“My companion is recovering from combat wounds,” Camden said smoothly. He took his wrist again. “Come on, Sean. Let's go?”
Sean heard the note of desperation in his voice and chose to ignore it. He glared at Sir Rodham, feeling fury suffuse him. Sir Rodham looked impersonally back.
“Come on, Sean,” Camden said under his breath. “Let's go.”
Sean let his gaze drop and let Camden lead him away.
Out in the hallway, he turned on him. “Camden!” he said. “How can I do this? How can I let that...that creature wed her?”
Camden's gray gaze held his steadily. “Sean, it's for the best. You found out about him now – be thankful for that. It's best now than later.”
Sean blinked at him in surprise. He was right. Moreover, if he was right, did that mean what he thought it did? That all along Lady Marguerite was pledged to this man? That she was so affectionate, so friendly, and all the while deceived him?
“You're right,” he said raggedly. “Let's go.”
Because now he knew there was no chance for him. All women were as he had thought: as cruel as Irmengard had been.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A DESPERATE TIME
A DESPERATE TIME
“I can't, Rubina. I will not.”
Marguerite sat at the window of her bedchamber and looked out. The sky was gray with springtime showers and the ground, far, far below was hard, gray, and cold. Like my heart.
“Marguerite...” her friend cajoled her. “At least come down and see him?”
“No!” Marguerite said tightly. Her heart was somewhere beyond the reach of care, of hurt. She would not be cajoled. I will never feel again.
Down there, dressed in his best and waiting to dine, was that odious creature that had brought the message from the duke. That odious, cold-eyed creature that was to wed her.
“You know,” Rubina said, her voice still calm, “it's far from final. I'm sure Mama could talk to your father. Make him change matters. Only see if you like him first?”
“I cannot!” Marguerite said passionately. When she turned round, she tried to stop the tears, but the dam inside her had burst and they would not cease. She sobbed and sobbed. “I can't bear to be close to him. I hate him! He looks at me as if I'm dinner on a plate! I loathe him. And...”
She covered her face in her hands and wept. She had wanted to say, and Sean never looked at me so cruelly. How could she tell Rubina that was her real concern? That her heart was already given to Sean and to give it again, even were this man not truly odious, was impossible?
“Come, dear,” Rubina said, wrapping her arms around her. This time she didn't resist. She leaned against Rubina, who held her in her warm arms. She smelled of roses and comfort and Marguerite sniffed, letting her ragged nerves be soothed.
“I can do it,” she said in a hollow voice. “Only...come with me? Please?”
Rubina smiled. “Of course. Gylas?”
Her maid appeared and curtseyed. “Yes, milady?”
“Please help Lady Marguerite get ready. Which gown, Marguerite? The white and blue?”
Marguerite felt like someone had her heart in a vise, squeezing it. That gown was her favorite! She didn't want to wear it for anyone except Sean to see. She nodded. “Of course,” she whispered.
I'm being a fool. Sean doesn't care for me. He's always so aloof.
While she dressed and brushed her long, pale hair out smoothly, Marguerite tried to foment real rage against Sean. When she got started, it seemed fairly easy to sustain it. He was always cold and distant. He started talking and then suddenly went quiet. He always acted as if he'd said too much, ventured too far. He didn't really want to know her.
I should stop daydreaming about him. I'm not some hopeless romantic!
She taunted herself, hardening her heart. The mirror, when she turned to check her appearance, showed her as a tall, elegant woman with a small waist, full hips and bust, and long blond hair. Her brown eyes were in high contrast with the paleness of her and her white dress. She could see that she looked good.
Rubina smiled. “You look enchanting.”
Marguerite sniffed.
“Come on, now,” Rubina continued. “Let's go down.”
The solar was dark. A fire burned in the grate, but even its warmth seemed dampened, Marguerite thought idly. She followed Rubina to the door and then hesitated there. “Rubina?” she whispered. “I don't think I...”
“My lady,” a voice said. It was the same cold, dry voice that haunted her now.
“Sir Rodham,” she said softly.
He was there before her then, taking her hand, pressing it to his lips. His lips were cold. She shuddered. When he looked into her eyes, those pale blue ones seemed to feed on her face, drinking in the sight of her pale neck and cleavage.
“Sir Rodham, ladies!” a voice said from the table. “Come. Let's sit.”
Marguerite let her gaze move to Lady Amabel, Rubina's mother. She was grateful to the regal, commanding lady. Sir Rodham bowed.
“Of course, milady.”
They went over to the table. Marguerite noticed with quiet despair that, even though she sat down opposite Lady Amabel, the man was not deterred. Instead of sitting opposite, he came around the table to sit next to her. She swallowed hard and then winced as his hand touched her own.
“My lady,” he whispered. “I hope a little touch is not...unwelcome?”
She tensed. “It is unseemly, sir. We are not yet wed.”
He smiled. “Of course. You are a chaste lass. I understand.”
Marguerite closed her eyes. Now she felt like a charlatan as well. I'm not saying this because I am a chaste lass, she wanted to scream. But because I'm a lass who happens to be in love with someone else. She sighed.
“Marguerite,” Lady Amabel said from opposite her, “I understand you had some plans for a new tapestry for the parlor?”
“I did, Lady Amabel,” Marguerite said quickly, shooting her a grateful glance. If nothing else, if she was talking to Lady Amabel, she didn't have to talk to Sir Rodham. “I thought mayhap a field worked with poppies and wheat-grains, with a summer scene in the rear ground...” Marguerite trailed off.
“Mm,” Lady Amabel nodded, thinking about it. “I thought perhaps that you could add oak-leaves, for the crest of Invering...”
She continued at some length about her plans for the tapestry and Marguerite found it hard to focus. Under the table, she could feel Sir Rodham's leg, perilously close to her own. She had tensed, not wanting his body touching hers, though she couldn't have said exactly why, other than that his very presence made her feel ill. She loathed him.
“My lady?” he said.
“What?” She jumped, lost in thought.
“Lady Amabel was asking you a question,” he said smoothly. “You seem very distant. It concerns me.” He patted her hand, which rested on the table.
Marguerite felt ill. She tensed her hand. “I'm fine,” she said thinly.
“Good. Young ladies do have such tender nerves,” he said, patting her hand again, before moving his own. “The slightest disturbance can upset them. You should take better care.”
Marguerite felt a sudden anger well up in her. She heard a funny noise beside her and noticed Rubina giggling. She calmed. “Sir, I am quite well, I assure you.”
“This news preys on all our minds,” Lady Amabel said gravely. She shot her daughter a piercing look. Rubina straightened up and bit back the grin. “You must allow for the fact that you bring us bad tidings, sir. We all need time to adjust to them.”
“Of course, Lady Amabel,” he said respectfully.
Marguerite looked down at her plate. She felt no inclination to eat, though the dinner of river-fish cooked in fennel would have caught her appetite were it any other day.
“You will go back south again?” Rubina asked. Her eyes were shiny and Marguerite wanted to laugh. You look very hopeful, friend, she thought with amusement.
“I intend to
stay North as long as my lord allows it,” Sir Rodham said. “Then mayhap we will return as man and his lady?”
Marguerite swallowed hard. “It remains to be seen,” she said tightly. “Your duties, perhaps, exclude you from marriage?”
Lady Amabel raised a brow. “This is true, sir,” she said. “You are part of the king's Guard?”
For certain sectors of the guard and military, it was discouraged that they wed. Whether or not it was against their vows, as it was for some orders of knights, Marguerite was not sure. However, she seized on the idea with hopefulness.
“I was,” he nodded. “But I am under no vows of celibacy,” he said, smiling at Marguerite in a way that made her stomach hurt. “I assure you.”
Marguerite shut her eyes. She felt like the room swam around her, pulsing in and out of focus. She clamped her teeth in her lip to stop herself being ill. Beside her, she heard Rubina giggle. That calmed her somewhat. Someone would help her out of this mess!
“I believe most orders do not require celibacy,” she commented neutrally.
“Indeed. I believe it is man's duty to reproduce,” the man said piously.
Marguerite had to fight not to giggle and she heard Rubina give a strange snorting sound beside her.
Across the table, Lady Amabel cleared her throat. “Quite,” she said carefully. “Is anyone ready for dessert? I believe the cook prepared a special dish of pear and marzipan for us.”
Rubina coughed. “Oh. Thank you, Mama. That sounds wonderful.”
The dinner wore on. Dessert arrived. With it, Sir Rodham seemed to feel emboldened. He leaned over and his knee pressed against Marguerite’s. She tensed.
“Sir,” she whispered. “You forget yourself.”
“I forget not that we are to be wed,” he whispered. “I think you forget that, milady.”
Marguerite bit her lip, fighting to hold in the angry retort that welled inside her. When she looked up, she was surprised to find herself looking into a pair of dark eyes.
Somehow, from somewhere, Lady Joanna had appeared by the fireplace, her face still and regal. Her brown eyes held Marguerite's. She shivered and it seemed to her as if she heard a voice in her head.
There's a storm coming. It will be well. Can you trust?
She took a deep breath. I don't know.
The knee that pressed against hers moved fractionally. Marguerite let out a long sigh. Over in the corner, the dark shape shifted in the darkness. Marguerite wasn't sure if anyone else had seen her arrive. She heard Rubina sigh.
“Grandma! You came down. It's dessert-time now.”
The older woman nodded. “As you know, I can always manage dessert. Looks good. Eh, Amabel?”
“It's pears and marzipan, Mama,” Lady Amabel said, her voice touched with real warmth. “Will you join us?”
“It's warmer by the fire,” the old woman said succinctly. “And not so crowded that our guests must brush so close together.”
Marguerite wanted to laugh as, beside her, Sir Rodham sat bolt upright. The leg that had touched her knee shot sharply away from her own. Marguerite could almost hear him wonder how obvious he'd been. He was frowning, she noticed, likely trying to figure out how she possibly saw his knee on hers from all the way by the fireplace.
Marguerite let her gaze meet that of Lady Joanna. Her face hadn't changed, but her eyes held real warmth. She was smiling, though her lips hadn't twitched. Marguerite smiled.
Easy, lass, she seemed to hear the same voice. You're not out of the woods yet.
Marguerite let out a long sigh. She gathered her thoughts. “Rubina?”
“Mm?”
“Will you help me practice the spinet after dinner? I haven't played on it for far too long.”
“Of course.”
Marguerite finished her dessert, her appetite returning suddenly. She felt as if she had fresh hope. She looked across the table to the darkened corner, but Lady Joanna was looking at her tapestry, her eyes focused at the work she held. She did not look up again.
When she finally pushed back her chair, Marguerite flinched as Sir Rodham stood.
“I will see you tomorrow, milady? It would be my honor to accompany you while riding.”
“I will have to see, my lord,” she said firmly. “My delicate nerves may be too frayed to permit such demanding actions.”
She felt warmth in her chest and, when she looked up, Lady Joanna had shifted slightly, a small smile on her lips. She gave no indication that she'd heard the interchange, but Marguerite took heart and held in her smile.
She had the satisfaction of seeing Sir Rodham blink. His gray-blue eyes widened, and then narrowed. He licked his lips.
“I suppose that's true,” he said carefully. “In which case, I wish you a restful sleep. And hope you will be recovered tomorrow.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Marguerite said. She curtseyed and then followed Rubina out.
In her bedroom, she shut the door and sat down heavily on the bed, staring into the curling, rising flames.
Let me fight this.
There was a knock at the door. “Marguerite?” Rubina called.
Marguerite stood. “Come in.”
Rubina entered and sat down heavily on the bed, spreading her cream velvet skirts about her carefully. “I have an idea,” she said.
“You do?” Marguerite frowned.
“Yes. We might have to let Mama know, but I trust that when she does, she'll agree to it.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Rubina nodded. “But there is one very important catch in the idea.”
“Oh?” Marguerite said again. This close, she could see Rubina's pale cheeks were flushed with excitement. She felt a touch of it inside her.
“Yes. We have to go to Buccleigh.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
A BALL AND A DISCUSSION
A BALL AND A DISCUSSION
It was night, the sky sapphire blue beyond the screens. Gylas drew the linen screens across and lit the lamp. Marguerite looked at herself in the long mirror as the light touched it.
“Rubina?” she said.
“Mm?” Rubina was behind her. In a dress of ocher velvet, her long red hair covered with a fine gauzy veil, she looked regal. She should do. They were going to a ball.
“Do I look good?”
Rubina sighed. “Marguerite, must you ask?” she indicated the mirror. “Of course you do!”
Marguerite sighed and smoothed a hand down the soft blue-green velvet of her dress. She looked beautiful – even she could see that the color suited her – but she looked sad.
“You look beautiful and everyone will think so, and this ball will change everything. Thank Heavens we're back.”
Marguerite reached out and took Rubina's hands. Her friend's hands were warm, the skin soft and full of vitality. She smiled. “Rubina. What would I do without you?”
“Probably dance and sing more,” Rubina grinned. “And listen to a lot less bad spinet practice.”
They both giggled. Marguerite impulsively hugged her friend. They were like sisters. The gesture eased the nauseous churning in her stomach. This was, as Rubina said, a night where a lot could change.
They were back at Buccleigh and somewhere, Sean was too.
“You look lovely, my lady,” Gylas commented as they passed her.
“Thank you, Gylas,” Marguerite smiled. “I think I owe much of that to your skilled hands.”
Gylas blushed and curtseyed. “Oh, lass.”
Rubina linked arms with Marguerite and they drifted downstairs.
Marguerite tried to find calm. She looked about her, walking slowly down the vast, shallow staircase to the entrance hall. She had forgotten how grand Buccleigh Castle was. With its black-and-white tiled forecourt and the vast colonnade, the place was a fortress and a statement piece of note. She leaned back, looked up at the soaring arches overhead, and wondered at how long her friend's family must have held this place.
“Ah, McGuinness. We're here,” Rubina
said easily to a young footman. “Is Papa down?”
“His lordship is in, yes.”
“Well, then,” Rubina smiled. “Let's join the ball.”
With her arm protectively linked through Marguerite's, the two of them walked into the room. Marguerite swallowed hard. Somewhere in this vast, imposing hall was Sean.
The place was lit with a vast bonfire and torches bracketed in the walls. Even so, the roof was lost in the darkness and many of the corners were blended away in shadow. She looked about the benches where the guests would sit, the long trestles set up and laden with refreshments. Somewhere at the end of the hall a fiddle played. Guests stood about in finery, waiting for the dancing to begin. The most fashionable guests at court seemed to have come up for the evening – Buccleigh was a few hours' ride from Edinburgh – and it seemed everyone was determined to forget the war.
“Daughter!” a cheerful voice broke through Marguerite's reverie, making her jump. “There you are!”
The duke of Buccleigh, tall and dark-haired, his broad shoulders trailing a vast, dark cape, appeared. He grinned and embraced Rubina, then laid a gentle hand on Marguerite's shoulder. “My! The pair of you light up this hall,” he said.
Rubina dimpled. “Thank you, Father.”
“Well, it is still a tad gloomy, husband,” Lady Amabel said firmly. “You might have got Murdoch to add some more torches.”
The duke grinned. “Yes, my lady. I confess it is.”
As the two engaged in witty banter about the darkness of the hall, and why – or why not – it was a good notion to add to the lighting, Marguerite let her eyes search the hall. She stopped.
There! A head of pale reddish hair shone in the light of a torch. It was Sean – no one else had that mix of his height and coloring. Ah, those strong shoulders. He turned.
Oh...
Marguerite wanted to run. She looked at Rubina. Her friend squeezed her hand.
“Father! You know the torches won't last all winter if we don't use them...” she said, countering something her father was saying. Her eyes moved from Marguerite to Sean. Go, she seemed to be saying. Leave me here.
Courage Of A Highlander_Lairds of Dunkeld Series Page 26