by Jackie Ivie
“I’ve set up the Bible, my lady.”
Lisle dropped her head, looked across at the man, who, now that he was smiling and bobbing his head, didn’t look threatening at all.
“Very good,” she replied, and followed him to a podium where the sunlight didn’t quite reach, but if she’d come earlier it definitely would have. The book was opened to the center, where the register was. She flipped to the last of the center parchment. There was no entry of any marriage with Langston Leed Monteith—not to her, and not to anyone named Shera, either. Lisle bent closer, checked the date of the previous laird’s death: July 1746. Such a thing matched Mary MacGreggor’s story, and Langston’s excuse of being out of the country. Such a thing had happened two months following Culloden, so it might be true that Langston was a traitor, not a coward. All of which was less than nothing next to the disappointment of not seeing a Shera.
“Where is the entry of Lord Monteith’s marriage?” she asked finally.
“We’ve but heard the news recently, my lady. We’re awaiting the ink.”
“Ink?” she asked.
“Uh…His Lordship wants every entry done with a special ink—from India. We’re awaiting its arrival.”
“Of course we are,” she replied. “What is your excuse for not listing his first marriage, please?”
All four faces held the exact same look of surprise, and Lisle guessed if she turned around, she’d see the same expression on Betsy’s and Mary’s faces.
“Were we out of ink then, too?” she continued.
“I…uh…his first marriage? His Lordship was wed a-fore?”
“I believe I’ve seen enough, Father. You may show us out now. Or, you can trust that we’ll see ourselves out. Thank you for allowing me in to see my own chapel. I look forward to the sermon on the Sabbath. We all do, doona’ we, ladies?” Lisle kept saying words, sounding like a fool, as she backed from them toward the doors.
Then, one side of that enormous wooden structure was opened, showing that every servant man who had been missing was now in the hallway outside the chapel, and more besides. They looked prepared to do more than serve anyone. They looked ready to do battle. The longer Lisle and her retinue stood facing them, the more the impression grew. The large doors shut behind them, relocked loudly, and then the bolt drew down, rasping into place.
Lisle told herself she probably should have stayed in the sitting room as her heart jumped to lodge in her throat, and from the corner of her eye, it looked like Betsy was going to faint. Lisle didn’t dare move her gaze to check on Mary. She was looking at her own husband. If she’d thought him a devil before, it wasn’t a far-flung thought, especially with the claymore that was held directly out, pointing unerringly at her bosom. She longed to tell him it would have been useless to strike her there. Her heart was still in her throat, sending pounding pressure with each beat of it. She swallowed around it.
Langston pulled back a fraction and the tip of his sword lowered, showing the sinew all along him, since he was clothed in sweat and exertion and heavy breathing, and not much else. He was bare-chested and he was in a kilt. Lisle caught her breath. They were all dressed like her husband, although she couldn’t tell if anyone else had a weapon.
Something clicked through her mind, and she’d die before she admitted it had anything to do with the way his upper lip lifted as he passed the large broadsword to a man at his side, who then passed it farther. Lisle lost sight of it after the third pair of hands.
“Good day, Lisle.”
“Doona’ color this anything other than what it is, my lord,” she replied evenly.
“And what is it?” he asked, in the same tone she’d used.
He was folding his arms, leaning slightly to one side, and if Betsy hadn’t sighed, Lisle was afraid she would have.
“Not a very good day,” she answered.
He smiled broadly, showing white teeth and the small crinkles about his eyes, and making it nearly impossible to look anywhere else, although something told her it was too staged, and thus it wasn’t quite perfect. She watched as behind him the edges of his horde were dispersing, stepping backward, one by one, and sliding around a bend in the hall, without making much sound. Lisle sharpened her ears. She couldn’t hear that they were making any sound.
“I thought you engrossed with your new wardrobe,” he said.
Lisle’s chin lifted and her focus returned to him. If anything, he’d preened himself more, and the two humps of his chest had striations of muscle going through them now. She wondered how that was possible, and why he did it. She didn’t like the answer the moment she got it, either. He was using whatever it took as a diversion…even his own body.
“I got bored,” she said.
Beside her, she heard Betsy gasp. Lisle didn’t think it was due to her words, and she turned her head to check her instincts. It was because Betsy was watching Langston with such a wide-eyed look of adoration, Lisle clenched her hands to keep from hitting something with them, something that was probably going to be him.
“Truly? Fitting a new wardrobe…bores you?”
“Anything, if done to such a length of time, is boring, my lord.”
“Anything?” he asked.
“Even that,” she replied.
That got her a wider grin. Betsy was coughing on her reaction. Lisle nearly rolled her eyes.
“If you were bored, you should have said something.”
“Why?”
“I make arrangements to that effect.”
“You make arrangements to keep me from being bored?”
His eyebrows lifted; then he nodded.
“How, please?”
“You have but to say the word. Whatever you desire will be proffered. Without exception. Even me.” His voice was lowering. “Especially me,” he finished.
Now Lisle was gasping. She couldn’t tell what reaction Betsy had. Her ears were too full of what had to be her heart pounding as it got harder and faster, and she was very afraid that was exactly what it was. Then her eyes closed, reopened…narrowed. His throng was down to twenty, maybe less. She knew then exactly what he was doing. He was making certain all eyes were on him, and not anything else. And, with an audience of three women, he must not think it presented much of an issue. She just couldn’t believe he was as good as he was.
“You can cease this,” she said.
“What?” he asked easily.
“You’re a very handsome man, Monteith…very. Manly. Strong. Virile. Good to look at.” Lisle made her voice purr the words.
His smile fell. His eyes widened. Betsy choked.
“And I believe I’ve seen enough.”
“I beg your pardon?” he replied. Betsy’s reaction wasn’t describable as it sounded like she couldn’t catch any breath, let alone choke on it.
“It’s nae longer necessary. They’ve gone.” Lisle knew she was right, because she’d moved close to him to whisper it, and those dark brown, ale-colored eyes had sparked.
He looked over her head. Lisle felt the bubble of mirth as he swallowed, and the lump in his throat moved. “Mary?” he asked.
“My lord?” the servant woman answered.
“You have strange ways of serving your mistress.”
“B-but…Her Ladyship wished to see the chapel,” Mary MacGreggor continued, her voice unsure and sounding like she would rather cry than have to answer.
“I see.”
Lisle’s back straightened. She was being treated like she’d been at the convent school, back when she’d transgressed. She hadn’t liked it then, and she didn’t like it now, especially when it was turned on someone other than her.
“Mary is accompanying me. I wanted to see the Bible, my lord,” she said loudly.
“I would have shown it to you.”
“I have two feet.”
He looked down to them, and back. It felt like a caress, and she didn’t know much what one felt like. Lisle told her own body to hush, but her lips parted to allow the pan
t of breath she didn’t want him to see. It was ridiculous! She was in a hall, outside locked chapel doors, with two servant women watching, and he wasn’t being genuine, anyway. It was for show. Everything he did was. He’d been truthful to her only once. He’d said he was living a lie, and he was very good at it.
“True,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
A smile tipped his lips again as he looked back to her. “You have two feet,” he answered.
“Oh. Aye. And I can use them to walk. By myself. Unescorted.”
“This is a very big castle,” he responded.
“I ken as much. ’Tis also a very interesting castle.”
His lips lost out. He smiled again. This time, it looked genuine.
“How so?”
“’Tis full of secrets.” She whispered it.
His smile dropped. He looked over her head at Mary again. “You followed my orders this morn?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Her Ladyship had a bath?”
“I smell like I had a bath, doona’ I?” Lisle said before Mary could reply.
He bent his head toward her and sniffed. “Aye,” he replied.
“Well, you doona’,” she said.
“Nae?” he asked, pulling back a bit to look down at her.
“You smell like a horse. Make that two horses.”
His smile was back. “I see. If I ordered a bath, would you assist me with it?”
Betsy was going to break into tears if she listened much longer. Lisle looked at the poor girl’s red face, and turned back to Monteith. “Why doona’ you instruct my maids to see to it, and we’ll negotiate for such a thing while they’re gone.”
“We will?” he asked. He waved his hand, and Lisle listened for the steps as the women left. She knew they were, too. They were almost running.
“Ah, aye. After you show me where your first wife is, of course.”
“My first wife?” he asked.
Lisle thought she saw real confusion behind those amber eyes. It was an exhilarating feeling to know she was the one causing it. “You doona’ even have her listed in the family Bible. For shame, Lord Monteith.”
“The family Bible?”
“I was in the chapel for a reason. I was looking for the entry of your first marriage. It isn’t there, but you know that already. You probably ordered it that way.”
“I did…did I?”
He had his self-assurance and the personae he was showing back in place. Lisle watched as it dropped, like a film across his features. She shivered despite herself.
“I was in the chapel for a reason, Langston. I was checking for this woman.”
He grinned down at her. She couldn’t fathom the cause, but a moment later he answered it.
“You’ve just called me Langston,” he said.
“So?”
“Without being prompted. Without any hesitation.”
“So?”
“I’ll save further words for our negotiation. What is it you’re offering, again?”
“An assist…with your bath. Tonight. In your chamber.”
His eyes shut and she could have sworn a tremor ran through his frame, but it couldn’t have, because when he opened them and looked back at her, nothing looked like it had changed.
“And what is it you want for such a momentous thing?”
“Your first wife. I want to know where she is.”
“Why?”
“Because if she’s wed to you, I am na’. That has merit.”
The brown ale color of his eyes all but disappeared as blackness colored over any hint of personality not only in them, but everywhere on him. He had a stone look to every feature, too.
“You want me to show you this thing?”
Lisle moved another step closer, almost touching him. He caught his breath at it, and if he didn’t want her to see such a thing, he shouldn’t be running about his estate with nothing on to hide it. She reached out and traced her index finger down the center of him, halving him, and following the bumps of his abdomen before reaching his belt. She removed her finger and touched it to her lips, parting them so she could touch her tongue to it. He tasted salty, very salty, and she’d never felt so wicked.
“I’ll wear my chemise for this bath…and naught else.” She tipped her head up to say it. This time she knew a tremor scored him, and it was followed by a groan.
“Why are you being like this?” he asked in a rough voice.
“Like what?”
“Vixen. Wanton. Jezebel. Reckless.”
“I’m a very quick student, Langston,” she replied, watching as the mask slipped slightly. “And you’re a very good teacher.”
His jaw tightened, and then he had a hand on her upper arm, tightening it, too. Then he was marching her along the hall, beside him, everything about him looking closed and angry, viciously angry. Lisle couldn’t imagine what she’d done to cause it.
“You want to visit my first lady?”
They reached a door, Lisle didn’t know from which hall, or which floor. Langston had stopped, one hand on the doorknob, the other still gripping her.
She nodded.
“Badly?”
“The chemise I’ll wear,” she replied softly, “’tis made of softest lawn. Very insubstantial when wet. Very.”
He shook completely. Then he twisted the doorknob with an effort that should have pulled it from its moorings and they were outside, marching through perfectly groomed lawn on perfectly fitted stepping stones, and then they were at the entrance to the family crypt. He let her go, and Lisle swayed in place for a moment before she caught herself.
“She’s dead?” she asked.
“I could na’ wed with you otherwise, could I?” he answered roughly.
“Show me. Doona’ touch me. Just show me.”
He pushed on the gate. It opened with a well-oiled, well-maintained efficiency that was just like everything else on the estate.
“You’ll follow?” he asked.
She nodded.
The world behind the gate was slower, darker, and now that twilight appeared to be descending, it was more quiet and muted and had an air of mystery about it. She followed Langston’s bare back as he walked, in that side-to-side fashion of his, and tried to keep her mind completely blank. Lisle knew she possessed too much imagination. Her stories had kept the girls enthralled for years. It was a gift. It was also a curse. She glanced once to both sides, to make certain no mythical creatures accompanied them, and then forced herself to keep her eyes on the man in front of her.
It wasn’t difficult. Langston Leed Monteith was a handsome specimen, especially since he’d decided to display all of him in little more than a kilt and tasseled socks. Lisle looked down him and back, sighed, and then had to put her mind back on what they were doing. Langston was extremely beautiful, and he knew how to use it to best advantage. She hadn’t been exaggerating earlier. He knew exactly how to use it to negotiate, and she was a very good pupil.
She just didn’t know what she was supposed to do with any of this when it came time to pay her part of their bargain.
He approached a door that was attached to a strange Grecian-looking building. It looked too small to house a statue in, let alone a coffin. Lisle watched as he twisted the handle down, and then he reached up to lift a lit torch from the entrance. Then he was going down steps, taking her into a yawning cave, although it had carved rock to both sides and the floor.
“My own crypt.”
He’d stopped and Lisle barely avoided smashing her nose into the middle of his bare back by the sense of it. She hadn’t heard or seen any of it. The place was full of creatures and noises and whispers of time, and every hair from every pore along her neck seemed like it was standing up in reaction.
“And this is my wife, Shera.”
If she gave the relief sound, he’d have heard it, and Lisle was pretending there wasn’t anything frightening or intense about any of this. He was holding the light
over a slab that couldn’t hold anything like a wife.
“This is her marker. This is na’ her grave. She was buried at sea. On the journey over.”
“She died during the voyage?”
“I dinna’ toss her overboard, if that is your question,” he answered.
She moved forward and read the inscription, and then everything was swirling in a whirlpool of black. This Shera had been born in 1736, and perished in 1745. Nine. His first wife had been nine. Lisle reached out for the first thing on which she could stabilize herself, and didn’t even care that it was him.
He didn’t ask if she was all right. He simply lifted her into his arms and carried her, and took her back to the twilight-littered gardens that they buried their dead in. She didn’t even realize she was crying. Someone else was crying. Lisle Monteith couldn’t have been. She’d rather die than let him see that.
“She was a child,” he informed her.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“She was the only sister he had left to sell.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered again.
He looked down at her once and kept walking, past the gate and out into the gardens that hadn’t such evil attached to them. Or, if they did, it was well hidden.
“Her older sister by two years was already wed and carrying a child. Solomon apologized to me for it.”
“Doona’ say any more. I beg it.”
“I told you life was cheap in Persia. It is. Still is.”
“Damn you, Monteith. You wed a bairn. ’Twas probably that which killed her.”
“I dinna’ consummate it,” he said.
She was choking. It didn’t make it better and he kept talking.
“She was frail and she was sickly. She’d had the best of care, Solomon assured me, but she was all he had left to offer. He kept apologizing to me for that. I didn’t let the disgust show. It was nae surprise. Women are of little value in that part of the world. I plied her with food. I made her swallow broth. I forced her to move from her bed. I hired her playmates. I hired the best physicians. She never got well. She still died.”
“Oh, my God,” Lisle said.