Page 86 of Highland Renegade
Devon glanced at his uncle and then looked at her. For just a brief moment, she thought he was going to say something, but then he turned away. She’d not had a chance to speak to him since the incident at Kilchurn, so she had no way of knowing whether he’d be a bit more receptive to her now. She sighed inwardly. At least, he no longer looked hostile or angry.
“I still doona like ye being on the road alone,” Ian said. “There will be other clans traveling home.”
Juliana narrowed her eyes. “Do you think Camerons may be about?”
“Nae,” Ian replied. “They live to the north of here.”
“Doona fash,” Rory said. “Once Neal sobers up, he’ll nae even consider taking a Sassenach to wife.”
Juliana turned her fury on him. “Not that it is your business, but who told you?”
He grinned. “Word spread like floodwater from the Clyde.Everyonekens.”
Emily was pretty sure he said the last simply to goad Juliana, which wasn’t very wise, given her frame of mind. And he might just deserve the tongue-lashing he would get, but unfortunately, Glenda chose that moment to lend her support to him.
“’Tis just what I said last night.” She slanted a glance at Ian before looking quickly away. “Nae self-respecting Scot would marry a Sassenach.”
“I think you have that backward,” Juliana retorted.
“Juliana.” Emily used the tone she reserved for the direst of times. This certainly was one of them. Thankfully, her sister recognized it. She stabbed a potato with her fork with enough force that her simmering wrath was clear.
Ian gave his ward a severe look. “Ye are excused, Glenda.”
The girl looked mulish, started to open her mouth, then shut it. She shoved her chair back, glared at Emily, and stomped from the room.
Ian frowned. “I am sorry—”
“It is all right,” Emily said. “I think everyone is tired. Shall we just eat?”
He looked like he wanted to argue the point but finally nodded. Emily breathed a sigh of relief. A crisis had been averted. At least for now.
…
Emily deliberately lolled in bed the next morning, not that it was hard to do after not getting much sleep the night before, but more importantly, she wanted to wait until Ian and his brothers had left for the peat bog before she went downstairs. She had a feeling he’d find a way to keep her from going to the distillery if he saw her.
The breakfast room was empty when she got there. Her sisters were probably still in bed recuperating, which was just as well, since she didn’t feel like listening to any more complaints. She had hoped Fiona would be about and might want to ride over to the distillery with her—her company would at least please Ian—but she was nowhere around. Not surprising, since it was the middle of the morning. Fiona often helped Old Gwendolyn deliver her potions and tinctures to those who were ill.
Emily helped herself to some cheese and bread that were still on the sideboard, took an apple to give to Muirne, and headed to the stables. The only person she saw was a young lad about twelve who was mucking out a stall.
“Where is Jamie?” she asked him.
“Some of our mares got out of the far pasture. Master and the other grooms went to catch them,” he answered. “Can I do something for ye?”
“Yes, please. Would you saddle Muirne for me?”
“Right away.” The boy grinned and scampered off. A few minutes later he led the filly out. “Here she is.”
Emily fed her the apple, which she happily crunched, then led her to the mounting block. As she swung her leg over the saddle to ride astride, she wondered if she’d ever prefer a sidesaddle again. The breeches Fiona had lent her when she first arrived were so practical. She laughed aloud, imagining what the ladies of thetonwould say if they saw her riding astride in Hyde Park. No doubt there would be a number of cases of the vapors for sure. But she wasn’t in London and this wasn’t England.
And Scots, she had learned, were much more pragmatic and practical.
She pondered that as she turned Muirne toward the distillery. Although the ball at Kilchurn had overtones of English Society, since the Duke of Argyll and Lord Bute both spent much of their time in London, the stalwart nature of Scots had also been evident. The women didn’t care if their hair came down or their ankles showed while dancing. They simply enjoyed the country reels to a degree that no English lady would allow herself to engage in. The men were robust, hearty, and forthright. Emily winced a little. Perhaps a bit too forthright, given the Cameron debacle. No one minced words. Emily found that rather refreshing, even if it made her more aware that she was still looked on as an outsider. But the attacks seemed to have stopped, so perhaps Ian had made clear that as laird, albeit an outlawed one, she was under his protection.
Hisprotection. Where once she would have scoffed—after all, her husband’s protection had been anything but—except now the idea gave her a warm feeling inside. It made her feel cherished. She knew that was probably a silly notion, since Ian had a responsibility to protect all under his roof and had said as much. Still, she wondered if maybe he did care for her. At least, a little. They’d shared a wonderful kiss in the folly and had almost had another opportunity to do it again. She wasn’t so naïve as to expect a man to declare undying love because of a kiss, but if it had affected him even half as much as it had her, that said something. She just wasn’t sure what.
Emily shook her head to clear it. She was not some giddy, wide-eyed debutante. There was no sense letting herself imagine all sorts of scenarios that probably wouldn’t come to pass. She turned her attention back to the road.
Passing by Gwendolyn’s cottage, she noted the door closed and there was no sign of the wolfhound, so she had probably been right that Fiona was making rounds with the healer.
