The Tiger Prince

by Iris Johansen

  Margaret climbed into the wagon and knelt beside Ian. “You look terrible,” she told him bluntly. “I can see it’s time you came home.” She gave him a quick kiss and continued briskly. “But no matter, I’ll set everything straight.”

  “Margaret …” Ian’s finger reached out and touched her cheek. “Bonnie Margaret.”

  “Your illness must have affected your eyesight as well as your limbs,” she said tartly. “For bonnie I certainly am not.” She turned to Jane and demanded, “Who are you?”

  “Jane Barnaby.” She gestured to the two men on the front seat of the wagon. “Li Sung and John Kartauk.”

  “And why are you here?”

  “Ruel sent—”

  “Never mind, that explains everything,” Margaret interrupted. “Ruel was ever cavorting around with the most peculiar people.” Her gaze raked appraisingly over Li Sung before dismissing him and fastening on Kartauk. “How strong are you?”

  Kartauk blinked. “Strong as a bull. Mighty as Hercules.”

  “One can usually discount three quarters of what braggarts say, but that may still be sufficient.” She turned and called, “Jock!”

  A small, burly man with a shock of red hair hurried down the steps.

  She ordered Kartauk, “Get down from that seat and help Jock carry Ian up to his chamber.” She scooted out of the wagon. “Jock, put him to bed while I go to the scullery and see what I can find for him to eat.” She turned to Jane. “Come with me to the scullery and make yourself useful. We have only three servants to run this vast place, and now with four more mouths to feed I don’t—”

  Jane interjected quickly, “We won’t be a burden to you.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Kartauk said as he and Jock carefully eased Ian’s stretcher from the wagon. “An artist is always the most precious of burdens, and it is the privilege of all to nurture and care for them.”

  “You dabble in paints?” Margaret asked.

  Kartauk looked pained. “I do not dabble. I create for the ages. I’m a great goldsmith.”

  “Just so you’re a strong goldsmith. I won’t have you dropping Ian on the stairs.” She turned to Li Sung. “Take the wagon to the stable and unharness those horses. Then come back to the scullery and I’ll find something else for you to do.”

  “You’re treating them like servants,” Ian protested. “These are our guests, Margaret.”

  “Glenclaren can afford no guests who will not work for their bread.” The gentleness with which she smoothed back his hair belied the harshness of her words. “Now hush, and let me have my way in this. I’ll be up as soon as Jock gets you to bed and you’ve had a short rest.” She turned and strode across the courtyard, demanding over her shoulder of Jane, “Coming?”

  Jane hurried after her. “Coming.”

  “Wait.” Margaret’s gaze fastened on Sam, who was gamboling at Jane’s heels. “The dog is yours?”

  “Sam will be no trouble.”

  Margaret’s stare shifted to Bedelia, who was following the wagon into the stable. “And the horse?”

  “I couldn’t leave her in Kasanpore.”

  “You’ll have to get rid of both. We can’t afford them,” Margaret said flatly.

  Jane drew a deep breath and said clearly, “No.”

  Margaret blinked. “No?”

  “They stay. They belong to me and I’ll take care of them.”

  “I see.” Grudging respect flickered briefly across Margaret’s face before she turned and entered the castle. “See that you do.”

  The scullery to which Margaret led her was drafty, as crumbling as the courtyard, and could have used a thorough cleaning.

  Margaret intercepted Jane’s critical glance and said, “I arrived only two days ago and cannot do everything. If it doesn’t please you, clean it yourself.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course you did. Be honest with me. I have no time for polite mouthings.”

  Jane found herself smiling. “Then I’ll give you none. Since you gave me no quarrel about Sam and Bedelia, I decided to hold my tongue, but the place is a pigsty. Li Sung and I will set to cleaning it as soon as he gets back from the stable.”

  “That’s better.” Margaret indicated a small gray-haired woman seated by a huge open fireplace peeling potatoes. “This is Mary Rhodes. Mary, this is Jane Barnaby. She came with Ian.”

  “Another mouth to feed,” the woman said sourly. “It’s not as if you didn’t have enough to worry about.”

  “She’ll earn her keep.” Margaret strolled across the kitchen toward the fire. “And I’m not worried. It’s foolish to worry about things you cannot help. Is the stew done?”

  “After I add these potatoes.”

  “I’ll finish here. You go and ready three more chambers.”

  “Three?”

  “Three,” Margaret repeated firmly. “And no grumbling. The Lord will provide.”

  “It’s usually you who does the providing,” Mary muttered as she handed Margaret her bowl of potatoes and knife and rose to her feet. “I’ve noticed he leaves you pretty much on your own.” She moved toward the door. “Since I’ll be nearby, I’ll look in on your father too.”

  “You needn’t bother.” A sudden smile lit Margaret’s face. “But thank you, Mary.” Her smile faded as she turned back to Jane. “Dear God, Ian looked ill,” she whispered. “Ruel wrote me, but I didn’t expect …” She sat down in the chair Mary had vacated and quickly started peeling potatoes. “Is there no hope he will walk again?”

  “The doctor thought not,” Jane said gently.

  “A doctor can be as much a fool as any other man. We will ignore him and do our best.” She shifted her shoulders as if throwing off a burden, her gaze raking over Jane. “Why do you wear trousers? You look most strange.”

  Jane stiffened warily. No soft hands or fashionable bustle, but perhaps Margaret was not as different from those other women as Jane had thought. “These are the only clothes I possess. I’m sorry you don’t find them appropriate.”

  Margaret scowled. “A woman should look like a woman. Men think too well of themselves as it is without our flattering them by trying to imitate them.”

  Jane gazed at her, stunned, then started to laugh. “I had no thought of imitating them. I worked beside men on the railroad and I found it practical to wear these clothes.”

  “Indeed? Perhaps you do have reason for those outlandish garments, but you should have sought a compromise.” Sudden interest flared in Margaret’s expression. “Railroad? I approve of women who do things. How did you come to work on a rail—” She stopped and shook her head. “You can tell me later. I must concentrate on what is important now. How long do you plan on staying here?”

  “I promised Ruel I’d stay as long as Ian needs me.”

  Margaret’s expression clouded. “And God knows how long that will be. He seems to need a great deal of help, and Glenclaren can use all the hands it can muster.”

  “That’s what Ruel said.”

  “Really? I find that surprising. Glenclaren could crumble into dust for all Ruel cares.”

  “I understand most people care something for the place where they grew up.”

  Margaret looked at her in astonishment. “But he didn’t grow up here. Annie had a small cottage on the other side of the glen.”

  “Annie?”

  “Annie Cameron, Ruel’s mother. Didn’t you know Ruel was born on the wrong side of the blanket?”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “But his name is MacClaren.”

  “Ruel refused to go by any other name even though his father refused to acknowledge him. He wanted nothing to do with Glenclaren, but he ever loved to stir up trouble and knew it annoyed the laird.”

  “But Ian always spoke as if …” Jane shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ian never tells anyone about Annie. I’ve tried to tell him he bears no guilt for the way the laird treated Ruel, but he won’t listen to me. Ruel was his b
rother and he feels it was partly his fault his father refused to marry the woman and denied Ruel was his son.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “Glenclaren. The laird already had a son and didn’t need another and Annie was not a virtuous woman.” She added dryly, “Though that fact didn’t seem to make a difference to him until he grew tired of her. At first he was quite mad about her. From what I’ve heard she was as comely then as Ruel is now. Everyone thought she had cast a spell over the laird.”

  A mandarin casting spells …

  “Is she still alive?”

  Margaret shook her head. “She went away to Edinburgh when Ruel was about twelve. We heard later that she died of influenza.”

  “She just left him?”

  “He was well able to care for himself.” Margaret moved her shoulders impatiently. “Enough about Ruel. The rascal always seems to garner the bulk of attention even when he’s not on the same continent.” She stood up and carried the potatoes over to the fireplace and poured them into the boiling kettle. “Now, tell me about the Chinese and that arrogant coxcomb who came with you.”

  Two hours later Margaret swept into Ian’s chamber. “Have they made you comfortable?” She glanced at Kartauk sitting beside the bed. “We don’t need you here any longer. You may go and find a place to set up your workshop. Jane tells me you may be here awhile and will need a place to putter.”

  “Putter.” He said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Dabble. You have no understanding of the importance of my work.”

  “But I have an excellent understanding of the importance of mine.” She gestured toward the door. “Choose anyplace you like, but go.”

  Kartauk scowled. “What else could I expect in this cold, barbaric country.” He left the chamber.

  “And good riddance.” Margaret crossed to the bed and sat down beside Ian. “I’ve arranged for the vicar to come to the castle in three days’ time and marry us, so you must rest and get your strength back from the journey.”

  “We’re not going to marry.”

  “Of course we are. Not that I didn’t expect this foolishness from you.” She gently pushed the hair back from his forehead. “I’ve watched you trying to save Ruel from himself since the moment he was born, and now you think I need rescuing.”

  “I won’t be another burden to you. Your father—”

  “Is fading fast and will soon no longer enter into the situation.”

  His gaze flew to her face. “You didn’t write me.”

  “Why should I? Would it have helped him?”

  “I would have come back to you.”

  Her expression softened. “Aye, I know.”

  “I share your sorrow.”

  She grimaced. “I wish I could feel sorrow, but we both know my father is not a loving man. At times I’ve thought perhaps God grew weary of his pretense at illness and gave him this true reason for lingering in bed.” She smiled with an effort. “Which will probably cause him to send a bolt of lightning to strike me down.”

  “Never,” Ian said softly. “No one could have been kinder and more dutiful than you, Margaret.”

  “He’s my father.” She shrugged. “And we both know duty and honor make the only difference between civilization and savagery.” She changed the subject. “And speaking of savagery, how is Ruel?”

  “The same.” Ian paused. “And different.”

  “Well, that’s clear. However, he appears to be displaying a newfound sense of responsibility. I received a draft for two thousand pounds from him yesterday with word he would send more as it became available.”

  “What!” He immediately shook his head. “That left him only a thousand for his own use. Send it back to him.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. Glenclaren needs it. You need it,” Margaret said. “It will be good for Ruel to think of someone else for a change.”

  “He saved my life at risk of his own.”

  “Oh, Ruel’s very good at those kinds of gestures. It’s self-discipline he’s lacking.”

  Ian laughed. “Lord, I’ve missed you, Margaret.” His smile vanished. “But I will not let you wed a cripple. You’ve wasted enough of your life already.”

  “Who is to know if you will remain a cripple?” She went on quickly as he opened his lips to protest. “Besides, a strong body is all very well, but a strong heart and mind are more important.”

  “I cannot give you children. You love children, Margaret.”

  “Children may still be possible. I will talk to the physician.”

  He shook his head.

  “And many couples are childless. God may have not seen fit to give us a child even if you were hale and hearty.”

  “No, Margaret.”

  “Very well, I will wait to wed you … until you’re able to sit up for the ceremony. By that time you’ll be on your way to recovery and won’t be so stubborn.”

  “It can’t happen. My back is—”

  “It will happen. I’ll make it happen.” She leaned forward and kissed him swiftly on the forehead. “Now, try to rest, the journey must have tired you.”

  “Everything tires me.”

  “It will get better.” She rose to her feet. “While I fetch a bowl of stew I’ll send Jock in to bathe you. I suppose you’re too proud to let me perform that task?” She nodded as she saw his expression. “I thought as much.” She moved toward the door. “I can think of no reason why God gave the masculine gender such power over females when they’re all so lacking in good sense.”

  Margaret closed the door behind her and immediately closed her eyes tightly as wave after wave of the anger, sorrow, and despair she could not allow anyone to see washed over her. Dear God, poor Ian.

  And poor Margaret. Why was she expected to endure this new trial? Sometimes God seemed most unfair.

  “You have an interesting face. I may be persuaded to do a head of you.”

  Her eyes flicked open to see John Kartauk standing a few yards away from her. She flushed as she realized he must have witnessed her moment of weakness. No, perhaps not, for his gaze on her face was appraising but completely dispassionate. She cleared her throat. “I thought I told you to go find yourself a workshop.”

  “I did.” He was still staring at her face. “I’ve decided to use the scullery.”

  “The scullery?” she repeated, shocked. “You can’t use—”

  “Of course I can. I need a furnace, and it will save me the trouble of building one. I can wall up that huge fireplace.” He took a step closer and lifted her chin on the curve of his finger. “At first I saw nothing worthwhile in your face, but I believe the jawline is tolerable and the molding of the cheekbones—”

  She slapped his hand away. “I will not pose for you.”

  He looked hurt. “You don’t realize the honor I do you, madam. After all, I did refuse Queen Victoria.”

  Her eyes widened. “The queen asked you to—”

  “Well, no, I didn’t give her the opportunity. It never pays to insult royalty, but I had already decided to refuse her.” He turned and strode down the hall. “When you regain your senses, come and tell me. I must go to the scullery and toss out all those pots and pans.”

  She hurried after him. “Toss out—you’ll do no such thing!”

  “Why not? They’re in my way.” “Are you mad? We all must eat. You may not have the scullery.”

  “Beauty has more value than food.” He frowned. “I will compromise. I’ll permit you to have the scullery in the evening for your cooking.”

  “You will permit …” She drew a deep breath and said through her teeth, “You toss out one cooking pot and I’ll use you for tomorrow’s stew meat.”

  He studied her expression over his shoulder. “I believe you would do it.” He suddenly chuckled. “You’d find me tough fare, madam. I’m no tender rabbit.”

  “One pot,” she enunciated clearly.

  “Oh, very well.” He shrugged. “I noticed a space almost as adequate in the sta
ble, but you must help me clear it and tell Jock to find me bricks to build my furnace.”

  “Jock will be too busy tending Ian to indulge you in your foolishness, and I certainly have no time.”

  Kartauk sighed. “I’ve come to a land of uncaring savages who offer me no help and will probably manipulate my talent to suit themselves.”

  “You accuse me of manipulating you because I won’t let you—” She broke off as realization dawned. Kartauk was not the one who was being manipulated. “You had no intention of using the scullery,” she said flatly.

  “No? Then why would I say I intended to do so?”

  She did not know the answer. Yet perhaps … kindness, an attempt to distract her from her grief without damaging her pride? He had certainly seen her weakness and acted with faultless accuracy to dispel it. No, she must be mistaken. They were strangers, and he could not possibly read her so well.

  “I have no idea why you would be so devious,” she said tardy. “I’ve heard men of the East delight in such convoluted maneuvering. No doubt it’s an affliction of your heathen blood.”

  “No doubt,” he said blandly. “But I’m sure a Godfearing Scottish lady such as yourself will have no trouble seeing through my heathen trickery.”

  Before she could answer, he strode ahead of her down the hall and started down the stairs.

  • • •

  It was after nine o’clock in the evening when Jane and Li Sung finally finished cleaning the scullery and climbed the stone stairs to the front hall.

  “Sweet heaven, I’m tired.” She arched her back to rid it of stiffness. “And my knees feel as if they’re black and blue from scrubbing that blasted floor.”

  “Go to bed. You will feel better in the morning.” Li Sung opened the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the stable. Kartauk has found a place for his workshop and quarters. I will live with him.”