The Lady Most Willing

“You’d be surprised,” Catriona muttered.

The three ladies stood in silence for a few moments, instinctively huddling together for warmth as they watched the men from afar. Catriona still couldn’t believe they were going to try to toss a caber, although truth be told, it hadn’t required much prodding on her part. The men had been almost absurdly eager to show off their prowess; truly, the only difficulty had lay in obtaining a caber. And even that hadn’t been that difficult. Taran’s men were presently hauling it up from the west field.

Taran said something that made the men laugh, and then Rocheforte grinned and raised his arms as if to make his muscles bulge. Catriona felt herself grinning along with him. She’d had no cause to speak with him this day, but he certainly did seem an easygoing sort.

“Do you know where Lady Cecily is?” Fiona asked.

“No, I haven’t seen her at all,” Catriona replied. “Of course I’ve been stuck with Taran since breakfast.”

“Except when you ran off with the duke,” Marilla said in a waspish voice.

Fiona turned to Catriona with unconcealed interest.

“I didn’t run off with the duke,” Catriona retorted. “We merely finished breakfast at the same time.”

“And left me alone,” Marilla sniffed.

“With the Earl of Oakley!”

“You had breakfast with Lord Oakley?” Fiona asked her sister.

“I was having breakfast with the Duke of Bretton until Catriona ran off with him,” Marilla said.

Catriona let out an exasperated sigh. There had never been any point in arguing with Marilla. Instead, she turned to Fiona and asked, “What have you been doing all day?”

“Altering dresses,” Fiona told her. “That’s probably what’s caught up Lady Cecily, too. Did no one tell you about the trunks that were brought down from the attic?”

“Not until I saw Marilla at breakfast,” Catriona told her. “My room is in an entirely different part of the castle.”

“The servants’ wing,” Marilla murmured, not taking her eyes off the men. Lord Oakley was laughing at something that his cousin had said. He looked quite different when he smiled. Much more pleasing to the eye, Catriona decided.

Although still nothing compared to the duke.

Fiona gave her sister an annoyed glance before turning back to Catriona. “If you’re comfortable in the dress you came with, you’re not missing out. Most of the gowns in Taran’s attic were for ladies of more ample endowment than we possess.”

Marilla shot her a supercilious look.

“Well, than some of us possess,” Fiona corrected. “You really should have let me take your gown out a bit, Marilla.”

Marilla ignored her. Fiona shrugged and turned back to Catriona. “Do you think they know what a caber is?” she asked, the corners of her lips tilting into a tiny smile.

“His Grace is aware that it is a log,” Catriona replied, biting back a smile of her own. “Of what length or girth he imagines it, I do not know.”

“The other two are part Scottish,” Fiona mused. “They must be, if they are related to Taran.”

“I’ve never seen them here before.”

“Nor I.” There was a beat of silence, then Fiona murmured, “It’s possible . . .”

“. . . that they have absolutely no idea what they’re getting into?” Catriona finished for her.

Fiona grinned in response.

“Well, I think you’re very unwise to have suggested this,” Marilla announced. “When they see the caber and realize they can’t lift it, they are going to feel like fools. And men do not like being made fun of.”

“That presupposes that none of them are in possession of a sense of humor,” Catriona responded. She looked over at the men again. Or rather, still. She hadn’t taken her eyes off them even once. The duke appeared to be having a grand time, laughing heartily at something Mr. Rocheforte had said.

Then he turned, and their eyes met.

And he smiled. Grinned, really.

Catriona’s heart stopped. She felt it, thumping loud, then skipping three beats.

“Did you see that?” Marilla said excitedly. “His Grace just smiled at me.”

“I thought he was looking at Catriona,” Fiona said.

“Don’t be silly.”