Once in the corridor, he pushed her away and held her at arm's length. "Go back to your own room," he ordered while trying to keep his voice low so as to not wake anyone.
A movement at the end of the dim corridor caught his attention. Who was that? A servant? They slipped away.
"Go," he told Elena again, then went back into his chamber and closed the door. He looked about for the piece of wood to bar the door but found none. Nor did he have the key for the lock.
"Damnation."
He dragged a sizable chest in front of the door. That should keep her out well enough. He never thought he'd have to block his door here at Draughon. Damn the lass. He released a harsh breath, then spotted the broken crystal glass on the floor. He picked up the pieces and deposited them safely upon a table.
Dropping into the chair again, he shoved his hands into his hair. What the hell was he going to do? He should break the contract and leave, go home to Castle Rebbinglen. But… if he did that, he might never see Calla again. Obviously, she would go with Lady Elena.
Though he knew he was daft for it, he wanted to remain near Calla a bit longer. Something about her haunted him. He needed to know her story. Since they'd come face-to-face again that morn, he could think of little else. After that night they'd spent together years ago, he hadn't wanted to let her go. That was why he'd searched for her. He'd wanted a hell of a lot more than just one night.
He'd stayed at that damnable inn for a week, hoping each night she would return in her black cloak, looking anonymous and mysterious. But she hadn't returned. Nor had he caught a glimpse of her on the streets of Stirling, or in any of the other inns. She had vanished.
He'd enjoyed their bedsport, but that little ache in his chest told him 'twas something more which fascinated him. Her gray eyes often held a shadow of sadness… loneliness… perhaps even desperation. But when he distracted her and made her smile, she forgot all about it. Her eyes would light up like silvery, sparkling frost and he just wanted to stop and stare.
Hell, what was he thinking? He didn't even know her. Not really.
After removing his clothes, he lay in bed awake a long while, mulling over his quandary. He must have fallen asleep in the wee hours, for he was shocked awake the next morn when someone rudely pounded on the door. Gray morning light gleamed through the narrow window.
"What the devil?" he muttered, sitting up.
The pounding resumed.
"Who is it?" he growled, rising from the bed.
"Barclay," the man outside the door snarled.
Hellfire. Rebbie squeezed his eyes shut. Had Elena told him she'd been in his chamber last night? That manipulative little brat! "You will have to wait until I'm decent."
"That will never happen," Barclay yelled.
What? Why, that bastard! After yanking on his linen shirt, Rebbie grabbed his breeches and pulled them on. He shoved the chest away from the door and yanked it open. "What do you want?" he demanded.
Barclay stabbed a finger at him. "You, sir, have compromised my daughter and I demand that you marry her immediately."
"Are you mad?" Rebbie assessed where the other man's weapons were. He saw none in evidence, but he could have a hidden knife anywhere.
"Nay. Word has spread all over the castle this morn that she was seen leaving your chamber at midnight. And she smelled like a distillery. My daughter does not drink whisky. She admitted to me that you had spilled it on her smock."
"You want the truth, Barclay?" Rebbie seethed, moving closer, wanting to punch the bastard in his smug mouth. "I'll give it to you. I was in my chamber, minding my own business, when she slipped into my room, then threw herself upon my person, causing me to spill my whisky, and demanded that I kiss her. I refused and deposited her into the corridor."
"Ha!" Barclay's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. "Do you expect me to believe that of my innocent daughter?"
"Believe it or not. 'Tis the truth."
"Well…" Barclay shrugged, obviously seeing himself as superior to anyone else. "Everyone knows she was in your chamber, barely dressed, at midnight without her chaperone. And you are already bound by contract to marry her, so you may as well make it official."
"Nay." Rebbie ground the word out. "I'll not be forced to marry the coddled brat. She's naught but an overgrown child." Rebbie returned to his chamber and drew on his boots, then his doublet, while Barclay blathered on.
Damned if he was going to stay here and take this. He was tempted to throttle the man so he would shut up. After donning all his weapons and grabbing his sack of supplies, including a change of clothes, he shoved past Barclay and strode down the corridor toward the steps.
In the great hall, the servants were setting up the tables for breakfast. The guard opened the exit door for him and he jogged down the steps and toward the stables. Hell! He wished he could've spoken to Lachlan before departing, but there was no time. His friend would figure out what had happened soon enough. More than that, he wished he could talk to Calla for a moment, but… what would he say to her? He could think of naught that didn't sound daft.
"George!" he called, entering the stables.
Moments later, his manservant appeared from the stable loft, his clothes askew and his hair mussed from sleep.
"Saddle my horse, and be quick about it."
"Aye, m'laird." He hastened toward the stalls.
Rebbie waited just outside the door, his gaze scanning the empty courtyard. He didn't want to have to kill that whoreson, Barclay, in a duel. Compromised his daughter… ha! She needed a sound thrashing.
Rebbie paced. Where would he go? He knew not, but anywhere far away from Barclay and his whining daughter. A life with her would be like being imprisoned in the tolbooth for the rest of his days.
Torture. Absolute and utter torture. He'd rather be tied to a whipping post.
"Robert!" his father yelled as he trotted across the courtyard. "What the devil do you think you're doing? Running away?"
"Nay, I'm not running away. I'm leaving so I'll not be forced to kill that bastard! I won't be trapped into marrying that brat. Not by you. Not by her. And not by Barclay."
"Och! Calm yourself, son." His father stopped before him, breathing hard. "Let's go back inside and talk about it in a reasonable manner."
"There is no such thing! None of you understand reasonable."
Fortunately, at that moment, George led his horse out to him.
"I thank you, George." Rebbie dropped three coins into the servant's hand, then hoisted himself into the saddle and took up the reins.
"When will you be back?" his father called after him as he guided the horse toward the portcullis.
"I don't ken," Rebbie yelled back. "Open the gates," he told the guards.
Once outside the walls, he gave the horse his head and flew away from Draughon as thick dark clouds hovered over the green, rolling landscape. He would not stay one more day under the roof with people trying to manipulate him and turn his life into a living hell. Barclay and his daughter grated upon his nerves worse than any people he'd ever met.
Normally, he enjoyed spending time at Draughon, with Lachlan and Angelique. Aye, but not the rest of them. Well… Calla… he enjoyed her company, of course, but damnation, he could not relax around her. His mind constantly drifted back to that night at the inn in Stirling and he would find himself getting aroused at the worst possible times.
He would go to Perth, he decided, and see a horse breeder there he'd been negotiating a deal with. For a while, he'd been considering venturing into horse breeding, especially since he'd acquired Devil.
By the time Rebbie returned to Draughon in a few days, hopefully everyone would have calmed down and he could tell Barclay, in a reasonable tone that the betrothal to his daughter was off. He didn't want to tell him now because once he did, they would leave, taking Calla with them.
***
"How could you have done such a thing?" Calla asked Elena. "Slipping out after I fell asleep and going to Lair
d Rebbinglen's room?" She was indeed surprised at the girl's courage but not as shocked as her mother had been. After all, Calla had done worse, but she wouldn't think of that now. Without doubt, Rebbie had been furious.
"I am sorry, Calla!" Elena paced from one side of their chamber to the other. "I couldn't sleep for wondering what it would be like if he kissed me. 'Twould be a dream come true, surely."
"You cannot force the man to marry you."
"'Tis not the reason I did it!" Elena cried.
"Well, no matter your reasoning, your father is now trying to force Rebbie to marry you soon, and I fear that won't work. He's left, and who kens when he will be back, or if he will be back?"
"He will return soon." Elena blinked rapidly at the sheen of moisture in her eyes. "Won't he?" she asked in a meek voice.
"I know not," Calla said gently. The lass was so naïve she probably had no inkling what took place in the marriage bed. "I heard angry shouts coming from the courtyard this morn and one of them sounded like his."
"Oh, Calla. I could make him so happy. I love him."
Calla forced a sympathetic smile. Maybe the lass wasn't simply naïve, but truly daft. Or maybe 'twas because Calla knew Rebbie far better than Elena did. She could never make him happy. He looked bored beyond bearing every time she saw them talking. "'Tis simply the first time you've been smitten," Calla said gently.
"Nay, 'tis not. I was smitten with Hardwick. What I feel for Rebbie is… is so much more. I simply must find a way to convince him to like me."
Calla wanted to shake her head. If he didn't like her already, chances were he never would. She turned away to finish readying herself for breakfast. Where had Rebbie gone? Wherever it was, she doubted he would return. Men like him valued their freedom more than anything. Had he ripped up the contract before he'd gone? She didn't know the details of what had transpired between him and Barclay, but it couldn't have been good.
For a certainty, she would miss Rebbie and the way his mysterious dark gaze lingered upon her in a curious manner. As if questions always waited on the tip of his tongue. Questions she definitely didn't want to answer. Maybe 'twas best for all of them that he'd gone.
After she and Elena finished dressing, they descended the steps to break their fast with the others in the great hall. Rebbie's father and Lachlan talked quietly in one corner of the large room while the others gathered around the high table. Soon, everyone was seated and the meal was served.
The normally boisterous group was near silent this morn and some of them eyed Elena in an inquiring manner, but she seemed not to notice. She picked at her food, appearing lost in her own misery. Barclay was red-faced, his glare searing everything in its path. She would be certain to avoid him. Though he was her father's cousin, she was not close to him.
Once Calla and Elena left the great hall and returned to their chamber, Lady Barclay entered, her face pale and her disproving mouth pinched. Calla expected the lady to give her daughter a scathing speech, but Lady Barclay turned her attention to Calla. "How could you let this happen?" she demanded.
Chapter Five
"What?" Calla took a step back from the militant expression on the normally reserved woman's face. She couldn't believe Elena's mother had barged into their bedchamber to verbally attack her for something Elena had done.
"You heard me," Lady Barclay snapped, her green eyes flashing with ire. "Now, if that scoundrel does not marry my daughter, what are we to do? Her reputation will be ruined."
"She slipped out while I was asleep," Calla said, aghast that the woman would blame her.
"We don't pay you to sleep. We pay you to keep a close, watchful eye on Elena at all times, day and night."
"I am sorry. I had no inkling she would do something so bold and reckless as to go to a man's bedchamber in the middle of the night." Aye, bold, reckless and stupid.
Lady Barclay's face flushed red. "'Tis because of you," she seethed.
"What do you mean?" Calla asked, guilt and shame niggling at her conscience just as it did every time she feared someone knew her secret.
"Without doubt, you put the idea into her head."
"I did not," Calla said firmly in as calm a tone as she could muster. If she didn't need the employment desperately, she would give the stodgy lady a piece of her mind.
"My daughter is an innocent. She knows naught about men or the sinful ways of the world." She eyed Calla accusingly.
"I'm a widow. That doesn't make me sinful. Your daughter has a mind of her own, and she was the one who decided to approach Laird Rebbinglen."
"Humph." Lady Barclay's gaze darted to Elena, then back to Calla again. "I have my eye on you, Lady Stanbury. If you do not improve your work performance, you will find yourself seeking employment elsewhere." She turned and quit the room, slamming the door in her wake.
Elena climbed into her bed, covered her head and burst into tears.
Perfect. Calla blew out an annoyed breath. "What happened, exactly, when you went to Laird Rebbinglen's room?"
"Naught," Elena whimpered, uncovering her head a bit. "He wouldn't even kiss me," she wailed.
"I see." Good. "And here you've caused everyone to think you've been thoroughly bedded."
Elena gasped, and turned to look wide-eyed at Calla. "I cannot believe you said that."
Calla shrugged. "'Tis the truth. With your waywardness, you've endangered your own reputation and my job. I need this position." She still owed Claybourne a great deal of money and, in fact, had to send him another payment in a matter of days.
"Is that all you care about? What about my upcoming marriage? If Rebbie doesn't return…." She burst into tears again. "My life will be ruined," she wailed.
"Aye, well, you can thank yourself for that," Calla muttered too low for the sobbing girl to hear. On the one hand, Calla could lose her job over this fiasco, on the other, she was glad Rebbie had left and extracted himself from this marriage trap. If the two wed, they would be miserable. 'Twas easy for anyone to see Elena grated on his nerves.
They didn't suit at all, and Calla was perversely glad. Not because she wanted him for herself. Nay. Not at all.
Ha, something inside her taunted. You know good and well you had shocking dreams about him last night.
That might have been true, but she'd had no hand in this debacle.
***
Two days later at gloaming, Rebbie arrived back at Draughon Village after his visit to Perth. Since 'twas so late, he would stay at the Breakstane Inn tonight. In the morn, he would make a quick trip to Draughon Castle, meet with Barclay and his father, breaking the betrothal, and then he would leave again. Where to, he didn't know. He didn't want to go home to Castle Rebbinglen. 'Twas a big castle with no one about but the servants and the guards. And he hardly knew them, he'd been home so infrequently. He was not a clan chief like his friends and had no major responsibilities at the moment, aside from his four estates, which he'd hired stewards to look after in his absence. His father, the marquess, was chief over several clan chieftains, but he rarely had to deal with them, unless a dispute came up.
Where was Rebbie's true home?
He knew not, and was too tired to think of it at the moment.
At the livery stable, he removed Devil's saddle, then curried the horse. Devil swung his head around and perked his ears, giving him a questioning look as if to ask what the hell are you doing?
"I ken, lad," Rebbie muttered. "I'm acting a wee bit strange, aye?" But sometimes he liked currying a horse. 'Twas soothing to himself as well as the animal.
After paying the stable-master, he asked him to saddle Devil and deliver him to the inn by ten in the morn. Rebbie proceeded across the street to the inn, took a seat in the common room and ordered a pint of ale and supper.
Damnation, how he hated being alone. Humph. Mayhap he was going mad, for all he could think about was how happy Lachlan and Angelique were together. And Dirk and Isobel. They'd found the next thing to paradise here on earth, while Rebbie sat alon
e at a drab inn swilling ale and staring at a muddy street out the window. The darkened sky looked as if 'twas going to dump a deluge of rain upon them again.
But this was better than sitting by Lady Elena at supper while she blathered on about London, making him want to pull his own hair out.
He was not a coward. Nay, indeed. Tomorrow he was returning to Draughon and telling her father to rip up the betrothal contract. He'd have to pay the man a large amount in recompense. But 'twould be worth it. In truth, Rebbie's father should be the one paying it since he was the one who'd signed the hell-hated contract, but Rebbie wanted to prove himself an honorable and responsible man. And he truly didn't want to make an enemy of Barclay… unless that was the only option.
As for the young Lady Elena, she would forget him, and afore long, she would beam that annoying, coquettish smile up at some other laird.
At dark, Rebbie climbed the stairs to his rented room, went inside and fell onto the hard, narrow bed. When his eyes closed, only one woman filled his head. Calla. 'Twas in an inn much like this… well, mayhap a wee bit nicer… where he'd met her for the first time years ago.
Though he'd had too much to drink that night in Stirling, he clearly remembered what he'd thought when he'd first seen her slender form, that black cowl covering her head and those honey-blond curls peeking out. And, most delectable of all, those full pink lips and her fair skin. He'd murmured some inane greeting to her as he'd started up the steps. When she'd placed her hand upon his on the newel post, he'd been stunned immobile for a moment.
Once he'd recovered, he'd taken her hand in his and kissed the back. "M'lady, I'm certain you must be lost in such a place as this."
He hadn't known she was a lady. He'd only been guessing, given the expensive fabric of her new black cloak. Clearly, she was no tavern wench.
Her eyes had remained in shadow but he could easily see her rosy lips and her smile. At first he'd thought it a forced, nervous smile. She'd bitten her lower lip with straight white teeth and he'd had the urge to nibble it a wee bit himself.
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