roof.”
Morgan arched a mocking eyebrow. “Why? The better to hear her screams?”
Brian’s sword cleared its sheath, but Sabrina pushed past him before he could wield it. “Pardon me. May I interrupt you gentlemen for a word with my betrothed?”
Dougal and Morgan exchanged a look, unexpected allies at that moment. They had expected female hysteria. Sabrina’s icy dignity plainly unnerved them both.
Her father nodded and stepped back, leaving her to face Morgan alone. He stared down his nose at her, legs akimbo, hands locked at the small of his back.
Sabrina tipped her head back to look him in the eye, giving him the full effect of her regal sniff. “Make your decision with care, Morgan MacDonnell.” She mimicked her mother’s flawless British diction without realizing it. “For I swear I will not give you an afternoon’s pleasure. I’ll not give you even a moment’s pleasure.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I expected no more from a spoiled shrew. Why do you think I asked for the chickens?”
“If you marry me, you’ll wish you’d got them.”
Morgan could not resist baiting her just as he’d done as a boy. He leaned down until his nose almost touched hers and gave her an infuriating grin. “I already do.”
Sabrina resisted the urge to plant her fist square in the middle of his smug face. The fragile truce they had forged in the solar lay scattered at her feet like the shards of her pride. She snapped her skirts around and marched from the hall, knowing in her heart that she had already made one fatal mistake.
She should never have stopped hating Morgan MacDonnell.
Dougal longed to press his palms over his ears.
Between Enid’s blubbering and the rhythmic sniffling of the maids laboring over Sabrina’s wedding gown, he wished himself anywhere else in the world. He would have gladly faced a legion of MacDonnells, all armed and roaring for his blood, before spending another moment in this solar of hysterical women.
But worse than the keening of the servants, most of whom had adored his daughter from birth, was his wife’s accusing, dry-eyed stare. It impaled him to his place by the window, challenging him to stay and witness the havoc he had wreaked. Elizabeth’s graceful hands flew, jabbing a needle through a thick slab of leather as if she wished it were his heart.
With her usual aplomb she had thrown the entire household into the frantic preparations for the wedding to be held that night, as if hoping mindless bustle might stave off panic. Even Enid had been swaddled in an apron and handed a bowl of vegetables to chop. Dougal doubted they would require salting. Enid’s tears were running in a steady stream down her quivering chin and into the bowl.
Elizabeth rose from the settee to snap off a freshvolley of commands. “Aggie, run and fetch a sharp pair of shears.” She peered into the bowl braced between Enid’s ample knees. “Good heavens, child, those aren’t mushrooms. They’re toadstools. Fish them out or we’ll have another dead MacDonnell on our hands tonight.”
Enid obeyed with a fresh wail. The fragile legs of the Turkish ottoman teetered beneath her weight.
Elizabeth paused before the shimmering blue confection that had once been her own wedding dress. “Careful, girls. I won’t tolerate a single water spot on that satin.” She jerked a lace handkerchief from her bodice, held it to the pinkened nose of a dimpled young maid, and snapped, “Blow!”
Dougal gritted his teeth. The maids were handling the pearl-studded satin as if it were a burial shroud.
The door flew open. It was not Aggie returning from her errand, but Sabrina, her eyes brimming with tears. Dougal saw his own dread mirrored in their sapphire depths. Enid’s wails died to sniffles. The maids’ trembling fingers dropped stitches, unraveling the work they’d done.
She flung herself across the solar and clutched his ruffled shirtfront. “Papa, you must relent. You cannot force me to marry such
Morgan arched a mocking eyebrow. “Why? The better to hear her screams?”
Brian’s sword cleared its sheath, but Sabrina pushed past him before he could wield it. “Pardon me. May I interrupt you gentlemen for a word with my betrothed?”
Dougal and Morgan exchanged a look, unexpected allies at that moment. They had expected female hysteria. Sabrina’s icy dignity plainly unnerved them both.
Her father nodded and stepped back, leaving her to face Morgan alone. He stared down his nose at her, legs akimbo, hands locked at the small of his back.
Sabrina tipped her head back to look him in the eye, giving him the full effect of her regal sniff. “Make your decision with care, Morgan MacDonnell.” She mimicked her mother’s flawless British diction without realizing it. “For I swear I will not give you an afternoon’s pleasure. I’ll not give you even a moment’s pleasure.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I expected no more from a spoiled shrew. Why do you think I asked for the chickens?”
“If you marry me, you’ll wish you’d got them.”
Morgan could not resist baiting her just as he’d done as a boy. He leaned down until his nose almost touched hers and gave her an infuriating grin. “I already do.”
Sabrina resisted the urge to plant her fist square in the middle of his smug face. The fragile truce they had forged in the solar lay scattered at her feet like the shards of her pride. She snapped her skirts around and marched from the hall, knowing in her heart that she had already made one fatal mistake.
She should never have stopped hating Morgan MacDonnell.
Dougal longed to press his palms over his ears.
Between Enid’s blubbering and the rhythmic sniffling of the maids laboring over Sabrina’s wedding gown, he wished himself anywhere else in the world. He would have gladly faced a legion of MacDonnells, all armed and roaring for his blood, before spending another moment in this solar of hysterical women.
But worse than the keening of the servants, most of whom had adored his daughter from birth, was his wife’s accusing, dry-eyed stare. It impaled him to his place by the window, challenging him to stay and witness the havoc he had wreaked. Elizabeth’s graceful hands flew, jabbing a needle through a thick slab of leather as if she wished it were his heart.
With her usual aplomb she had thrown the entire household into the frantic preparations for the wedding to be held that night, as if hoping mindless bustle might stave off panic. Even Enid had been swaddled in an apron and handed a bowl of vegetables to chop. Dougal doubted they would require salting. Enid’s tears were running in a steady stream down her quivering chin and into the bowl.
Elizabeth rose from the settee to snap off a freshvolley of commands. “Aggie, run and fetch a sharp pair of shears.” She peered into the bowl braced between Enid’s ample knees. “Good heavens, child, those aren’t mushrooms. They’re toadstools. Fish them out or we’ll have another dead MacDonnell on our hands tonight.”
Enid obeyed with a fresh wail. The fragile legs of the Turkish ottoman teetered beneath her weight.
Elizabeth paused before the shimmering blue confection that had once been her own wedding dress. “Careful, girls. I won’t tolerate a single water spot on that satin.” She jerked a lace handkerchief from her bodice, held it to the pinkened nose of a dimpled young maid, and snapped, “Blow!”
Dougal gritted his teeth. The maids were handling the pearl-studded satin as if it were a burial shroud.
The door flew open. It was not Aggie returning from her errand, but Sabrina, her eyes brimming with tears. Dougal saw his own dread mirrored in their sapphire depths. Enid’s wails died to sniffles. The maids’ trembling fingers dropped stitches, unraveling the work they’d done.
She flung herself across the solar and clutched his ruffled shirtfront. “Papa, you must relent. You cannot force me to marry such
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