Ian gave his attention to Marian.
“Did you?”
“Aye. I’d thought Màiri must have eaten in her chamber last eve, but then I learned of your private meal and subsequent disappearance from the after-supper festivities.”
If Marian thought listening to a flutist constituted festivities, he could hardly wait until she experienced her first carnival season. Smiling at the thought of her on their company float, the vision was immediately replaced by another.
Unlike Marian, this woman was not pale blonde but dark-haired, although her smile was no less radiant. What would Màiri think of a Mardi Gras parade?
What would she think of New Orleans in general?
“I should not interfere,” Marian said in a way that said much while saying little.
Ian agreed but stayed silent.
“But she has none here to protect her.”
“She has me.”
Marian frowned. “But who will protect her heart from you?”
“Marian,” his brother called. “Ian. Come, meet Laird MacKinnish.”
They turned to see Greyson standing at the end of the passageway and beckoning them toward the hall. Saved again. He and his sister-in-law joined the small group just inside the hall.
“My wife, Lady Marian of Fenwall,” Grey said proudly, making the introductions. “And my brother, Ian.”
Apparently no one had warned his grandfather and his uncle that he would be here. Both looked at him as if they’d seen a ghost.
“Ian?”
He was surprised when both of the large, fierce-looking men hugged the crap out of him. He knew by now public displays of affection weren’t as common in this time, although his mother had clearly taken to them after making the transition to the twenty-first century. She hadn’t gone a day without hugging or kissing them, well into adulthood. It had never bothered him, but he could still remember Reik freaking out one day when their mom reached for his hand in the mall.
He’d been all of eleven or twelve at the time.
Mom hadn’t pressed him at the mall, but on the ride home, she’d laid into both of them even though Ian hadn’t done a thing. If they were embarrassed to be affectionate toward their mother in public, then they could just get over it.
Make no mistake, these men were not two big teddy bears, hugs excluded. He could see where Ross got his size. Too bad their grandmother wasn’t alive. Ian would have loved to meet her too.
“Shona’s boys,” the laird said, his voice thick.
“Father!” Ross chastised, coming up to them. But his grandfather didn’t seem concerned that he might have just blown their cover. Luckily no one seemed to have noticed, and the servants continued clearing the hall.
“Welcome home, Laird,” more than one of them muttered as they walked by.
“Ye’re strappin’ young lads.” Their grandfather nodded his chin to Dermot. “Are they not proper MacKinnish boys?”
“Men, Father,” Dermot corrected, his brogue a touch less thick than his father’s. Dermot, from what Ian understood, spent the most time in England of all of the MacKinnish uncles. Given the political climate, garnering favor from across the border was a worthwhile endeavor, even for Highlanders. Grey seemed disgusted by the idea of “switching sides,” as the Bruce family would do many times to preserve themselves, but Ian saw it differently. There was a difference between ass-kissing and diplomacy, but sometimes the line could easily blur. Either way, these nobles were tied more closely to their southern neighbors than they realized.
“Though you are right. Men indeed. And more than a few people will be pleased by this development.”
His uncle looked directly at him. Ian got the feeling he was the development.
“Lords,” the steward said, coming upon them, “would you like to freshen up as I have a meal brought abovestairs?”
Laird MacKinnish clapped the man on the back, nearly toppling him.
“Very good. We shall meet you all there. The lads here shall join me.”
