Kilgannon by Kathleen Givens Read Free Book Online

knocked on my door. My maid answered and Ellen rushed in, flying past me to the window.
    "Miss Mary," she said breathlessly. "They're here." I moved to her side and together we peered through the lace. Matthew stood next to his horse, and Alex watched the upper windows as his horse danced in a circle. A third man was dismounting. I drew back before Alex could see me and met Ellen's merry eyes.
    "The floral," she said. "It's perfect for walking in the gardens, Miss Mary ." We smiled at each other, I'd never dressed so quickly. My maid hurried me into the bodice and skirt, while
    Ellen put a few touches on my hair before declaring me perfect. Even my dour maid agreed.
    "But you should wear shoes," Ellen said, laughing as I crossed the room in my stockings.
    I threw myself down the two flights to the ground floor and then paused in the hallway to catch my breath. Bronson stood in the hallway opposite me, and I realized that someone was in the foyer between us. Several someones. I flushed with annoyance as I realized that Bronson had kept Alex and his cousins waiting in the hall and was now standing around the corner listening to them. No doubt the dreadful man thought he was being loyal to the absent Randolph by delaying the visit. Perhaps he thought that if he kept them waiting long enough they would leave. And that is just what, apparently, Alex's cousin thought they should do. I stood rooted to the spot, staring with hostility at Bronson.
    "Alex," an unfamiliar voice growled, "how much longer are we going to wait? If her blessed Miss Lowell wanted to see ye, we'd be with her now." Boots tapped on the marble floor. "I dinna understand why we're here. We have enough elsewhere to busy us."
    Alex's tone was calm. "We're here, Angus, because I want ye to meet Mary Lowell. And that's what we'll do."
    "What can come of this?"
    "What needs come of it? I like her company." "Ye'll only be rejected, ye ken. Even if she likes ye, her family willna let ye court her. Why do this? If ye wish a woman's company, go home and see Morag. She'd marry ye in a minute."
    "Aye, and break Murdoch's heart," Alex said without heat. "If ye wish to leave, then do so. And, Angus, if I thought I'd be rejected, we wouldna be here."
    Angus grunted. "And how much longer will we wait?"
    "Until I see Mary Lowell." There was silence then, and Bronson and I moved forward at the same moment, but I turned the corner before he did. Alex greeted me with a smile, and Matthew, in the center of the hall with an older man, was visibly relieved.
    "Lord Kilgannon," I said cheerfully, "here you are. I have no idea why you're still in the hall. How rude of you, Bronson, to make our guests wait here. Where is my aunt Louisa?"
    Bronson bowed stiffly, his eyes registering my attack. "I do apologize, gentlemen," he said smoothly. "The Countess Randolph awaits you in the gardens. She bids you to join her."
    "And I do as well," I said, extending my hand to Alex, who bowed over it. He wore a kilt and shirt this morning, a plaid over his shoulder, a hat with feathers, and a badge under his arm. I thought he looked splendid and smiled at him again.
    "Miss Lowell," he said clearly, and then in a voice only I could hear, "Mary, ye look lovely. How are ye this fine morning?"
    "Wonderful," I said. And it was true. I was wonderful now.
    Alex gestured to the other men and introduced his cousin Angus. "Ye've met Angus's son Matthew a'ready," he said. Both men bowed to me, Angus's expression polite, Matthew's smile genuine. Angus MacGannon was older and taller than Alex, a giant of a man with silky golden hair that looked out of place on his big body. This man was sturdy, his chest a barrel. Dressed in Highland fashion, he looked huge and intimidating, his blue eyes missing no detail as he bent over my hand. He greeted me courteously but with reserve. There were traces of him in his son, but Matthew was young—fifteen, I guessed—and time would tell whether he would grow to the size of his