Page 94 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Duncan and Callum exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. “I can still remember your face!” Callum said, shaking with laughter.
“You cannot put out a delicious cake like that and expect two twelve-year-old boys not to eat it!” Duncan protested.
“I did warn you,” Alex told Scott. “I told you to hide everything edible!”
Scott shook his head, smiling at his mischievous cousins. “You did, Alex,” he conceded. “But in spite of that, it was a good party, and they were good days, were they not?”
“Indeed,” Alex agreed. “Do you remember the day you almost fell off the battlements when you were showing off to Annie Sutherland?”
Scott put his head in his hands. “Do not remind me of that, please!” he begged. “I didn’t know whether to be terrified or embarrassed or both, and after all that, she married that idiot Jimmy McFarlane, who is so stupid he can barely tie his own shoelaces!”
“He has other qualities, though,” Alex pointed out. “Hundreds of them. No, probably thousands.” He waggled his eyebrows mischievously.
“It is truly amazing how attractive men become to women when they are wealthy,” Scott observed in a philosophical and slightly cynical tone. “And the richer they become the more attractive they are.”
Alex disagreed with him, and said so, then a little light-hearted argument started over the merits and demerits of women in general. When the conversation moved on to other topics, he sat listening to the banter around him, staying silent and letting the happy atmosphere wash over him. It was good to be with his family, especially his own brothers, and he looked forward to the day he brought Freya here, knowing how much she would love the general atmosphere of happy chaos.
They finished their impromptu meal and Alex announced his intention to go and bathe.
Scott looked him up and down, feeling the back of his head and wincing. “I think you need one,” he observed. “You have some of my blood on you, Cousin!”
At that moment Jamie came over and gave his brother a playful cuff around the ear. “Poor baby,” he said, laughing. Then he addressed Alex, “I will have someone come and tell you when dinner is ready, and remember, we do not dress up here!”
This was a standing joke between the households, since Laird Murdaugh was very formal and the MacNeills were definitely not. Indeed, when invited to eat with the MacNeills, Douglas Murdaugh had been quite shocked to be sitting down to dinner with men who were still in working or casual clothes. They would only wear their best clothes when Lady MacNeill was there, but she was very shy and rarely ate with the men.
As he lay in the bath, Alex’s mind turned to Freya, as it always did when he was alone. He closed his eyes and imagined that she was there in the bath with him, her back against his chest. He knew that he would be aroused; indeed, he was afire just thinking about her. He would love to be cupping her soft, pliable breasts, teasing her nipples, peppering her neck with tiny kisses, and feeling her hands on his shaft as she pleasured him.
He became so aroused that he had to pleasure himself before he rose from the bath, but although his body was satisfied, his heart was not. He wanted Freya with him not just for her body, but for who she was. He could spend hours just holding her and talking to her; they conversed about everything and anything, and she made him laugh, but most of all, she made him think. No one had ever done that to him before. She was not only good for his body, but his mind.
He dragged his mind back to reality and as he dried himself, he looked around his bedroom. How small it seemed suddenly. He had not slept in this room when he was a small child, of course, and although he had made many happy memories in it, his best ones were of the bedchamber at Kilkenrigg where he had grown up.
He smiled as he remembered jumping on his bed and throwing pillows at his father. He recalled his mother reading stories to him then tucking his blankets around him on cold nights. Sometimes she would lie with him until he went to sleep; he still remembered the smell of her perfume.
His father would often fight him with a wooden sword, always letting him win, of course. Suddenly he had a pang of sadness for the two people whom he had loved most, who had been everything to him. He shook his mind free of his gloomy thoughts as a loud knock sounded at the door.
“There are some people down here so hungry they are ready to eat the tablecloth!” It was Scott’s voice, and Alex laughed as he buttoned his shirt and left the room to meet his cousin, reflecting that it felt very good to be amongst his family again. If only Freya had been here, it would have been perfect.
* * *
As soon as Alex entered the dining room, everyone looked up at him, and all conversation quieted for a moment, then quickly resumed, but all of them looked a little guilty. Everything was back to normal in a few minutes, however, but Alex still felt a strange, awkward atmosphere hanging over the room.
The meal was no better or worse than what he was used to; obviously no one had thought he was special enough to put on a feast. After they had finished eating, a strange silence fell as a bottle of wine was opened. Alex broke it first.
“I’m glad you opened the best wine, Uncle Lachlan,” he said, grinning. “Because I have some excellent news to share with you.” He looked around the table to check the faces of his brothers and cousins. They were all staring at him intently. “I am going to be married to Freya Murdaugh.”
The reaction he received was not at all what he had expected. His cousins and brothers looked at him, then looked away awkwardly, sipping their wine and shifting in their seats. No one congratulated him; they all avoided his eyes, appearing to be embarrassed.
Alex was baffled. “Is nobody going to congratulate me?” he asked, with a puzzled frown. “Is nobody happy for us? I thought you might all be glad that I am marrying into a strong clan and not one like the Andersons who can hardly say boo to a goose!”
He looked around, but no one would even look in his direction anymore; they were all contemplating, their hands or the top of the table.
The Laird looked up, took a sip of his wine, then pinned Alex with a piercing gaze. “Alex,” he said gravely, “there is something you need to know before you go leaping into marriage with the Murdaugh family.” He dropped his gaze to his hands and sighed. “I wanted to send a messenger to you, because I urgently needed to speak to you, but I thought a message might be intercepted, with disastrous consequences. I am so glad you are here, because I had to speak to you somehow, and your coming here makes everything so much easier.”
“Makes what easier?” Alex was baffled.
“Makes it easier to tell you what you need to know,” the Laird replied uncomfortably.
Alex sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Please enlighten me, Uncle,” he said sarcastically. He sounded confident, but his heart was beating nineteen to the dozen. He was terrified of what he was going to hear.
