Authors: Heartstorm
Anne
shook her head, repressing a strong urge to laugh. "'Twas a wicked thing
you did in there, Francis MacLean."
"Janet
needed something to keep her mind occupied. Do you think she's busy
enough?"
"Quite,"
she responded, a tiny gurgle of laughter slipping out. "She's so busy
planning to strangle you, she's forgotten about wanting to do away with
me."
Francis
smiled but said seriously, "Janet's hot-tempered at times, but she has a
good heart. She didn't mean what she said last night."
Anne
nodded. "We've made our peace and are now united in thinking men the most
thoughtless creatures imaginable."
"A
worthy
sentiment, but one I'll make you retract when we bring back enough venison to
feed this army for the next few days."
"I
wish I could go," she said wistfully, gazing across the courtyard of
tangled men and animals.
"This
will be a rough hunt, else I'd take you with me, lass."
"I
know... women aren't supposed to do such things!" she exclaimed, a hint of
bitterness sharpening her voice. "We're only here to see to the household
tasks. Believe me, I've been well versed in all a woman's duties, and I wish I
were a man!"
At
his surprised exclamation, she glanced up in embarrassment, silently cursing
her impulsive tongue. "I... I didn't mean it," she floundered.
"Forgive me, m'lord. I'm just... restless today."
MacLean's
warm gaze slid over her slowly, finally coming to rest on her painfully flushed
face. "There are womanly duties that aren't considered boring, lass... or
so I've been told. But I doubt you're as well versed in them all as you
believe."
His
knowing smile caused her flush to deepen.
"I,
for one, am glad the situation stands as it is," he added. "'Twould
have been a terrible waste the other way."
Leaning
over, he flicked her cheek with one finger. "Be patient, lass. If you'll
behave yourself tonight, I promise to take you tomorrow for a ride wild enough
to satisfy even your restless spirits. As I remember, you've a marked liking
for reckless rides in unthinkable territory."
They
gazed at each other, eyes locked, each unable—or unwilling—to look away. As on
that day at Gull Point, the clamor of noise and movement about them faded, and
Anne was aware only of the lingering resonance of Mac-Lean's deep voice and the
warmth of her cheek where his finger had touched her skin.
Impatient
at the delay, the stallion reared, shaking his head in mock anger. MacLean
brought him down easily and wheeled him around. "Remember, Anne
Randall," he said, still smiling. "You've promised the first dance
tonight to me."
Anne
nodded mutely, her eyes held prisoner by the excitement burning in his. Francis
raised his hand, giving the order to sound the hunting horn. At its deep wail,
the pack of hounds broke into frenzied barking, and men and animals streamed
through the gate, leaving a confused and very unhappy young woman staring
disconsolately after them.
With
the fall of evening, a light mist moved in from the sea, shrouding the dark
stone of Camereigh with a clinging veil of mystery. In startling contrast to
the shadowy world outside, the interior of the castle blazed with light, from
the windows of the highest turret chamber to the farthermost corner of the
kitchen, and the sound of happy laughter echoed in every corridor.
Anne
tried to sit quietly while Kate added the finishing touches to her hair, but
the combination of excitement and fear knotting her stomach made her shift
uncomfortably. She had looked forward to this evening with anticipation, yet
once the time was upon her, she wished she did not have to go downstairs. She
knew none of those happy, laughing people and was acutely aware that her name
would make her less than popular among MacLean's guests.
"There,"
Kate said, stepping back in satisfaction. "We'll slip you into the gown,
and it's an angel people will be takin' you for, I'm thinkin'."
Anne
rose from her stool and moved woodenly toward the bed where the garment lay
like a shimmer of liquid gold reaching to the floor. She'd not tried on the
dress since its completion. In the hectic bustle that afternoon Kate had
forgotten to bring it to her. Perhaps it would not fit. That would give her an
excuse to remain in her room.
Kate
held the exquisite gown, easing it carefully over Anne's head, her nimble
fingers deftly fastening the back. She tugged at the skirt with a sigh of
satisfaction. '"Tis a perfect fit, and I had no doubt. 'Twas me what had
the finishin' of it this afternoon."
"Oh,
Kate... but I can't wear this!" Anne gasped, staring down at the ample
amount of bosom showing to advantage above the plunging neckline.
"Nonsense,"
Kate admonished. "You're a woman now, not a child, and high time it is you
dressed as one. 'Tis not near so bold as some you'll be seein' tonight... and
on women who've no business wearin' such! At least we'll no' be havin' to pad
the top as some will have to do," she added dryly, a twinkle in the eyes
she raised to Anne.
Anne
moved to the mirror, staring at the stranger she saw reflected there. The woman
looked back, confident, sophisticated, worldly. There was no hint of the lonely
child outcast from her father's love these eighteen years.
A
slow smile spread over Anne's face as she studied her reflection. Perhaps the
gown was not too daring after all —and it was so lovely. With one finger, she
traced the fluid line of the cloth where it draped from the creamy ivory of her
bare shoulder to plunge to the becomingly low neckline. Her hands slid slowly
over the pearl-studded bodice, noting how snugly it fit her tiny waist.
Whirling before the mirror, she watched in satisfaction while yards of
iridescent gold cloth rippled from her hips in shimmering waves. An unexpected thrill
raced through her veins. What would MacLean think of the gown?
"Is
it really me?" she whispered, touching the loose curls that fell against
her neck from the elegant twist at the crown of her head.
"Aye,
and it's fine you look, sweet. Though no finer than I knew you'd be," Kate
added in satisfaction. "Your dear mother'd be proud if she could see you
tonight. I used to dress her hair in just that way; I knew it'd become
you."
Anne's
startled eyes met Kate's in the mirror. "You used to wait on my mother?"
she asked in surprise. "Here?"
"Aye,
and a sweet lass she was, too," Kate said, remembering. "She and Sir
Francis's mother were the best of friends, you ken. Laughing, silly girls, both
of them..."
Kate
broke off as Janet poked her head around the door. "May I come in?"
"Please,"
Anne invited. "See what Kate's done to me."
Janet
looked at her and gave a low whistle. "Kate, you've outdone yourself
tonight. I've never felt so old and ugly in all my life! Thank goodness I'm
dark and you're fair, Anne. At least I won't show to such poor advantage."
Anne
stared at Janet in surprise. The woman was gowned in a becoming sapphire-blue
velvet with a neckline every bit as daring as her own. Her glossy black locks
were swept upward about the crown of her head, making her striking blue eyes
appear even larger in the perfect oval of her face. "But you look
lovely," Anne protested, thinking the dark beauty of the older woman far
handsomer than her own.
Janet
paid her no attention. Frowning, she rummaged through the jewel chest she
carried. "There it is!" She lifted out an exquisite necklace of
rubies set in a heavy rope of twisted gold studded with pearls. "There
should be a pair of earrings here too. Ah... here they are! This should be
perfect with that gold."
Anne
was surprised—and touched. "But I can't wear your jewels," she said
with a rueful smile. "I've already stolen your dress."
Janet
waved the comment aside with a laugh and clasped the necklace about Anne's
throat, ignoring her protest. "You must wear them," she said in a
tone that brooked no argument. "This gown demands jewels. And don't worry
about the dress. It was horrid on me! The color made me look pasty as
dough!"
Janet
held the earrings out on her palm. "I'd really like you to wear
them," she said softly. "You were a help this afternoon... and after
last night..." Her words trailed off, but her questioning eyes held Anne's
own.
The
crimson stones seemed to glow with an inner fire as Anne reached for the
earrings. Her answering smile satisfied Janet's wordless inquiry. "I
enjoyed working. It helped to pass the time."
Kate
fussed over Anne another minute. Then, with a last anxious pat to their hair
and gowns, the ladies rustled out the door and down the back stair to a small
parlor where the family was to gather.
Four
men were standing around a side-table, making good use of a decanter and
glasses when the ladies swept in. Donald halted in the act of pouring out wine,
his eyes widening at sight of the two women.
The
experienced Janet paused just inside the room for effect, her mature beauty
making the perfect foil for the golden girl at her side. Anne hesitated
nervously on the threshold, unaware of the picture she made as the candlelight
gleamed on her gown and the shining gold of her hair. She glanced at the men,
quickly distinguishing Mac-Lean's tall frame before her courage deserted her
and she looked away.
"Oddsblood,
Janet!" Ian MacDonnell exclaimed. "I thought no lass could rival you
for beauty, but I fear my niece may give you a race."
Janet
took his hand with a laugh. "You're kind Ian, but that's a race I'd no' be
such a fool to enter. I've a son no' so many years younger than your
Anne."
Ian
turned, sweeping Anne with an appraising look. "You're as lovely as your
mother, lass, and proud I am to claim you." Taking her hand, he turned
toward a straight young stranger standing quietly by the table. "And I've
someone here wanting to meet you. Anne, this is my eldest son, Eric. Eric, lad,
come and meet your cousin, Anne Randall."
Anne
studied the young man. He was a thinner, younger version of her uncle and
appeared near her own age. Pleasant blue eyes appraised her with a look of such
open admiration that her spirits soared with the first stirrings of
self-confidence she'd had all evening. "I'm pleased to make your
acquaintance," she said, dropping into a low curtsy.
"The
pleasure's mine," his deep voice intoned. Extending a hand, he clasped
hers firmly and lifted her to her feet. He smiled easily, and she found it no
trouble at all to return the look.
For
his part, MacLean scarcely noticed the introductions taking place. He drew a
deep, unsteady breath, his eyes traveling slowly over Anne's face, noting the
excited look in her wide-set eyes, the delicate blush of pleasure along her
high cheekbones. Her wide, generous mouth was slightly parted, her full lips
provocative, tempting...
His
gaze dipped lower, lingering along the full, womanly curve of her breasts. He
imagined the feel of her in his arms, her mouth crushed beneath his. Without
warning, the blood surged hotly in his veins, and he knew a familiar tightening
in his loins. Damn, but she was more beautiful than he could have imagined! His
hands literally ached to touch her.
Becoming
aware of his steady regard, Anne glanced across the room. MacLean looked devastatingly
handsome that evening in a doublet of crimson velvet, its sleeves slashed to
reveal undersleeves of shimmering silver. Her look collided abruptly with his.
His eyes were intense, unreadable—dark as the murky pools in the peat bogs on
the moor. He started toward her, and she glanced away, her stomach twisting
nervously.
"You're
a fair sight for a man... lass," he said, stopping before her, his husky
voice making the words a caress. He took her cold hand and lifted it to his
lips, kissing her fingers lightly with a practiced grace. "A lovely lass
with hands as cold as ice. You need something to warm you, but I'm afraid a bit
of wine is ail I can offer at the moment."
Her
heart stopped... then began to beat again wildly, and her surging pulses
pounded loudly in her ears. A warm, tingling sensation spread slowly up her arm
from the point where his lips had burned against her skin, making it difficult
to think clearly. She attempted to pull away, but MacLean only grinned and
tightened his grip, tucking her hand possessively within the curve of his arm.
She
gazed at him uncertainly, feeling her heart bolt like a frightened filly at his
intimate smile. She was being ridiculous. MacLean would tease her unmercifully
if he knew how easily a few compliments had shaken her. "I'd like some
wine," she managed in a steady enough voice.
MacLean
tore his eyes from her and shot a look at Eric. "What do you say we break
out another bottle and drink a toast to the two most beautiful women in all the
Isles... my sister and your cousin."
"You'll
get no argument from me, Francis," Eric replied with an admiring glance at
Anne.
Eric
poured the wine while Ian cleared his throat loudly. "To the two loveliest
lassies in all the Isles... and the four men who can't be with us tonight. May
they soon return for a celebration we'll remember for years to come."