The Highlander's English Bride (The Lairds Most Likely 6)

"How are ye liking my homeland?" Fergus asked, once they’d found the rhythm and circled the ballroom like it was second nature.

"It’s beautiful," Emily said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. So far her time in Scotland had mostly been a series of explosive encounters in the laird’s bed or wherever the laird and his lady could find the privacy to pursue their passion.

"Ye and Hamish must come to Achnasheen for Christmas. Marina would like that."

"I would, too."

He studied her with sharp green eyes that didn’t miss much. "It’s bonny to see ye two getting on so well."

"I like Marina."

"So do I. But I was talking about ye and Hamish."

"Oh," she said, suddenly wishing that she’d put Fergus off and danced with Hamish after all. She wasn’t ready to confide in the autocratic Laird of Achnasheen.

"When I was down in London, I heard the talk about how the marriage came about. Despite the two of ye putting up a brave face, it was clear that neither of ye was overjoyed to be shackled to the other."

Emily frowned as apprehension began to coil in her stomach. This suddenly felt like an ambush – and one she wasn’t prepared for, here where she was supposed to be amongst friends. "Fergus, it’s a party. It’s not the occasion for looking back on older, sadder days."

"But it’s a braw chance for me to speak to ye alone."

She stumbled, but he caught her without effort. "You really don’t have to."

So her instincts were right. This was indeed an ambush. Her heart sank to her knees and she braced for what was to come.

His stubborn jaw hardened and out of the corner of her eye, Emily caught Marina sending them a concerned glance. Emily summoned a smile but wasn’t sure it was as convincing as it might have been.

"Och, I do. There are two men in this world who are like brothers to me, and one of them is the man ye married. Hamish gives the impression that life comes easily and nothing pierces his confidence, but it’s no’ true. I hope ye ken the damage you can do to him. The damage you’ve already done, by God. I hope ye dinnae intend to do more damage."

Emily stiffened and missed another step. The attack took her by surprise and stung even sharper because there was more than a shred of truth in it.

"I care for my husband," she said tautly, wondering how much talk it would cause if she marched away from the laird’s best friend in the middle of a dance.

She now understood why Fergus had insisted on the first waltz. Most dances involved changing partners or dancing in a group. The waltz, blast it, meant she was with one partner for the duration.

Astonishment vied with hurt that this man harbored such a low opinion of her. She’d hoped that she was making some headway in claiming her place at Hamish’s side. This unwelcome conversation was a painful reminder that she still had a long way to go.

Again Fergus corrected her stumble and sent her a straight look that wasn’t far off a glare. "I’m no’ sure ye do. He spent most of the last year slinking around Glen Lyon like a whipped dog."

She hid a wince. The picture was a little too vivid to bear. She hated to think of Hamish unhappy. She hated even more to think that she’d been the cause. "He’s back to king of the beasts tonight."

"Aye, and that’s just how I’d like him to stay."

"Would you indeed?" she asked with rising resentment. "You know none of this is your business."

"It is, if I make ye see that you can hurt him."

"I have no intention of hurting him," she said hotly. Guilt and injured feelings created a rancid stew inside her.

"I hope ye mean that."

"I do, not that it’s any of your concern. Please take me back to him right now."

The formidable jaw above the snowy white jabot firmed until it was like rock. "I havenae finished."

"Yes, you have."

Fergus ignored her and short of making a scene here where she was so keen to create a good impression, she was trapped until the end of the waltz. At least Fergus kept his voice low. So far, the scolding remained a secret from the rest of the ballroom.