sitting room while the men get drunk.” He grinned over at Lady Cecily. “I’m much more sociable than that.”
“Of course,” Lady Cecily murmured. “I would be delighted to have the gentlemen join us in the sitting room after supper.”
“We shall play games,” Marilla announced.
Bret thought he heard Oakley groan.
“It shall be grand,” Marilla continued, clapping her hands together with enough force to make the ladies gasp and the gentlemen avert their eyes.
Except Taran, who stared at Marilla’s quivering bosom with open fascination.
“Shall we dine?” Lord Oakley said with great haste. “Mrs. McVittie has outdone herself, I’m sure.”
“Oh look, Lord Oakley,” Marilla cooed. “You’re next to me.” She leaned toward the earl and murmured something Bret could not hear. Oakley didn’t flinch, so it couldn’t have been that bad, but his response was a stammered collection of barely intelligible phrases.
“Miss Burns,” Bret murmured, holding out her chair. “How lovely that we are seated next to one another.”
He wasn’t positive, but he thought she might have blushed when she said, “It is most fortuitous, Your Grace.”
Had she tampered with the seating arrangements? He smiled to himself. He was loving her more by the second.
“Well, this is a boon,” Taran announced, grabbing the hands of the ladies on either side of him and giving them a squeeze. “The two loveliest lasses in the Highlands, right here next to me.”
Marilla beamed and Lady Cecily winced, presumably in pain. Taran did not appear to have modified his grasp for her delicate hand. Bret glanced at Catriona and Fiona, but neither appeared to have taken any affront at having been excluded from Taran’s pronouncement. If anything, Fiona looked relieved.
And Catriona amused.
“It is really too bad the rest of you were not able to watch the caber toss,” Marilla said to the other ladies. “It was marvelous. The men were so very, very strong.”
“Ach, but the point isn’t how far you can throw the thing,” Taran reminded her. “It’s whether you can land it neatly on its end.”
“Yes, yes,” Marilla said dismissively, “but surely you must agree, sometimes brute force is preferable to finesse.”
“Oh, Marilla,” Fiona groaned.
“Lord Oakley took my breath away,” Marilla said, laying a hand on the newly horizontal plane of her bosom. “He was so strong.”
Oakley’s color heightened and Bret almost felt sorry for him . . . but not quite.
“His muscles!” Marilla exclaimed. She laid a hand on Oakley’s upper arm in what might have been a squeeze. Or a caress. Bret couldn’t tell for sure.
“How are you feeling, Miss Burns?” Oakley asked, politely tugging his arm free of Marilla’s grasp.
Catriona blinked several times in complete incomprehension.
“You were feeling faint,” Bret reminded her gently.
“Oh! Yes. I’m quite recovered,” she answered. “Thank you so much for your concern.”
Under the table, Bret placed his hand on hers.
“Are you sure you’re well?” Lady Cecily asked with some concern. “Your color is quite high.”
“I’m fine,” Catriona answered. She tugged on her hand, but Bret held tight, his thumb making lazy circles on her palm.
“Did you also toss the caber, Mr. Rocheforte?” Lady Cecily asked.
Rocheforte jerked a little and said, “Yes.” And then, while everyone stared at him for his terse answer, he added, “Thank you for asking.”
“Who threw it the farthest?” Fiona asked.
“Byron,” Taran answered, jerking his head toward Oakley. “But Robin’s attempt wasn’t anything shabby.” He grinned over at Marilla. “I’m leaving him the castle, you know.”
“Uncle,” Rocheforte said, “don’t.”
“Eh, now,” Taran grunted, “it’s not like anyone thinks ye’ve got two pennies to rub together. We all know what’s what.”
Rocheforte said nothing, just sat stiffly in his chair.
“I think Finovair is charming,” Lady Cecily said, smiling encouragingly at Rocheforte. “It is a lovely heritage.”
