Chapter Two

Lady Crystal stood next to Sir Walter Scott, whose hair was askew, his brow furrowed. Oh, heaven help her. Why had she blurted that out about desire? She’d meant to keep that little nutshell to herself, but fury at these clod-headed lords had made words spill unbidden from her lips.

It wasn’t as if she’d ever own up to spying on the handsome footman and the maid back home. The moans of pleasure, the sheer cries of ecstasy. But it had awakened something in her that refused to lie dormant. No one knew about her spying, but the secret had grown in her body, leaving her restless, unable to sleep at night for thinking about a man’s touch.

She gave herself a little shake. She had lords to face.

“Any questions for Lady Crystal?” Sir Walter asked the gathering.

The gentlemen in the room exploded with questions. The lords stood, their concerns bursting from their lips along with immoral comments.

Sir Walter raised his hands. “Silence! Gentlemen, I insist on appropriate behavior. Questions will be answered in an orderly fashion. Please sit. Do not shout out.”

The men sat, their hands resting on their strained haunches as if ready to spring for the hunt…with her as the prey. Perhaps this speech had not been the best idea…

A shiver passed down Crystal’s spine. She wondered if Sir Walter could contain them, given his polio-weakened frame and lameness.

Sir Walter gestured to the aristocrat who had avoided collision with the fan. “Sir, you may ask the first question.”

Over six feet tall, the man couldn’t be missed, thanks to his domed forehead, wide blue eyes, and fiery hair color. “My name’s Laird Angus Stuart, an’ I’ve naught heard of women expressing this shameful need for a man. Well, not in such a public forum—”

“That’s because no woman’s wanted you, you ugly brute,” called a gentleman wearing the Ross tartan across the room. “Mah sister ran as if the hounds of hell were on her tail.”

The audience roared with laughter.

“Women feel just the way men do, but we have so many constraints put on us. For too long, this country has not been giving women the same education as men, nor crediting them with intelligence. It’s time to change that. Women should be taught to read and write, same as boys are,” she said. “They should be making their own decisions.”

“Why? A woman’s role is to marry and have children. Why waste money on educating them?” asked a man at the front.

“Without education, women cannae support their children if their husbands die or have no work.” Frustration surged up her body. What fools some of these men were! She wanted to knock their heads together.

“Educate women? The last thing we need is more bluestockings telling us what to do,” shouted a man from the side, his face puce, his expression enraged.

The men turned back to her en mass with snarling lips and dangerously glinting eyes. Wolves in gentlemen’s clothing. They would never give up their power.

Damn them all to hell! They were no better than her overbearing father, determined to stamp his thumb on his three daughters’ foreheads after he’d broken their mother.

“Stop this now,” she cried out. “I’ve spoken on this same subject at private gatherings and at the meeting houses of the working class, and never have I seen such boorish, unruly behavior. You call yourselves leaders of Scottish society? Have you not listened to what I’ve been saying?”

“I’ve not met a woman who has a man’s urges. You’re naught but a right slapag to suggest it,” yelled a man.

Crystal gasped at the Gaelic term for whore. She turned to Sir Walter. “You told me this audience was intelligent and mannered.”

“My deep apologies, Lady Crystal.” He addressed the audience. “Gentlemen, please. Have respect! I will not abide lewd name calling. Those who cannot behave as gentlemen can leave this salon immediately.”

The footman opened the salon door in invitation.

“You’re naught but a strìopach, a hoor,” a man called, and others joined in until the walls rumbled with the sound. Several men stood and advanced toward her.

A ripple of fear raced down her spine. “I’d like to leave now,” she told Sir Walter nervously.

A tall, muscular man stormed to the front of the salon, shoving past the surging men, and faced down the crowd. It was Lord Lyle.

“Insult this lady and you’ll know mah sgian-dubh, friend or foe.”

“Ach, Lyle, the lass is a strumpet,” Laird Angus called. “I’ll see her arrested for sedition.”

Lord Lyle glowered at the Stuart lord. “You’ll do no such thing. Her words are not seditious. Lady Crystal has a right to her opinions, which I happen to find sensible.”

“You do?” the Stuart lord asked, his eyes bulging.

“You do?” Crystal echoed softly.

“Aye, and I’ll not have the lady’s honor insulted because you lot cannae behave.” He put his arm around her shoulders in a protective manner. “I’ll be escorting you home, Lady Crystal, for I think these lords have had quite enough enlightened thinking for now. Their rock heads cannae take it.”

No man had ever drawn her close with such assurance, and although her heart thumped with fury at the attitudes of the Scottish lords, she was grateful for Lord Lyle’s protection.

An oath was muttered nearby at Lord Lyle’s words, but the aggressive mood seemed to dissipate with his intervention. She had only just met Lyle and did not know his reputation, but he was clearly respected by this crowd. Men stepped to the side to let them pass.

“Thank you, Lord Lyle. I’m quite disappointed with the ungentlemanly response tonight,” she said as they stepped out onto the street. “I was hoping for intelligent discussion from the lords.”

“I can see you’re unhappy, and you’ve a right to be, but your ideas are confronting,” he said.

“How can things change if those in power refuse to consider new concepts? We women are powerless to live our own lives unless we can support ourselves. Without education, that is impossible.”

How long had she fought for independence, refusing to marry the gormless lords presented to her by her father? His fury at her stubbornness hadn’t changed her mind. Imprisoning her in her bedroom hadn’t worked; even a threatened whipping hadn’t worked. Only her father’s recent death had liberated her and her sisters, leaving her unwed at twenty with an annual income. She would never give up her freedom.

Never!