Shauna hesitated, not long, but long enough for something to change in Robert’s expression. His face closed, became guarded. Owen, on the other hand, looked more smug by the minute.
“I think ’tis a wee bit early for congratulations,” she said, and was gratified to see Owen sober a bit. Good. He needed a bit of comeuppance. “Mr. MacLean—”
“You always called me Owen,” he said. “There is no need to be formal now.”
“We were children,” Shauna replied, careful to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Did your English schools nae teach ye proper address?”
He smirked. “We are not in London.”
“Still, I think proprieties are in order.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Shauna saw Shane raise an eyebrow and she remembered the conversation at this same table when Robert had asked to use her Christian name. That was different. She wanted to keep Owen at as much distance as possible.
Shane looked as though he were about to say something, but then his gaze slanted suddenly towards his wife, who gave him an especially sweet smile. Shauna assumed the smile had been preceded by Abigail’s slippered foot nudging him.
“Why?” Owen asked. “As I said, this is not London. It is Scotland.”
“Aye,” Shauna said and then added before she could stop herself, “I forgot, we are barbarians here.”
A corner of Robert’s mouth lifted although he quickly covered the smile by taking a sip of wine. Owen narrowed his eyes and turned to Shauna.
“A sharp tongue is not a pleasant trait in a wife,” Owen remarked.
She wanted to retort that he should find another woman then, but she caught Shane’s frown. Abigail wasn’t going to be able to keep him silent forever. Besides, Shauna refused to let Owen drag her into a spat like he did when they were children. Still, she wasn’t about to apologize either. “Perhaps it is not.”
Shane’s frown deepened and Robert raised his glass again.
Owen blinked and then recovered. “I am glad we are in agreement.”
Shauna clenched her hands in her lap. She hadn’t agreed to anything, but Owen made it sound like she had. Drat him. Somehow, he always managed to twist her words.
“I am sure you realize the importance of supporting your husband in all things. The MacLeans will expect nothing less.” He glanced at Shane. “The MacLeods would expect the same.”
“Actually, I welcome my wife’s opinions,” Shane said. “She has—”
“Pardon me, sir,” Jenkins said as he appeared in the doorway of the dining room, looking rather affronted. “The harbour master is at the door. I told him you were dining, but he insisted he needed to talk with you.” Jenkins sniffed. “The man obviously has no manners.”
“He would nae have come if he dinnae think it important,” Shane said as he rose.
“Do you need me to accompany you?” Robert asked.
Shane shook his head. “I’ll find out what he wants and return shortly.”
“As I was saying,” Owen continued after Shane left, “I did not mean to imply women should not have opinions. They must, if they are going to see to meal preparation, running a household and raising children. What man would argue with that? By the same token, a wife should not defy her husband. I repeat, a sharp tongue denotes a shrewish temperament.”
“I’ve always felt a sharp tongue indicates a quick wit,” Robert said casually as he set his wine glass down.
“Perhaps in the wilderness of America,” Owen answered. “We can hardly expect civility from colonies that revolted.”
Shauna stared at him. Had he forgotten how many times Scotland had fought England? Forgotten Culloden? Forgotten that it wasn’t until 1782 that Scots had the right to wear the tartan again? Had seven years in England made Owen forget his heritage?
“Autres temps, autres mæurs,” Robert said off-handedly. “Other times, other manners don’t make Americans barbarians either.”
Owen frowned and Shauna hid her smile. Robert sounded as fluent as though he’d arrived from the continent, not an outpost in the wilderness. And he’d used the same term she had…barbarians. Her heart leaped a little and she knew it was silly, but the word made her feel as though they shared a thought. As though maybe Robert understood her. But when she looked at him, his face was impassive.
Silly, silly girl. It was just a word.
Owen MacLean was a pompous ass, Robert decided as he continued to watch him at the dinner table. He acted too possessive of Shauna—as though she were something to be owned. Hell, women didn’t have many legal rights to begin with. Stifling their speech didn’t need to be added to the list.
Furthermore, the man was a fool if he didn’t see the sparks about to shoot from Shauna’s eyes. When she looked at Robert just now, he’d exerted every bit of self-control to keep his face immobile and not laugh out loud. She looked like a volcano about to erupt, which only served to remind him that the fiery passion he suspected existed beneath the calm exterior wasn’t just his imagination. If MacLean couldn’t see that, he’d either not been with many women or he hadn’t cared one whit about any of them. Robert was damn sure he didn’t want Shauna to join that number.
“I understand New Orleans has a very sophisticated society,” Abigail said. “Would you tell us about it?”
Robert forced his thoughts to focus on the conversation. Abigail, being the daughter of an English earl, was trying to smooth things over. As a guest, he knew it was his duty to help his hostess do just that, although he’d much prefer to agitate the hell out of MacLean.
“The French settlers brought as much of their culture with them as they could,” Robert replied. “From food and wine to the more civilized aspects of society they took pride in.”
“We defeated the French in 1815,” Owen said dryly, “in case the news didn’t reach you.”
“And we finished fighting the British in 1814,” Robert answered, “but here I am.”
“And all’s well that ends well,” Abigail put in and then smiled demurely. “If I might quote Shakespeare.”
“And I agree,” Shauna added.
She smiled equally as docilely as Abigail had done and Robert wondered if Shauna wasn’t taking a jab at Owen. The man wanted agreeable, but did he realize the ladies had told him, without saying so, to cease and desist?
Owen shrugged. “I believe Shakespeare also said something about mortals being fools.”
“What is important,” Shauna said, “is that we have peace so Scotland can concentrate on Scotland again.”
“Which is why I have returned,” Owen replied, “and why I want a Scottish wife. A Scot woman deserves a Scot man.”
Robert felt the barb zing past him and smiled. “As it happens, I have Scots’ blood as well.”
“I thought you were French…French-American, I mean,” Shauna said.
“I am on my mother’s side,” Robert answered, “but my great-ancestors were Vikings. My grandfather married a MacDonald.”
Owen narrowed his eyes. “The MacLeans are not friends of the MacDonalds.”
Why did that not surprise him? “Why not?”
“Reiving. Donald Gorm of Slate stole cattle from Lauchlan MacLean of Jura. Then the Donald’s cousin, Angus, tried to attack Duart on Mull—”
“Good heavens,” Shauna exclaimed. “That took place more than two hundred years ago.”
“Time does not matter. There’s nothing good about a MacDonald.”
Abigail looked distressed. “I thought the feuding had stopped. King George ended it.”
“Hardly. Just ask your husband when he gets back.”
“Shane is not feuding with anyone,” Abigail said.
“Maybe not.” Owen slanted a look at Robert. “But the MacLeods have no love of the MacDonalds either.”
“What am I going to do?” Shauna tossed her shawl on the bed in her chamber and flopped down in a chair opposite Abigail the next afternoon. “Owen is unbearable.”
“Well, be thankful he is staying at a hotel and not the townhouse.”
“Aye.” Shauna looked at her friend. “Did ye have something to do with that?”
Abigail tugged at the lace on her cuff. “I might have mentioned to Shane it was not proper for the man to stay here.”
“Thank ye for that.”
“No need to thank me. Shane agreed it would be better for Owen to stay at a hotel.” She stopped fussing with her cuff. “Shane does want you to be happy.”
“I wish he could have heard Owen last night. ’Twas highhanded of the mon to expect me to be docile as a sheep. Does he think I donna have a mind that works?”
“Mr. MacLean is not that different from most men in that respect,” Abigail answered. “You have heard the inane conversations at the balls.”
“Aye. ’Tis fluff to worry about the color or style of next year’s bonnet. ’Tis more important what’s on your head keeps ye warm.”
“Only you or I would think like that.” Abigail smiled. “London dandies prefer ninnyhammers. I spent years being a wallflower because I was a bluestocking—not that I minded. I would not have wanted to marry one of those men anyway.”
“And neither do I. Even if Owen MacLean is a Scot, he doesnae act like one.”
Abigail sobered. “What was he talking about that the MacLeods do not like the MacDonalds? I have not heard Shane speak of it.”
“’Twas a long time ago, around 1480. Most of the Isles were involved. The MacDonald chieftain’s son rebelled against him and the MacLeods were divided on whom to support. ’Tis nae unusual.” Shauna sighed. “The problem came about when the MacLeod chieftain was killed by a MacDonald on the way home to Dunvegan.”
“And grudges are still held?”
“Och, among some. My brothers doona, but my uncle, Duncan, and his half-brother, Broc, do.”
“Thank goodness they are not here then.”
Shauna frowned. “’Twas rude of Owen to bring it up.”
Abigail nodded. “I am sure if Shane had been present, he would have intervened and said something.”
“Owen would probably have kept quiet if Shane had been at the table.”
“Robert took it in stride and did not seem offended.”
“’Tis because he has more sense.”
“I agree.” Abigail tilted her head and studied Shauna. “I rather liked Captain Henderson saying a sharp tongue indicates a quick wit. He defended you.”
Shauna felt herself blush. “He was just being a gentleman.”
“Um. Perhaps. It was not lost on me that the captain also used the word barbarian just like you did.” She smiled. “I think Owen MacLean might have some competition after all.”
Shauna felt her face heat more. Even as she attempted to protest, she wondered if it could be true.
She wished she’d had a chance to talk to Robert last night, but Shane had returned with report of a leak on the Sea Lassie and they’d both gone to the docks. Abigail, bless her, had made their excuses to retire and Owen had left, but Shauna was still going to have to deal with the man. She just didn’t know how.