replied, screwing up her face in disgust. “We were there when I was fourteen. You had chickenpox and could not come with us.”
“I was most upset,” Eloisa laughed. “But from what you told me, I am glad I could not make the journey.”
“You would have been even more upset if you had come with us.” Laria grimaced, shivering. “He was a horrible man, and we had an equally horrible time, but he has an excellent library. One day, I sneaked in and found quite a lot of interesting books about all sorts of things. Then I became too curious and found a whole shelf of books like the one I mentioned. I was fascinated because I knew it was something that I should not be looking at.”
“A whole shelf?” Eloisa asked in disbelief. “I cannot believe it! He must be some kind of…of—” She broke off, lost for words.
“Pervert,” Laria supplied, frowning. “And if you think this is shocking, you should see the other ones! But do not tell Mother I have it, or she will rip it to shreds! Now go to bed and dream about wedding dresses.”
* * *
“You can always change your mind, you know,” Gavin observed thoughtfully as he helped James with his kilt. “You could be Laird Elliott instead.”
James looked into his brother’s blue eyes, which were twinkling mischievously. He grinned and gave Gavin a playful swipe, which he dodged effortlessly, laughing. “You know that you have always wanted to be the laird,” James reminded him. “You have been preparing for it your whole life, and you know it. You may be the second son, Gavin, but you are much more suited to the responsibility than I am.”
“Perhaps,” Gavin acknowledged, shrugging, “but will the other lairds take me seriously? I am, as you pointed out, only the second son.”
James watched his brother’s anxious face for a moment, then moved over to put his hands on his shoulders. Gavin was the same height as he was, but even though he was a little slighter and more wiry, he was still an imposing figure of a man. They resembled each other so closely that it was clear they were brothers.
“Gavin, I did not say that you wereonlya second son,” he said. “You were born to be a laird, and I was not. You have the knowledge, the dedication, and most of all, the desire. You will do well, and you will earn respect, although I am sure that is a needless concern since I am certain you already have it. You have mine.”
“You are a trifle biased,” Gavin laughed. “Now, are you ready?”
“As I will ever be, Gavin. I have never been more scared in my life,” James admitted. “This is for the rest of my life, you know.”
Gavin put his arm around his big strong brother’s shoulders and gave him a supportive squeeze. “Come on, you big lump,” he said, laughing. “She is not going to bite you!”
James quirked an eyebrow at Gavin. “You do not know her as well as I do!”
Gavin laughed, then they left James’s bedroom and began to walk downstairs.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “women are supposed to be weaker than we are, but I doubt that. I think they are far stronger than us mere men.”
“I am quite sure you are right,” Gavin agreed. “As husbands, I am sure that we will be no more than slaves to their every whim. We might be their watchdogs, but I am sure we will also be their lapdogs!”
They stopped at the entrance to the chapel, and James took in a great shuddering breath before he went in, then he squared his shoulders, thrust his chest out, and marched inside, hoping that he looked more confident than he felt.
* * *
Laria had always felt uncomfortable wearing a dress and had wished many times that women were allowed to wear breeches. Now her hair was floating everywhere instead of being neatly confined in its usual tight plait. This always hung obediently down her back, giving her no problems at all, but her thick mass of curls was an almighty irritation, particularly when Eloisa insisted on sticking wildflowers in it.
“Oh! You look like a princess!” she said joyfully as she stood back to look at her sister, clapping her hands. “Does she not, Mother?”
“No,” Margaret said as she came forward to embrace her daughter. “She looks like a queen.” Her eyes were full of tears as she took in Laria in her blue velvet dress.
It had a modestly rounded neckline, and the sleeves were puffed to the elbow, where they narrowed to points on the backs of her hands. There was a broad silk belt around her slender waist, which tied into a dramatic bow at the back, and a flared skirt with a short round train. Eloisa had observed that it was exactly the same color as James’s eyes.
The whole creation had been made by Frances Donaldson, the most accomplished seamstress in Grainaig, and Laria could not wait to take it off before she remembered that other hands would be doing that job for her tonight. Her body responded with the now-familiar fluttering of desire between her legs, and she felt a brief moment of terror at the thought that she might not be a good wife on her wedding night.
However, if the stirrings of arousal she felt now were any indication, she knew that there would be no worry on that score. She imagined James’s fingers slowly peeling off her dress and kissing her as he had done once before. Her lovemaking with Robert had always been warm and intimate, but she had the feeling that with James, it would be different—wilder and infinitely more exciting.
“Now, you remember all your words?” Margaret asked anxiously.
Laria nodded, irritated. “Yes, Mother,” she sighed wearily, then, seeing the hurt expression on her mother’s face, she embraced her. “I am sorry, but unlike everyone else, I just want to see this whole thing finished. We both do.”
“Come,” Eloisa smiled and took her sister’s arm. “If that is what you want, Laria, then the faster we get to the church, the faster we will be done with the whole business. Though I think you are making it sound as if you are a gladiator being thrown to the lions!”
