The Highlander's Touch
Page 54

Who was this woman in the mirror who looked like sin? she wondered. Like Sin’s, she amended fancifully, for even she had to admit that the woman in the mirror now looked a suitable companion for the laird of the castle. For once she didn’t curse herself for being tall, because in this gown her height added an unmistakable touch of elegance.
“You’re incredible, Gillendria,” Lisa breathed.
“I am, aren’t I?” Gillendria replied without a trace of arrogance. “Although I have not had a woman with yer perfect figure to clothe for some time, I have not forgotten how. The laird will be well pleased.”
Lisa was well pleased. She’d never known she could look like this. At seventeen, she’d hoped one day to look like Catherine—a golden, striking beauty—but work had become all-consuming as she’d struggled to provide for her mother, and Lisa hadn’t spared another thought for her own appearance in five long years. Her mother would love—Oh! Mom!
She shivered. How could she have forgotten even for an instant?
“Are ye cold, milady?” Gillendria asked. “I can fetch a wrap.”
“Nay,” Lisa said softly. “Just a momentary chill, nothing more. Go on with you now, Gillendria. I’ll find my way to the Greathall.”
After Gillendria left, Lisa sank down on the bed. Castle Brodie was the loveliest place she’d ever been, and there she sat in a dress made for a princess, about to have dinner with a man who was the stuff of her every romantic dream. For a few minutes she’d forgotten all about Catherine. She’d been too busy experiencing all the anticipation and excitement of a woman preparing for a special date.
But this was no date, and there would be no happily ever after. Her mother needed her desperately, and Lisa was doing something she had never before permitted herself to do: She was failing to carry out her responsibilities to Catherine. Failure was not a thing to which she was accustomed. She’d always been able to work harder, or for longer hours, to ensure, if not success, at least safety, food, and a roof over their heads. She had no right to feel even a brief moment of happiness, she admonished herself, until she found the flask and established her way home.
And then will you feel happy, Lisa? her heart asked gently. When you leave him and go home to sit at your mother’s bedside? When she’s gone and you are left alone in the twenty-first century? Will you be happy then?
* * *
Her resolve to feel no pleasure lasted all of an hour. Lisa finished her dessert and sighed contentedly. If she’d learned nothing else, she’d learned to appreciate the good things that were interspersed with the bad, and dinner had been the best. The formal dining hall was beautiful, lit by dozens of candles. She was warm, clean, and full. For the first time since she’d been in the fourteenth century she’d eaten a splendid meal. Admittedly, her meals back in her century had never been seven courses of heaven, but even White Castle hamburgers fared well against the bland, tough meat and hard bread to which she’d been subjected. During the past few weeks, she’d despaired of ever eating a decent meal again.
Twenty feet of table separated them—like in the old movies, she thought. She needed twenty feet between her and the lord of Brodie Castle. They’d dined mostly in silence, and he’d been the epitome of a gracious host. He hadn’t scowled at her even once. In fact, several times she’d caught him regarding her with an admiring gaze. His previous bad temper seemed to have melted away without a trace, and he appeared as close to relaxed as she’d ever seen him. She wondered what had changed his mood; perhaps he was going to war soon, she decided, which would suit them both fine. He’d get to throw his weight around being the brash overbearing male, and she’d be free to tear the castle apart from top to bottom in search of the flask, without fear of his watchful gaze. He certainly wouldn’t carry such a valuable relic into battle. He’d have to leave it here somewhere. The idea made her feel positively magnanimous.
She glanced at him, feeling secure in the distance between them, and smiled. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“For what, lass?” He idly licked a swirl of fluffy topping from his spoon.
“For feeding me,” she replied, assuring herself that the mere glimpse of his tongue flicking over a spoon was not sufficient cause for her blood pressure to rise.
“I’ve fed you every day since you’ve been here and you’ve not thanked me before,” he observed mockingly.
“That’s because you never fed me anything worth eating before.” She watched as he licked a dab of cream from the tip of his spoon. “I think you got it all,” she said uneasily. Suddenly the cavernous room seemed to shrink and she felt as if she were sitting mere inches away from him, not twenty feet. And who had poked up the dratted fire? She fanned at her face with a hand that betrayed not the slightest tremor she was feeling.