Page 2 of Highland Renegade
Now it seemed the old dowager had decided to come sniff around. He grimaced when he looked at the line of wagons. She wouldn’t need to unpack any of it. He’d already come up with a plan, aided by his brothers and uncles, to make sure her visit was neither comfortable nor accommodating. The grimace turned to a smile. She’d soon be wishing for a return to the luxuries of London.
Turning, he made his way down the steps and across the bailey to the massive front door where his sister Fiona, his ward Glenda, and three of his brothers awaited him. He had no idea where Devon might be, but no one ever knew where his fourth brother was most of the time.
“Ye must have heard the noise of them approaching,” he said.
“Aye,” his brother Carr answered.
“Sounds like a cavalry unit comin’,” his other brother, Alasdair added.
“Why would they be bringin’ so many wagons?” Fiona asked, her eyes growing round as the whole line came into sight.
Rory, his third brother, snorted. “’Tis just like a woman, thinkin’ she canna exist less she changes her gown every five minutes.”
Ian had an uneasy feeling those wagons didn’t contain just clothes, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he watched the carriage come through the open arch of the gateway. The portcullis always stayed up these days and the drawbridge down, since Scotland was not at war, but for a brief moment he almost wished he had barred the entrance. Then he shook his head. He was nine and twenty. It was ridiculous to let some little old lady intimidate him.
The carriage finally rolled to a stop in front of them. Ian motioned for a groom to open the door and assist the woman down. He had no intention of paying homage, but Highland ways did call for hospitality. At least, initially.
His eyes widened as a girl stepped down who couldn’t be any older than Fiona, except where his sister’s hair was as black as his own, this one’s was pale as moonlight. Her eyes had a silvery cast that made her look almost otherworldly. He caught Alasdair, who always had an eye for the ladies, staring and gave him a poke. “Probably a daughter.”
Then another one stepped out whose hair was the coppery color of sunset. She looked around, her ginger-colored eyes practically snapping as she frowned.
“Looks like she wants to pick a fight.” Rory grunted. “Women should nae argue with a man.”
Fiona shot him a look. “Ye doona do so well keeping me quiet—”
“Probably another daughter,” Ian interrupted before a real fight did break loose. At least that might explain the need for a lot of gowns. Even though Fiona preferred breeches, he knew most young women didn’t.
“How many children do ye think the dowager has?” Carr, ever the analytical one, asked as a third woman stepped down.
“I…doona…ken.” Ian’s breath caught. This last one looked like an angel descended from heaven. Her hair was like spun gold, her complexion like fresh cream, and her eyes a deep blue that reminded him of Loch Awe on a cloudless day. He found himself moving forward in spite of planning to wait at the steps.
“I am Ian MacGregor, the…” He’d almost said laird, but, since the word was banned—by the English, at least—and he didn’t need to stoke any English fires. “…one in charge here. The missive I received dinna say the dowager would be bringing three lovely daughters.” He smiled at her, then peered inside the carriage, which was empty. “Where is your mother?”
“Resting in peace beside my father,” the angel answered.
Even her voice sounded heavenly, clear and melodious as harp strings being plucked. Then the words registered. He drew his brows together.
“Your mother is…nae with ye?”
One golden brow arched. “It would seem not.”
He suddenly felt like a green lad or, at least, a dolt. Of course her mother wouldn’t be here if she was dead. But what the devil… He straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders. “Where is the dowager Countess of Woodhaven?”
Her lips curved in the slightest of smiles and he noticed how full and lush they were. Very kissable. Mayhap…
“I am she.”
It took a moment for those words to sink through his rapidly lustful thoughts. Then he blinked. “Yeare the dowager?”
She nodded. “I am Emily Woodhaven. These are my sisters, Miss Lorelei Caldwell…” She gestured to the blonde and then to the redhead. “…and Miss Juliana Caldwell.”
“But I thought…that is, I mean…I dinna…” He stopped himself before he sounded even more like an eejit. “We were nae expectin’ three lasses.”
“Do not worry about accommodations.” Emily pointed toward the wagons. “We brought our own beds.”
He frowned. Did the woman think a MacGregor could not offer a bed… Er,accommodations? His mind didn’t need to be thinking of beds right now or the pleasures to be found in one. He turned his gaze to the wagons instead.
“What else did ye bring?”
