He stood up quickly. “Welcome home, wanderers, and thank ye for yer honesty. I will leave ye to rest now.” He paused. “I have something that I must do before it is too late.”
Roseann walked slowly down the darkened corridor towards the narrow, winding staircase that would lead her back to the chambers that she had been staying in ever since she had arrived at Coirecrag castle.
With a sigh, she glanced behind at the guard, who was her shadow. A tall, bulky man named MacCain, who watched her like a hawk as she aimlessly wandered the hallways and courtyard of this castle. The only place that he didn’t follow her was the privy, and he stood outside when she was bathing, at least.
Thank the Lord for small mercies.
It had been three days since she had come here. Three days, in which she had barely seen the Laird, Domhnall MacBeathag, since the night he had so unfairly accused her of being an English spy. He had questioned her twice since, but only briefly. She couldn’t help but notice he seemed desperate to get out of her company, leaving as quickly as he could.
Her lip curled slightly. What does he think I am going to do? Lunge at him across the room, brandishing a hidden dagger, and kill him?
She felt her neck stain with sudden heat, traveling upwards until her face was fully flushed. He was a barbarian. She had thought that she was journeying to the home of a cultured, civilized man, but he was just a coarse Scottish Laird… albeit a very handsome one.
As she climbed the narrow stairwell, she thought about him. She had known immediately that he was the Laird, as soon as they had entered the room, on that first night. Domhnall MacBeathag had a presence about him. It wasn’t just his commanding height nor his arresting deep red hair, which fell in waves to his shoulders. His dark green eyes, the color of moss, had almost pinned her to the spot as he questioned her, demanding that she answer him.
She hesitated when she reached the top of the stairs, loitering there. She didn’t really want to return to her chambers and spend the afternoon alone, the hours stretched ahead of her, with nothing to fill them. She had no occupation here, not even some needlework, to focus her mind. She was so restless and bored; it was driving her mad.
She gazed back down the stairwell. She couldn’t go back down there – she had already spent over an hour wandering the grounds, as the castle folk stared at her suspiciously. She had wandered the outer courtyard, where pigs and horses grazed, and past the stables, bakehouse, and brewery. When she had neared the small stone chapel, she had knelt a while, praying before a large statue of the Virgin Mary.
My Lady, Mother of God. Please help me find a way back to my home. Please, do not let me remain a prisoner in this strange place in a strange land.
But the Mother of God hadn’t answered her. The statue had merely stood there, as it always did. Eventually, she had left the chapel and tried to ignore the tears that were always threatening.
I have to be strong. I have to show them that they will not break me.
Roseann turned, now, staring down a long corridor that led in a different direction to her chambers. She hadn’t gone down that way before, and it would at least kill some time.
She set off, determined to explore the hall, her eyes flickering to the rich tapestries which lined the walls. Coirecrag was dripping in wealth; she had carefully noted the fineness of the furniture and ornaments. This part of Scotland was doing well, she thought. Or was it that the Lairds who had always ruled Greum Dubh were careful, intelligent men?
She kept walking, contemplating it. It wasn’t just the richness of the castle; the food here was splendid, too. She had glanced into the well-stocked kitchens and seen the staff preparing all manner of food. There was game like venison but also duck, goose, and pheasant. She had even seen salmon, pike, and herring. It was a far cry from the kitchens at Loughton Hall, where Ellen, their one remaining cook, tried desperately to make the cheapest cuts of meat edible.
Her eyes narrowed. No, it is just luck that this castle is so rich, rather than good management. The Laird is a barbarian.
She bit her lip. He must be to keep her prisoner like this, mustn’t he?
She stopped suddenly, causing her constant shadow MacCain to almost collide with her. She stepped back absently, barely noticing him. She had heard laughter in the distance—the laughter of a child.
She pressed on, determined to reach the entrance to a room. A boy of about twelve years was sitting at a desk, glaring at a chessboard, which was laid out in front of him, the pieces ready and waiting.
“Mairead!” he hollered. “I have set up the board! I am waiting!”
Roseann smiled. The boy was obviously eager to start his game, almost fidgeting in his chair, but whoever he was calling for didn’t answer. Suddenly, he spotted her, turning his head quickly, his blue eyes flickering in surprise.
“Who are ye?” he asked directly.
Roseann’s smile widened. “My name is Roseann Gibson. Who are you?”
The boy’s mouth fell open. “How cannae ye not ken who I am? And why do ye speak with an English accent?”
Roseann stepped into the room. “Well, I am English, so that is why I talk the way I do.” She studied him carefully. “I think that I do know who you are. Are you Cormac MacBeathag? The younger brother of the Laird?”
He grinned, standing up. Roseann was surprised at how tall he was for his age, but then, she knew that boys often went through a sudden growth spurt. Her own brother Nicholas had grown out of his clothes in only one year at that age; her mother had laughingly said she would have to put an iron on his head to arrest his growth, or else he would send them to rack and ruin, with all the new clothes they constantly had to make for him.
This boy was tall and lanky, with long gangly legs, reminding her of a colt. He also had spiky red hair that grew in all directions, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and a very direct gaze.
“Aye, I am Cormac,” he said, studying her openly. “Ye are bonnie! Are ye visiting my brother?”
Roseann suppressed a smile. This boy obviously had no idea who she was, which was surprising. She would have thought that gossip about her would have spread to him.
“Thank you, Cormac,” she said. “Yes, I am visiting…for a little while.” It was kind of the truth, wasn’t it?
He kept studying her. “Do ye play chess?” he asked suddenly. “I am waiting for Mairead, but she has forgotten all about it, and I am so bored I am ready to throw myself out the window!”
Roseann laughed. “I play, but are you ready to lose?”
He looked stunned, almost affronted. “I play chess very well! Sit down, and I will show ye just how well I do.”
Roseann laughed harder. “Very well, then. Let us play!”
She walked over, sitting down at the table, opposite where he had just been sitting. The boy grinned again, sitting down, already staring at the board, absorbed in the contemplation of his first move.
Domhnall climbed the narrow stairwell leading to the chambers that he had given to the English lady. He had searched for her around the courtyard, but after questioning various people, he had realized she wasn’t walking the castle.
“I saw her leave the chapel,” a kitchen hand had said, scratching his head. “But not where she went after that, Laird.”
He took a deep breath as he approached the chamber door, feeling his heart start to beat faster. For some strange reason, he felt almost nervous about speaking to her.
I will have to eat humble pie. She will not let me get away with it easily, that I thought her an English spy and kept her a prisoner in the castle.
He knocked on the chamber door. There was no answer, nor could he hear the thud of approaching footsteps. He slowly turned the door handle and entered the room.
She wasn’t in there. He cast his eyes around the space automatically. Three gowns were hanging on a hook in the corner, freshly pressed; they must be the ones he had ordered be brought to her. She had claimed that she had lost her own clothing trunk dur
ing her skirmish with the English soldiers before his own men had waylaid her.
He studied the gowns intently. They were simple, the type that a kitchen maid might wear; he knew that she would be used to far grander ones. The gown she had been wearing the night that she had arrived had been of a rich material and design, even though it had been ripped and muddied in her travels.
His heart beat a little faster as he walked towards the gowns. He lifted a sleeve of one, picturing her inside it. As simple as it was, it would show off a woman’s body. Her body.
He dropped the gown as if it had burned him. What was he doing, mooning over a woman’s dress, like a lusty lad? He was distracting himself. If she wasn’t in here, and nowhere else in the castle, where on earth was she?
He strode out of the room. He had told MacCain not to take his eyes off her, and yet she was now missing… his heart clenched. There was simply no way that she could have escaped the castle, was there? He had guards everywhere, apart from the fact MacCain was her shadow.
Where was she?
He stopped abruptly, straining his ears. He could hear voices, talking and laughing, down the next hallway. The hallway that led to his younger brother Cormac’s chambers. A woman’s voice, as well as the boy’s. He could tell by the tone that the feminine voice didn’t belong to Mairead.
He strode quickly down the hallway; his heart was thumping harder. When he got to the doorway, he stopped abruptly again, taking in the scene.
Cormac was sitting at his small desk; his head bent over his chessboard. And sitting opposite him, her hand poised to pick up one of Cormac’s bishops was Roseann Gibson.
Her face was flushed with laughter, and as she moved forward towards the board, her long, curly dark hair shimmied down her back, like skeins of silk. His eyes flickered around the room. MacCain was sitting in an armchair opposite, peeling an apple with a small knife.
Suddenly, Roseann saw him. She stood up so quickly that she knocked the chessboard. The pieces tumbled to the ground, scattering everywhere.
“Lady,” he said slowly, gazing at her. “I am sorry I have disturbed yer game…”
She didn’t answer, nor did she smile. She just kept staring at him, a little fearfully. His chest tightened. It would take some work to earn her trust, after how he had treated her. And yet, she had been playing chess with his little brother, obviously enjoying herself, despite the dire circumstances that she found herself in.
One thought popped into his head. She is a rare woman.
He took a deep breath. “Lady, I need to speak with ye.” He hesitated, staring at Cormac, who was watching the exchange with wide, confused eyes. “Privately, if ye will. Will ye follow me to my study, where we can speak freely?”
She looked rebellious, and for a moment, he thought that she would refuse him outright. But then, she sighed, tossing her long, thick mane of dark hair over one shoulder.
She curtseyed, a touch mockingly. “Laird. If you lead the way, I will follow.”
He turned, his face burning. Why did he suddenly feel like the lady had turned the tables, well and truly?
4
Roseann gazed around the room. The Laird of Greum Dubh had called it his study, and she could see that it was indeed a studious place. A large desk took center stage, almost dwarfing the other furniture. Sheets of parchment were scattered across it and around a large inkwell.
“Please,” he said awkwardly. “Sit ye down.”
She didn’t smile as she took the seat opposite him. Why bother? She was past trying to charm him. He had obviously made up his mind about her, hadn’t he?
He took a deep breath, gazing at her steadily. “I think I owe ye an apology, lady.”
Roseann stared at him hard. Was this a trick?
He took another deep breath. “The wanderers that ye talked about have returned to the castle, just this morning. Iain and Ailis.” He hesitated. “I have already questioned them and found that yer story is true.”
Roseann’s heart started to beat a little faster. At last. At long last, her fortunes had shifted, just a little bit. With luck, this barbarian Scottish Laird would release her, and she could return home.
She nodded imperiously. “I am not a liar, My Laird. I am glad that you finally realize that I journeyed in good faith, to come to you.” She took a deep breath. “I hope that this new information has made you see the error of your ways at last and that you will now release me so that I may return home.”
Domhnall’s face flushed. “Aye, I do see the errors of my way, lady. But there was good reason that I acted the way that I did.” He paused. “Ye dinnae understand, how perilous the situation is on this side of the border. How relentless the English soldiers are, to destroy us, once and for all.”
Roseann blinked rapidly. “I cannot think it so, Laird. My own brother is a soldier in that army. Surely, all that they are doing is patrolling, making sure that skirmishes do not break out, under good King Edward’s command…”
He cast her a withering look. “Ye say this when ye had yer own run-in with them? Fearghas told me everythin’ about what happened and how he ambushed them when he saw what they were about to do…”
Roseann flushed. She didn’t want to think about what those renegade English soldiers had almost done. Her heart lurched a sickening beat. With great difficulty, she regained control.
“They were deserters,” she said in a shaky voice. “They are not representative of all English soldiers…”
He laughed. “Aren’t they, lady? Well, I guess I cannae change yer mind. Ye are English, after all, and have yer own beliefs.” He paused, studying her carefully. “Do ye really wish to return to yer home, as bad as it is?”
Roseann gasped. She hadn’t told the Laird anything about what had driven her to leave her home on this reckless journey. He didn’t need to know her family’s business, but it seemed that someone had been talking about it with him.
She took a deep breath. Fearghas had known about her family’s troubles. And Iain and Ailis were probably aware of them, as well. Any of them might have told the Laird. It was hardly a state secret, after all.
“Ye daenae have to look so stricken, lady. I daenae blame ye for yer family’s troubles. Bad fortune can beset any of us.” He paused. “But it doesnae mean ye have to wear it fondly, either.”
Roseann gazed at him. What on earth was he talking about?
He took another deep breath. “I would like to offer ye the position of tutor to my brother, lady, if ye are still willing…”
Roseann stood up, quickly causing the chair to scrape on the floor. “Are you mad?” she muttered. “How can you expect that I would want to stay another moment in this place, after how your men treated me, and yourself as well?”
He stood up, too, staring at her. His green eyes were glittering as they beheld her.
“I’ve said sorry,” he barked. “It was a mistake! Why cannae ye let it go, lass?”
Roseann flushed again. “Don’t call me lass. I am not a kitchen wench! I am a lady who deserves your respect! No English lord would treat a well-born lady in the manner that you have treated me!” Her chest was heaving.
His eyes narrowed. “No doubt ye think it proves how ill-bred and barbarous we are! Ye are pre-judging me, lady.” He took a deep breath. “But I have been told how learned ye are, and I do need a tutor for Cormac. I am paying good coin, and I ken that ye need it. Don’t let yer pride stand in the way of helping yer family when they need it most.”
Roseann’s anger dissipated so suddenly that she had to lean against the desk with one hand. He was right, of course. She could walk away from this castle in a huff, but it didn’t change what was happening back at Loughton Hall. Her family was still in peril, and how many more opportunities to help them were going to come her way?
He slowly walked around the desk until he was standing so close to her that she almost felt his warm breath upon her face. Fearfully, she gazed up at him. He was so tall; she had to crane her neck. What was
he doing?
Her heart started to thump painfully at his close proximity. No well-bred English man would dare to come so close to her. She watched, spellbound, as he reached out a hand, taking one stray lock of her hair in his grip.
He caressed it slowly, staring at her the whole time, with that intense green gaze. Confused, she stepped back hastily, so that the lock fell.
“Ye are bonnie,” he said, in a husky voice. “I cannae believe that ye do not have suitors lined up, askin’ for ye hand…”
Roseann flushed crimson. She felt strange; her stomach was churning, but in a way she had never felt before. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all.
“You really want me to stay on as tutor to your brother?” she heard the tremble in her voice.
A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Page 4