by Marie Laval
‘Please excuse me now, my lord. I have deliveries to attend to but Effie will be able to help with anything you need.’ The innkeeper hurried away to a back room.
‘Let me know if you need any assistance for bathing, my laird,’ the maid said in a husky voice as soon as the landlord was out of earshot. ‘I am often complimented about my soft, capable hands.’
She lay her fingers on his forearm and gave a little squeeze.
Rose fully expecting Lord McGunn to put the brazen girl back in her place with a gruff word or a stern look but all he did was smile.
‘I don’t doubt it for a moment. Yours are lovely hands indeed.’
Rose had never heard him so pleasant. Was he feverish?
‘Thank you, my lord.’ The maid handed him the room keys. ‘I shall see you later then.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ He flashed her a smile, slid the keys into his pocket and picked up the bags. ‘For now, I need to take Miss Saintclair to her room.’
Rose followed him, her back stiff, her lips pursed in an angry scowl, and an odd and bitter sensation twisting her insides.
‘I don’t need you to carry my bag or take me to my room,’ she snapped as they started up the stairs. ‘Especially when it’s obvious you have more pressing things to do, like sweet-talking a serving girl. It’s funny how you’ve changed into Lord McGracious all of a sudden; I hardly recognise you.’
What was wrong with her? Her voice sounded sour, her chest felt tight and painful, silly tears stung her eyes …
He must be wondering the same thing because he turned towards her and arched his eyebrows. Furious with him, and even more furious with herself, she stared straight ahead and pressed her lips together.
Once upstairs, he took a key out of his pocket and stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor. He slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.
‘I believe this is your room. The landlord said it was the largest and the quietest.’
He walked in and lifted her bag onto a chair. ‘It’s a little more comfortable than Sith Coille, isn’t it?’ Walking to the door, he added. ‘By the way, I want you to stay in your room tonight. I’d rather not attract too much attention. I’ll ask the maid to bring up some food for you.’
‘Would that be before or after she scrubs your back with her lovely soft hands?’
As soon as the words were out, her face heated up, her breath caught in her throat and she bit her lip, hard. Bedbugs! What had she said that for? She sounded like a shrew; mean, bitter and jealous.
‘Who scrubs my back is no business of yours, sweetheart.’ He cocked his head to one side and a smile curled the corners of his mouth. ‘Unless you volunteer your services, of course.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Shame constricted her chest and her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe.
‘Then I’ll see you in the morning.’ Still smiling, he let himself out.
At last, Rose drew in a long breath. She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Why did the man always bring out the worst in her, and make her look stupid and unreasonable? Anyone would think she was jealous when it was the honest truth she didn’t care a jot if the maid jumped in McGunn’s bath and they both drowned in it!
She looked around the room, this time taking in the thick green curtains already drawn against the night but which she would open later, the fire burning high in the fireplace and thick woollen rugs on the floor which gave the room a cosy, welcoming feel. The furniture was sparse but the large bed was piled high with blankets, and the mattress so soft she all but sank in it when she sat down.
‘By Old Ibrahim’s beard, now this is what I call a bed.’
How nice it would feel to slip under the covers and lay her head on the fluffy white pillows instead of the grimy, scratchy straw mattress at Sith Coille or the cold, lumpy bed at Wrath Lodge.
There was a knock on the door and three menservants came in, carrying a small bath tub, which they proceeded to fill with buckets of hot water. A proper bath, at last. It was weeks since she’d had one. Forgetting her bad mood for a moment, she laced the water with a good measure of her orange-flower cologne, slipped out of her filthy clothes and stepped into the hot, fragrant water.
After scrubbing herself clean and washing her hair, she reclined against the tub and let out a sigh. If only she could erase the last few days and pretend they were nothing but a bad dream and return to the way she felt on the Sea Eagle, when all she was concerned about was to prove she wasn’t just a scatterbrain, make her mother and brother proud, and be the wife Cameron wanted.
Now everything had changed. Her best friend had been murdered in the most horrific circumstances. She didn’t know what was real or not. She didn’t even know what she felt. Yes, she sighed. Everything had changed when the Sea Eagle was caught in a storm and she’d met Lord McGunn.
She gripped the sides of the bath and closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she forget about the man, even for five minutes? Just thinking about him – his eyes forever changing from storm clouds to sparkling silver, his mouth which tightened in a stern line or curled in a seductive smile in a heartbeat – was enough to make her pulse race and give her goose bumps. His mouth …
Her eyes flicked open. She didn’t want to think about his mouth, or the way he’d kissed her that morning. She didn’t want to remember how his touch always set her senses ablaze. She didn’t want to think about him at all!
She sat up, gathered her hair to one side and twisted it to wring the water out. One more day and she would be rid of his infuriating, overbearing presence. She would never have to listen to his lies about Cameron duping her into a fake marriage or trying to ruin him, or being responsible for all these poor people being evicted and made homeless.
No, she would never have to see him again, and wasn’t she glad about that!
One more day and she would be with Cameron …
She tried to conjure an image of her husband’s bright blue eyes and easy smile, but all she seemed to be able to remember was the heated flush on his face as he ripped her nightdress open, the harshness in his voice as he ordered her to touch him …
A lump grew in her throat, preventing her from breathing, an iron fist squeezed her stomach. It was as if her whole body contracted at the memory of his hands groping at her breasts and between her legs, pushing his fingers inside her until she implored him to stop. And then driving into her, relentless, despite her cries.
She had to forget about that night. Cameron had drunk too much champagne, and her immature, frigid response had made him angry and impatient. The next time would be different, better, that’s what he’d said. She swallowed hard, pressed a hand to her heart. The next time …
She took a few calming breaths. Everything would be fine. She was nervous about seeing Cameron again, that was all. It was only to be expected, especially since they hadn’t parted on good terms in Algiers.
There was also the matter of Morven. Cameron might not believe her when she told him about the atrocities the man he considered a family friend was committing in his name. And, of course, she would meet Cameron’s formidable mother, Lady Patricia, and be formally introduced as Lady McRae at the ball. It was enough to make anyone anxious.
She grabbed a bath sheet to wrap herself in and stepped out of the tub. She took her time drying in front of the fireplace. Soon the crackling and hissing of the burning logs, the repetitive movement of the brush through her hair soothed her. Enticing smells of roast meat, warm bread and soup now drifted into the room from the dining room below and made her stomach growl.
Where was that silly maid who was supposed to bring her food? Too busy taking care of McGunn, probably. Never mind, she would get her supper herself. She picked her clothes from the floor and pulled a face when smells of damp and horse wafted from the stained, crumpled fabric. Her stockings and undergarments were in dire need of a wash too, and her spare blue dress was just as bad. The thought of putting any of them back on now sh
e was clean was bad enough, but the idea of presenting herself the following day to Cameron and his mother wearing dirty, smelly clothes made her shudder.
She would wash the whole lot right away. The undergarments were easy to deal with. She dipped them into the bath, washed them thoroughly and hung them to dry on the back of a chair near the fireplace. The dresses were another matter. All she could do was to scrub the worst of the stains off and freshen them up.
When she was finished, she had nothing to wear but her pantaloons, her white shirt and black bolero, and the purple slippers Lord McGunn had retrieved for her. She followed the sounds of laughter and conversation and soon found herself in standing in the doorway of a tap room. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of hot food, ale and whisky. The noisy crowd was mostly male, with a few women’s dresses adding a touch of colour here and there. Rose tilted her head up and took a few tentative steps into the room.
‘I don’t believe this,’ a black-haired giant of a man bellowed in a thick, drunken voice. ‘Look who’s here. One of MacRae’s harlots, just for me.’
He let out a booming laugh and Rose froze as voices died down and she was faced with all heads turned toward her.
The big man set his half-empty pint of ale on the counter and approached. She stepped back but he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her inside the room.
‘Come and have a drink with me, my lovely. Then I’ll take you home and you’ll give me a private performance. I heard things about you and the way you make men wild.’
Panic made her heart race. She pulled back as hard as she could but the man was too strong.
‘Leave me alone! You have no idea who I am, you have no idea …’
He swirled round to stare at her, arched his bushy black eyebrows and grinned, uncovering several stumps of yellowed teeth.
‘Ooh, so you speak English, unlike your little friends. Come to think of it, you don’t look quite as exotic as them …’ He shrugged. ‘Never mind, I bet you’re just as good.’
Still holding her wrist, he took his pint and brought the glass to her lips to force her to drink. Her teeth clattered on the glass and she coughed as beer swished down her throat. Around them several men cheered, although Rose also heard a few calls to release her and leave her alone.
‘Let the lady go.’
Rose almost went limp with relief. Never had she been so happy to hear McGunn’s voice.
The man put his pint down and turned to face him.
‘Lady?’ He laughed coarsely. ‘She’s no lady. She’s one of the hussies McRae keeps in his hunting lodge for his pleasure, well out of sight from his stuck-up fiancée.’
‘What fiancée?’ Rose let out a strangled cry.
The man laughed. ‘That English bitch, Lady Sophia. The woman orders us around as if she already owns the place. The truth is, she’s as ugly as a rat’s arse, so it’s no wonder McRae spends his time chasing petticoats in all the villages on the estate or bedding his dancers.’
His hand clasped around Rose’s waist, he bent down to nuzzle her neck. She was too stunned, too weak suddenly to fight him off. So the McKenzies were right. McGunn was right. Cameron had lied. He was getting married to another.
‘For the last time,’ McGunn called again, ‘I’m asking you to leave the lady alone.’
The man snorted. ‘If you want her, you’ll have to fight me for her.’
McGunn narrowed his eyes. ‘That’s not a problem.’
Calmly, he unfastened the buttons of his black jacket, shrugged it off and threw it on the back of a chair. Next he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows.
‘What are you waiting for? I’m hungry and my stew’s getting cold.’
Her throat tight with dread, Rose glanced up at the big man still holding her. He was as tall as McGunn, but looked a lot bulkier and meaner. His nose was bent to one side, a long scar barred one side of his face, and his hands were huge and rough, with grazed knuckles as if he’d recently been in a fight.
He looked down at her. ‘This won’t take long, my lovely.’ He gave her bottom a squeeze, pushed her aside and lunged at McGunn.
He was right. It didn’t take long.
McGunn’s first punch hit him squarely on the nose, the second in the stomach. The man doubled over, fell to his knees with a grunt, and collapsed on the floorboards. He remained there, eyes closed, snuffling loudly through his bloodied nose.
McGunn picked his jacket up and slid it back on.
‘Get him out of here,’ he ordered a couple of men before looking sternly at Rose. ‘Come with me.’
In silence she followed him to a table tucked away in a corner of the room. A half-full pint of ale stood next to a steaming plate of stew and a thick slab of bread.
He pulled a chair out. ‘Sit.’
She did as he said.
‘I told you I didn’t want to attract attention, and you come down here dressed like … that.’ His eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Why didn’t you stay in your room?’
‘I was hungry. The maid didn’t come to bring any food.’
‘Ah.’ He sighed and looked a little contrite. ‘That was probably my fault. She came to my room earlier. We started … ahem … talking and I forgot to ask her to bring you a tray.’
She heaved a breath and clasped her hands together under the table.
‘I see.’
Her brain must be completely muddled because right now the thought of him cavorting with the red-haired maid hurt even more than having her worst fears confirmed about Cameron.
He pushed the plate of stew and his fork in front of her.
‘I’ll tell you about it later. For now, you’d better eat while it’s hot.’
She tilted her chin up.
‘I don’t want to know about your frolicking with the maid, thank you very much, and I couldn’t possibly eat anything. You heard that horrid man at the bar. The McKenzies were right. You were right. Cameron is going to marry this Lady Fairbanks.’
Her voice broke. ‘How stupid I have been. He did deceive me after all.’
‘It seems that way.’
She expected him to gloat or at least smile with the satisfaction of having been right all along, but the only thing she saw on his face was concern. He pointed to the plate.
‘You’re exhausted and you’ve had a nasty shock. You need to eat.’
Protesting once again felt useless. Reluctantly and with a shaky hand she took hold of the fork, speared a piece of mutton and brought it to her mouth. It was a little tough but she forced herself to chew and swallow it, then she ate some more. Chunks of melt-in-the-mouth carrots and tasty turnips followed, and before she knew it, she had eaten almost half the stew.
‘That’s better.’ Lord McGunn slid the pint of beer in her direction. ‘Now have a drink.’
She took a few sips. The bitter ale made her wince. She may not like whisky, she liked beer even less.
‘There’s something I really need to know,’ he said as she put the glass down. ‘I asked you before but you didn’t answer. Why did McRae leave you behind the day after your pretend wedding instead of taking you with him on the Sea Lady?’
Rose’s heart tightened. If there was one thing she didn’t want to talk about, and with him especially, it was her wedding night. However, from the determined glint in his eyes, it was clear he wouldn’t give up until he had answers. Perhaps she could tell him some of the truth.
‘We had an argument.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘What about?’
She swallowed hard. ‘My father’s diary, mainly.’
‘I don’t understand …’
‘He wanted it, there and then, but I couldn’t give it to him because I had put it in my mother’s safe at the Banque d’Algérie a few days earlier, after my hotel room was broken into.’
She paused to take a long breath.
‘Cameron was so angry when I told him he would have to wait until the bank reopened he stormed out and only came back
the following morning. That’s when he announced he was sailing back to Scotland. He asked me to retrieve the journal and wait for the Sea Eagle to come for me.’
‘Why the rush? He could have waited until the bank opened.’
So she would have to confess to her inadequacies after all …
Bending her head, she spoke very quickly. ‘I think he was annoyed with me for … well, for not being the wife he’d expected and he wanted to teach me a lesson. At least, that’s what he said.’
McGunn did not say a word but stared at her for a long time. What was he thinking? That she was a hopeless fool, probably.
After a while, he finished his ale and put his empty glass down.
‘Well, sweetheart, there’s only one thing to do now. I need to see that diary and, since I don’t speak French, you’re going to have to read it to me.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘You want to read my father’s diary? Why?’
Lord McGunn sat back on his chair and crossed his arms on his chest.
‘Because I’m intrigued. Lady Patricia sent her precious son all the way to Algiers just to read it —’
‘Oh no,’ Rose interrupted. ‘Cameron didn’t just want to read it, he wanted to buy it. He offered me a ridiculous sum of money to tear out the pages relating to his father and give them to him and was quite put out when I refused. I made it clear that were he to offer a thousand gold Napoleons, I would never sell the diary, not even a page, because I promised my mother to look after it.’
Blood drained from her face.
‘My mother … she’ll never forgive me when she finds out what I’ve done.’ She let out a sigh and shook her head. ‘I always was a disappointment to her, to everybody in fact, and once again I have proved how stupid I am …’
Tears rolled down her cheeks. This time, the compulsion to touch her was too strong. Leaning across the table, he lifted his hand to her face to catch the transparent pearls with his finger as they reached the side of her mouth – that soft, yielding mouth he burned to taste again. His body tightened in a raw, primitive response, his breathing quickened. As if she felt the need inside him, her eyes widened and she pulled back.