Kilts and Kisses by Victoria Roberts Page A

dagger.
    “I see the look on your face, Ceana. Donna try to hide it. Ye recognize the truth for what it is. If Father and Mother werenae killed by those vagrants who robbed them on the road, Father would still be laird. And ye know verra well that ye would now be the one foolishly vying for attention, not Sorcha.” When Ceana pursed her lips, Anna added, “I know. Ye would ne’er behave the way that Sorcha does. But does it nae trouble ye?”
    Ceana became uneasy under her sister’s scrutiny and shifted her weight. “There is naught we can do to change the past. We need to look toward the future and nae look behind. That’s what Mother and Father would’ve wanted for us.” Turning her head away from her prying sister, Ceana stared blankly into the courtyard below, refusing to admit that Anna was right.
    A loud commotion came from the bailey, causing Anna to glance over the wall. “I think ‘tis safe to return. The latest suitor has taken his leave.”
    “Let us give thanks to God for small favors. I donna know how many more of these visits I can bear.”
    When Ceana and Anna entered the great hall, servants were working to clear the long wooden table on the dais of meats, breads, and cheeses—but not before Anna managed to grab a handful of food. She didn’t even wait to sit down before she broke off a piece of bread and gobbled it down.
    “I’m famished,” she said. “At least there’s something remaining for us to eat this time. Ye better grab a bite before ’tis too late. How many more suitors do ye think will come before these men clean us out of our stores for the winter?”
    “I see the two of ye managed to find your way back. More’s the pity, if ye ask me.”
    Anna’s eyes blazed with anger. “We didnae ask ye.”
    “Sorcha, ye look lovely.” Ceana made every effort to mask the look of contempt that crossed her face. Too bad her cousin’s comeliness didn’t outweigh her dreadful demeanor. Ceana had to fight an internal battle every day to make certain that Sorcha’s abhorrent behavior wasn’t contagious.
    Her cousin’s newest gown was gold and trimmed with blackwork embroidery. The neck opening was filled in with a linen partlet, and a ribbon sash was secured at Sorcha’s slender waist. Her ash-brown hair clustered in short curls around her oval face, the same face that currently studied Ceana from head to toe.
    “Mother had this gown made for me. I think ‘tis rather fitting for the occasion. Wouldnae ye say?”
    Anna huffed. “I’d say ye—”
    “Aye. ‘Tis quite lovely.”
    Sorcha glared at Anna. “Ye two will nae ruin this for me. Do ye hear me?”
    “Ruin this for ye?” Anna’s voice went up a notch. “If nae for my father, there would be naught—”
    “ Na can an còrr! Tha sin gu leòr! ” Say no more! That is enough! “Good heavens, child. I can hear all of ye from across the hall. There is nay need for these constant squabbles.” Aunt Marta placed silvery locks of hair behind her ear and then smoothed her red skirts. She was a petite woman with a square chin and a wide mouth that looked large for such a small frame.
    “Our guest has departed. Take your leave and wash your sleeve,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the gold fabric of Sorcha’s dress.
    “I donna see any dirt on Sorcha’s dress.”
    Aunt Marta raised her hands to Anna’s cheeks. “Och, lassie. I know her dress isnae soiled. Sorcha is going to find out which suitor will take her to wife.”
    “My apologies, but I donna understand.”
    “‘Tisnae your fault that your mother didnae teach ye such things.” Aunt Marta lowered her arms and gave Anna a patient smile. “‘Tis said that if a maiden travels to a south-running stream, to a ford where the dead and the living cross, she’s to wash her sleeve in the water. When she returns home, she’s to hang the garment in front of the fire and keep a careful eye. If Sorcha watches closely, she’ll see the apparition of her future husband