“Ye were right to come here.” Morag patted his arm again. “’Tis as if the fae sent ye to me after all.”
Rory bit back a groan, wondering if she might be right. The faeries took delight in meddling…and the present situation was becoming muddled.
…
Juliana listened to the exchange of words as she pretended to study a painting on the wall. If anyone asked her later, she probably wouldn’t be able to describe it, but her ears were working quite well at the moment.
Morag thought Rory was a Christmas present? Andhethought it was anintriguingidea? He probably thought gathering mistletoe with Morag was intriguing, too, but Juliana hadn’t wanted to hear that, so she’d interrupted, saying that she’d really like to get back to Strae Castle in time for the holiday.
She and her sisters had always celebrated Christmas together. Well, “celebrated” might be putting too much of a glorification to it. When Papa and Mama had been alive, there had always been presents, although not expensive ones, since Papa too often invested in inventions that were not successful. Still, they’d always had a tree, decorated with strings of cranberries and popcorn, and Mama would roast a goose that would be shared with the two or three servants that remained loyal to her father, the baron. That had all changed after their parents had died and Emily had been forced to marry the earl to keep a roof over their heads.ThoseChristmases had more often been spent huddled in Emily’s bedchamber with the door bolted, hoping the earl would sleep off the effects of opium from his gaming hell or, better yet, not come home at all.
But what had mattered was that the three sisters had been together. Of course, Emily’s marriage to Ian had changed that. For certain, there would be no reason to stay hidden in a locked room.
She turned her attention to Morag and tried to appear nonchalant at the offer of an escort for her the next morning.Her.Notthem. There was no doubt Morag was determined to keep Rory at Invergarry for Yule. What did surprise her, though, was Rory’s answer. And then, of course, the subterfuge had begun.
Once she’d started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. She felt like she was digging a hole with each semitruthful explanation she gave. And Rory simply stood there, staring at her, letting her fall deeper into the pit of her dubious creativity. She’d been racking her brain for some logical reason they’d ridden all the way here when he’d finally seen fit to take over the conversation.
At least he hadn’t mentioned the Camerons, although claiming to seek refuge at Invergarry was all Morag apparently needed to convince herself he’d chosen the place because of her. Juliana stifled a snort. The fae hadn’t sent him—them—here at all. Bloody Neal Cameron had. A man who was only too human. And Rory hadn’t bothered to correct Morag before he’d made an excuse to leave.
Aileen and Greer were watching her expectantly, and Morag looked as though she wanted to ask more questions. Juliana didn’t want to get any more tangled in the web she had just woven. It wouldn’t take too long before Morag started thinking about how long it had taken them to get to Invergarry and where they’d spent the nights. Best to turn the conversation to another topic entirely. She pasted a smile on her face.
“It seems I will be indulging in your hospitality for Christmas, after all. What traditions do you follow?”
“We call it Yule here,” Aileen said. “’Tis a mixture of English, Norse, and Celt mingled together.”
“It lasts several days, not just one,” Greer added, “and it ends with a bonfire that everyone from the glen is invited to attend.”
At least it wasn’t a ball like the one the Campbells had given. The one where she’d met the infernal Neal Cameron.
Her mind went back to the brief conversation in the parlor. She was grateful nothing had been said about being handfasted, but the thought niggled at her brain as to why Rory had not informed her of the implication of those words.
Is it because he’s looking forward to spending the Yule festivities with Morag?
Chapter Twenty
Since the storm had passed, it seemed the entire household at Invergarry rose with new vigor, like hibernating bears awakening and hungry for food. Juliana hadn’t slept well, and she hadn’t seen even a glimpse of Rory since he’d disappeared from the parlor yesterday afternoon. He and the MacDonnell men had been huddled behind closed doors in the library, and dinner had consisted of bread, dried beef, and cheese left out on platters. The kitchen staff was too busy to prepare a real meal, since the Yule holiday feast approached and they’d been delayed by the blizzard in making preparations.
Everyone certainly seemed to be making up for it now. Juliana helped herself to morning porridge from the sideboard—at least it was hot—and looked for a place to sit. Not that there wasn’t space. She was the only one in the smaller dining room off the kitchen, but empty plates had been left behind and, it seemed, most of the servants had taken off as well.
She pondered that as she added sugar to the semiwarm tea still in a pot on the table. Scots really didn’t see their help as servants, possibly because some of them, maybe even most, were kin, due to the clan system. Even though old King George had banned the clans and taken away legal power from their lairds, the ties were still strong.
The MacGregors had been slow to accept the three of them, especially since Emily had been given a special dispensation by the king to the title of Strae Castleandshe came with the title of Countess of Woodhaven. It was something of a minor miracle that Emily and Ian had fallen in love.
While she and Rory had argued. About everything. She couldn’t remember when they’d agreed about anything. It was probably a miracle that he’d come after her at all. Juliana pushed her half-eaten porridge away.Thatwas the crux of her problem. Rory had come after her and, because they hadn’t actually argued over every single thing, she’d let herself get lulled into thinking… Well. She wasn’t sure what exactly her thoughts were, but she knew her feelings about him were changing. She knew the kiss at the MacLean home had been forced. She knew Rory took his responsibility to bring her home seriously. He hadn’t taken advantage of their situation when he could have, especially now that she knew he was her husband according to Scottish law. He’d acted the gentlemen and treated her with respect. That should have given her a great sense of relief. Yet… Somehow, it didn’t.
She took another sip of tea—cold now—and made a face as she rose, wishing she knew what was wrong with her.
…
Rory had gotten up before dawn to break his fast and then headed to the stables, not bothering to wake the stable lad who was supposed to be keeping watch. He remembered all too well how tedious that job could be, especially on a cold night when the stable was nice and warm and fresh hay offered a good pallet on which to sleep.
He smiled as he led Baron out of his stall and then stopped as he saw shadowy figures waver near the stable door. Before he could reach for his sword, Calum emerged out of the still-dark night. Rory glanced behind him but saw no one else. He raised an eyebrow.
“What brings ye out so early?”
“I could ask ye the same thing,” Calum replied.
Rory shrugged. “I thought I might ride out and see if I can find tracks in the new snow.”
