Free The Highlander's Choice by Callie Hutton Page B

breath away. Both men were dressed in traditional Scottish garb; kilts of their clans, with white lawn shirts, doublets, and sporrans. By Liam’s side hung a sword that she could imagine him swinging on a battlefield. His reddish golden hair was pulled back into a queue and tied with a ribbon.
    With their broad shoulders and height, the men seemed to take all the air out of the room, despite them being in the great hall. Sybil certainly felt as though there was a shortage of air. Her lungs couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Her heart pounded to the extent she was afraid she would embarrass herself by swooning—something she’d never done in her life.
    No matter how many times she forced herself to look at the priest, she found her eyes drifting toward Liam. A finer man had never existed. His strong chin, chiseled features, and full lips made small little butterflies in her stomach dance a cotillion. She snapped her head back to face the priest when Liam caught her staring and gave her a broad wink. Honestly, the man had no refinement.
    I was the one staring at him.
    Her flustered state kept her from concentrating on the ceremony, and she was therefore, surprised when Duncan turned to Margaret and gave her a chaste kiss before they turned to face the guests. A loud cheer went up from the crowd, foot stomping and whistles reverberating around the room. The bride and groom and she and Liam, as witnesses, signed the marriage book.
    Duncan led Margaret to the head table. Liam extended his arm to Sybil, and she had a flash of being in his arms a few hours ago. Thinking of how she once again had enjoyed their kiss, heat rose from her middle to swamp her face, surely turning it red. “Are ye all right, lass?” His deep voice, lowered so only she could hear, increased her discomfort.
    “Yes, I’m fine,” she snapped.
    He grinned that wicked smile, turning her insides to mush. “It seems to me ye are a bit disturbed.”
    “Nonsense, I’m merely emotional over my friend’s wedding.”
    Liam escorted her to a seat alongside Margaret and brushed his mouth near her ear. “Dinna fash yerself, lass. ’Twas only a kiss.”
    He straightened and took his seat next to her.
    ’Twas only a kiss?
    No doubt to a randy Scot that incident was merely a kiss. Most likely something he used with charming regularity to gain access to women’s beds. Well, she would not be one of his women. She was a respectable English miss, who would never dally with a Scot.
    I already have.
    How did one turn off the voice in one’s head that scolded and told the truth when one wanted to lie to oneself? Lord, she sounded like a nervous spinster. Next she would be searching under the bed for strange men. Or one man who always seemed to turn up in her bedchamber.
    Stop it!
    “I thought kilts had been outlawed many years ago?” Perhaps some conversation would restore her equanimity.
    Liam turned his eyes on her, dancing with mirth. “’Twas outlawed right after Culloden, but was made legal again in 1782. Right now, the Highland Society of London is collecting tartans and identifying them with clans.”
    “So this plaid is your clan’s colors?” She gestured to his kilt.
    “Aye. ’Tis a pleasure to wear it.” He took a sip of wine and studied her. “’Twas a terrible thing yer English did to the Scots.”
    “In war there are always winners and losers.”
    “Ach, so harsh ye are, lass.” His eyes flashed with irritation.
    She was rather glad she’d annoyed him. It seemed the only way to keep her distance from this man whose very presence disturbed her, was to provoke him. She didn’t want to feel the flutters in her stomach, or the speeding up of her heart. Perhaps she was an untried miss, but she’d had enough conversations with her married sisters to know what those feelings meant. And she didn’t want to have them for a Scot.
    The priest called the group to attention, then offered a prayer of thanks as the servants brought out an