She didn’t think she much cared to be squeezed into a sleigh with Morag. She’d felt her eyes on her after Rory had left the parlor, and the couple of times she’d turned too quickly for Morag to look away, the girl’s eyes had looked like slivers of icy glass before she’d pasted a smile on her face. Morag might be Scottish, but Juliana had seen that false-friendly look too many times among London’stonnot to recognize the insincerity of it. But she’d also been trained in manners. Not that she didn’t mind flaunting them, much to Emily’s chagrin at times, but she was a guest here, and the MacDonnells had taken them in.How could I not be the epitome of well-mannered?
“Do they go far to find a tree?”
“Sometimes, but doona fash. Ye will nae be cold.”
Aileen had obviously taken her question to mean she didn’t want to brave the elements. She almost laughed. After sailing on a stormy sea with stinging rain and then facing a howling blizzard with icy pellets lashing her face, being outside in the snow on a sunny day with no wind would seem like springtime.
“’Tis what the blankets are for,” Greer said. “They were woven to be lap size, so each person has her own.”
“And we’ll have hot bricks on the floor as well,” Aileen added, as if to reassure her. “Ye’ll be quite warm.”
That really wasn’t what she was worried about, but she could hardly tell Aileen and Greer that their cousin didn’t like her. She’d just have to make sure she managed to sit across from Morag. Or did this sleigh not have two benches? She didn’t know, but she supposed she could endure one morning. Then another thought came to her. “Do all of you go out when the men bring in the Yule log, too?” They’d mentioned something about that being a bit of a ceremony.
Aileen shook her head. “Nae. The log was cut weeks ago and put in a shed to dry.”
“We canna take a chance on it nae lighting at first try.”
Juliana frowned. “Why not? Sometimes it takes several attempts to get a fire going.”
That remark got her the look again that doubted her intelligence, although Greer didn’t voice the thought. “’Tis tradition that the new log be lighted with a charred stick saved from the year before. If it doesna light right away, ’tis bad luck.”
“Ah.” Scots did seem to have a healthy respect for superstition, although as she learned about some of the awful things that had happened to them throughout the centuries, perhaps they were justified. “I see.”
Greer looked skeptical that Julianadidsee, but she didn’t comment on it. “There will be hot cider waiting when we come home,” she said instead.
“Then the tree will be brought in, and the men will get into an argument about who actually found it,” Aileen said, “and perhaps have a scuffle or two to prove the point.”
“Of course, ’tis we women who made the choice, but we let them think they did.” Greer giggled. “Besides, they like having a wee bit of fun by wrestling about.”
Juliana hid a smile over the image of grown men—and large, broad-shouldered men like Rory—brawling like boys in a schoolyard over such a matter. She couldn’t picture any English aristocrats doing the same. They’d probably tear some of their fancy lace frills if they did. And, while Rory might wear a bruise on his face as a sign of courage, the Englishmen she knew would probably cover it with powder. And then she sobered.When did I start thinking of Rory as a hero?
…
The next morning, Rory set out with nearly a score of MacDonnell men for the great tree hunt, as they called it. When Calum had told him it was a clan tradition, he’d wondered why they attached a name to it. The woods between Loch Lochy and Loch Ness were full of pine—different types of fir and spruce—so selecting a decent-size one shouldn’t be a problem. But that was before the sleigh had been brought out.
Now he looked over his shoulder as the sleigh, filled with women, slid along the road beside the walking men. As such contraptions went, it wasn’t overly large and pulled by just one horse, but it was packed with almost a dozen chattering females. Well, most of them were chattering. Juliana wore the same stoic expression she’d had on their trip up, and Morag was stonily silent.
He sighed as he turned off the road and trooped with the other men to the trees. He hadn’t spoken to either of them yesterday, since as soon as he’d returned with Calum from searching for tracks, the MacDonnells had set out to hunt. The Christmas banquet was hugely important for their neighbors, someone had explained. It included a ritual of bringing in the Yule log, and Rory half expected the men to hunt for the traditional boar, even though the animal was near extinct in Britain. Instead, they’d brought in several stags, some rabbits, and a gaggle of geese who’d landed too close not to take advantage of. When they’d gotten back, he’d helped with the cleaning and dressing of the bounty. By the time that had finished, he’d been tired and filthy and had slunk up the servants’ stairs to his chamber to wash off the blood and other matter.
But all that was just excuses. He’d been avoiding Morag and Juliana, albeit for different reasons.
Morag’s greeting two days ago when she’d returned had unsettled him. He’d hoped for a simple hello when she saw him. He certainly hadn’t expected her to throw herself—literally—on him. And then he’d heard the handle on his door being tried that night. He’d bolted it instinctively. When the MacGregors had been proscribed, they’d all too often had to wonder who was friend or enemy. His first inclination had been to open it in case it might be Juliana. Then the head on his shoulders replaced hisotherhead’s lustful urge with logic. There was no reason for Juliana to come to his door in the dark of night. Definitely not for a tryst.Histhoughts might be turning—far too often lately—in that direction, but even in his wildest fantasy, he couldn’t imaginehersneaking through hallways to his door.
But Morag might. The lass was bold—she’d tried rubbing his thigh under the table last year and probably would have fondled him elsewhere—and she was used to getting her way, since her father indulged her. She was also wily, never acting too bold in front of the laird.
Rory would never know for sure if she’d attempted it, since he hadn’t opened the door to find out. The last thing he needed was to reject her while he was a guest in her father’s house. He supposed he could announce that he was handfasted to Juliana—hewas, after all—but that would lead to why they weren’t sharing the same bedchamber. Andthatwould lead to a whole other quagmire of problems. Not the least of which was that Juliana would be furious and blame him for setting things up to get into her bed. Better not venture there. He was already having trouble keeping a tight rein on his feelings.
“Ye look as if ye are carrying the weight of that big tree we’re going to cut on your shoulders,” Calum said as he came alongside him. “What ails ye?”
Rory snapped out of his reverie. “Just pondering how soon it would be feasible to get on the road.” That was partially true. The sooner he could get away from Invergarry, the less of a problem Morag would be.
“Ye are still worried that Cameron will return?”
Calum had mistaken his problem, but he wasn’t about to correct him. They hadn’t found any tracks yesterday morning, but that didn’t mean Neal wasn’t still at Spean. “’Tis still a possibility. If he arrives after we are gone, ye MacDonnells will nae be involved.”
“’Tis winter, lad. Nae much to do now until the spring thaws come. I imagine many a MacDonnell wouldna mind a bit of a brawl with Camerons.” Calum grinned. “Just to stay in practice, ye ken.”
Rory shook his head. “Ye doona want to start a clan war because of that eejit.”
