Devil's Highlander by Veronica Wolff

Author:Veronica Wolff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-06-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Marjorie looked up at Cormac, her heart skittering madly. She curled her fingers into the sleeve of his coat in an effort to steady herself. “Where are you taking me?”

“Why, all this dancing is making you faint, aye?” He brushed an errant lock from her damp brow. Putting his hand over hers, he pulled her grip from his sleeve, twining her fingers with his. “It seems to me I need to take you to find yourself some sort of . . . salon in which to recover.”

“Ohh. I see.” She bit back a smile. She put a dramatic hand to her chest. “Why yes. I think I am feeling a bit light-headed.”

“Damn,” Cormac whispered, his features sharpening.

“What is it?”

Pressing his hand on her shoulder, he attempted to steer Marjorie to the left, but it was too late. A knot of dancers had parted to reveal the bailie. He’d spotted them and, with a broad grin, was heading straight toward them.

“Damn,” she repeated with gusto, and Cormac’s startled laugh almost made the disappointment worth it.

“Why if it isn’t Lord and Lady Brodie!” Forbes extended his arms in a hearty greeting. “Welcome, welcome.”

His gaze shifted from Cormac to Marjorie, a question in his eyes.

She schooled her features, realizing she must look the picture of stunned outrage.

“But is aught the matter?” he asked them.

Marjorie deflated. Aught indeed. She’d been about to get Cormac alone.

She steeled herself. The bailie was the whole reason they were there. Never would they get a better opportunity to gather information, to find Davie. And, as much as it vexed her, she knew Cormac was the one to do it. She adopted what she hoped was the expression of a fainting flower.

“I’m afraid I’m feeling light-headed.” She gave Cormac a pointed look, hoping he’d understand her message: it was up to him now. “Perhaps I shall seek out the company of the other ladies?”

“Ah, yes,” Forbes said, understanding her dilemma at once. “The fire blazes high, and what with all the dancers, women with such fine constitutions as your own are wont to need a rest.”

It took an effort not to swat the bailie’s arm and give him a dose of her fine constitution. She nodded weakly instead.

“You’ll find a number of the wives in a small sitting room just beyond the library,” he continued. “And might I recommend a sip of my wife’s ambrosia? Don’t fear,” he added in an aside to Cormac. “It’ll be sure to put the color back in your wife’s cheeks.”

He turned back to Marjorie. “It’s a recipe from her aunt. From the Indies, of course. There they distill the most decadent spirits. Rumbullion, it’s called, and I daresay it tastes as dark and as dangerous as the tropics themselves.”

An elegant, black-haired woman floated up to his elbow, the cobalt-blue feathers in her hair a perfect match to her low-cut gown. She was more exotic than beautiful, with a prominent nose and a small, pursed mouth.

“Ah, but here is my dearest Adele now.” The bailie put his arm at his wife’s back.

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