Glenna stepped toward Audrey Keane, eliciting a trio of shrieks from the women. But she was stopped by a tight hand on her arm, and Tavish Cameron pulled her back to his side, turning her with a jerk to face him.
He glared down at her. “Go to your chamber,” he said through his teeth.
“I’ll not allow her to slander me or my father.” Glenna turned her head to look over her shoulder. “Speaking of fraud as though she wasn’t but a festooned tinker’s brat.”
“And so you will go to your chamber,” Tavish repeated, shaking her arm to draw her attention once more.
Glenna’s angry trembling increased to accommodate her confusion. “But you wished for me to—”
She was cut off by Tavish Cameron’s curt “Excuse us.”
He pulled her through the hall, keeping her tight against his side as the crowd parted for him and leaned down to speak near her ear. “I wished for you to entertain the guests, aye. But not by creating gossip and bringing shame to me.”
She jerked away from him, and he let her go with a glance around, obviously not wishing to attract more attention than they already had. He herded her through the doorway and into the cooler corridor between the two flights of steps.
Had she shamed him? Her father?
“That is still my hall,” she insisted, shocked at feeling tears come into her eyes.
“For all your insistence that you are a lady, princess, your behavior and appearance say otherwise. You’re dismissed to the upper floors.” He turned and abandoned her there in the corridor, his wide back disappearing into the bright slashes of laughing and talking guests, the servants milling about with their clean, buff-colored skirts and white caps, their sturdy, shining leather boots.
Glenna looked down at her kirtle again and saw it now as compared with the bright silks and embroidery worn by the wealthy merchant class of Edinburgh. She raised her face to regard the hall once more and realized with horror that the kitchen maids Tavish Cameron had hired were dressed far better than she.
Her hand still holding the forgotten chalice of wine dropped to her side; she heard the liquid pouring out, felt the droplets on the tops of her feet, revealed by the skirt that was still too short. Her fingers went limp, and the chalice fell with a clang.
Glenna turned away from the feast and began to climb the steps.
* * * *
It was well past midnight when Tavish ascended the eastern tower, leaving behind the last lingering guests who seemed intent on finding the bottom of each wine cask now housed at Roscraig. Tavish himself had drunk more than his share. He was feeling fine, still enjoying the effects of the boisterous singing and dancing that had taken place in the hall. Audrey had not surprised him very much when she had demonstrated her talents of voice in a duet with the hook-nosed Miss Haversham—even Captain Muir had whistled and stomped his feet after their song. And she and Tavish had been paired more times than not in the dancing—a fact that Tavish knew was not mere coincidence.
Audrey’s abilities and popularity among Edinburgh’s wealthy merchant class had not surprised Tavish. After all, she’d been stolen away from his and Muir’s games in the alleys of Edinburgh years ago to be groomed by the very best in the city. She would bring wealth and connection to whomever her father chose for her, and Master Keane himself had already hinted at the generosity he would bestow upon his new son-in-law.
He arrived at the upper corridor and nodded to Alec, who—while he did answer up a curt “Laird”—did not meet Tavish’s eyes.
Tavish opened the door and saw a tumbling pile of rags straighten from the middle of the bed to stand upon the floor. He could feel Glenna’s petulant glare on his back as he shut and bolted the door. When he turned he saw the tray of food upon the coverlet, picked at, perhaps, but the sampling of the dishes enjoyed at the feast still largely intact.
“Mam catering to you again?” he asked, the drink making the already snide words uglier than he’d intended.
Glenna immediately reached out and took the tray from the bed, sliding it into the shadows covering his wide table. She kept her back to him while he walked toward the fire, surprised to find his cup still in his hand. It was mostly full, and so he drank from it while he looked into the flames.
“Do you think you might somehow shame me into marrying you?” he demanded.
“What?”
He ignored her feign of ignorance. “Poor Lady Glenna—so hungry and poor and beautiful. You mocked me tonight. Goading Audrey before her friends. Coming to the hall in the garb of a peasant; as if I commanded you to wear such rags. Triumphant conqueror!” he bellowed, raising his cup. He chuckled in the back of his throat, shook his head, and then drained his chalice. She had said nothing, and so he turned to look at her.
She was staring at him, the flickering light barely reaching her cheekbones, forehead, the tip of her nose.
Her silence was maddening. He set the empty chalice on a table with more force than was necessary, and then walked to the tall wardrobe and opened it. “What have we here?” he said and reached out to take hold of the long drape of material. He shook it before him and saw that it was nothing more than the old gray shawl she’d worn the day he arrived. He tossed it on the floor and then reached back inside the cabinet.
He pulled out the faded, striped kirtle; it soon joined the shawl. But when he went to retrieve another garment, his hand met bare wood. Tavish stepped back, allowing the firelight to illumine the inside of the empty wardrobe.
“Are you looking for the gray gown?” Glenna asked. “It’s across yonder chair near the fire, drying.”
“Where are the rest of your gowns?” he demanded, turning to her.
She shook her head. “There are no more.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Glenna shrugged. “Your belief or nae doesn’t change the fact that I have three gowns. But it does say much about your pigheadedness that you would think me willing to humiliate myself in front of scores of strangers in my own house in an attempt to prick your puny conscience.”
“Where are your clothes?” he demanded, becoming unreasonably angry at her refusal to confess.
“I don’t have any more clothes!” she shouted at him at last. “As they wore, they couldn’t be replaced.” She took several shallow breaths. “I had no…I had no idea that everyone would be dressed so finely.”
“I told you it was a feast,” Tavish began.
“There’s never been a feast like that at Roscraig before!” Glenna shot back. “We’ve considered ourselves fortunate to have enough food for one full daily meal for years. You think my father would squander what we had to entertain a bunch of greedy merchants?”
“He certainly squandered it on something.” Tavish would be damned if he would apologize for his success where Iain Douglas had failed. “The Tower is in a prime location on the firth, with no tolls to pay. The land is rich; there are woodlands and pasture. You’d have to try not to prosper.”
“What would you know of running an estate?” Glenna challenged in a choked voice. Her face was colorless now, such a change from when she’d arrived in the hall. Her hair was soft and mussed, her pathetic kirtle faded nearly white in the fire glow. The violets in her hair were shriveled, drooping and black now. “The king’s taxes—they take all.”
Tavish watched her, acknowledging only to himself that, indeed, Roscraig wasn’t in arrears in taxes, and never had been. Had this woman been kept in poverty her entire life for the sake of the Tower? So destitute that she couldn’t clothe herself properly, couldn’t obtain adequate sustenance; had been made to struggle for the basest survival alongside the likes of Frang Roy while repeated sickness swept the village?
He briefly recalled his mother’s warning, her mad idea that Iain Douglas had been poisoned; the possessive way of Frang Roy, and his expertise with the land and its plants. He’d been the last vill
ager to see Iain Douglas well.
Had it not been for Tavish’s arrival, Glenna Douglas would have likely been claimed by the brutish peasant, an idea with which Tavish found himself very uneasy. He also recognized that at least part of his irritation with the woman this night was that her inappropriate attire had stolen away the opportunity for Tavish to observe her in the hall.
“You’ll not shame me before my guests again,” he said at last. “Keep to this chamber or your father’s.”
“I’d not dare offend them further with my hideous appearance.” Her cheeks flushed, and Tavish knew he had succeeded in chastening her. “I assume Miss Keane will be more than eager to step into my role.”
“Audrey will remain here until the king comes.”
“She must ensure you aren’t stolen away by your shepherdess in the meantime.”
Tavish felt his lips quirk, and whether it was the drink or his victory, he liked the soft look of her just then, appreciated it over the cologned and powdered women who had made eyes at him and not so veiled overtures. Glenna Douglas did not pretend to be enamored of him; but neither did she begrudge him an honest word of praise.
Or an impassioned response to his body.
“Perhaps she has reason to worry,” he said.
Glenna met his eyes, and her chin lifted a fraction. Honest.
The idea that she had been naught but truthful in all their interactions suddenly troubled him in a mysterious way.
Tavish turned away and began to unbuckle his belt. “Get in bed, princess,” he said. “Perhaps you will yet prove yourself useful this night.” He laid his shawl and tunic over the back of the chair near the fire, covering up the old gray gown. He caught sight of a slickstone on the hearth and a small basket containing thread and tiny scraps of fabric the same color as the kirtle Glenna had worn tonight. He paused in his movements, realizing that she’d genuinely done everything she could to look her best. Tavish turned around to face the bed.
Glenna was beneath the covers, but turned on her side toward him, one arm outside the coverlet dragged beneath her chin. She was watching him unabashedly, and he liked the way her eyes lingered on the bare skin of his chest. Besides her face, Tavish could only see the yellowed sleeve of her underdress.
“I’m nae accustomed to sharing a bed with a woman fully clothed,” he said, hoping his gruffness concealed the foreign wave of regret that wanted to rise up in him.
Her green eyes met his. “Would you have me remove my gown?”
He knelt on the bed and crawled toward her until he loomed over her and she rolled onto her back. “Would you remove it if I said aye?”
Tavish saw her throat convulse in the fire glow before she spoke. “You wounded me unnecessarily tonight,” she whispered. “But I will keep my word to you.” The very ends of her hair trailing out from her coif trembled.
Tavish slid his palm behind her slender neck, lowered his head, and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly and deeply until he felt his desire grow to the very edge of his restraint. I’m sorry, he tried to convey. And yet this time Glenna did not respond. He drew back at last and looked into her cat eyes once more, and he saw fear there and sadness and still a good deal of resentment.
“Go to sleep, princess,” he said to her. “I’ll not hurt you twice in one night.”
She rolled over to face the wall and squeezed her eyes shut while still within the cage of his arms. The faint perfume of violets wafted up from her. Tavish looked at the fringe of her pale lashes against her cheek for a moment, took his time in examining the texture of her skin in shadow before he finally pulled away and lay on his back beside her. He sighed silently and then stilled.
He must speak with Muir at once.
Tavish rose from the bed once more and slipped into his tunic and boots before departing the room and making his way down the dark corridor to the stairs. He was nearing the bottom when he saw the man he sought outside the hall, speaking with none other than Audrey Keane. Tavish’s boots scuffed against the stair, and when Audrey looked over her shoulder at the intruder, Tavish could see that her eyes were teary.
Audrey turned back to Muir, saying something too low for Tavish to hear before pressing the man’s arm briefly and fleeing away down the other stairwell.
The captain followed Tavish’s approach with a guarded expression. “Laird,” he said. “I thought you had retired for the evening.”
“So thought I,” Tavish said ruefully. He glanced down the stairs. “Is aught awry with Audrey?”
Muir’s gray eyebrows rose. “Is the lady Glenna not in your chamber?”
“What? Aye, of course she is. What sort of answer is that?”
“Audrey is troubled by the fact that her husband-to-be would take on a mistress even before he is wed. I don’t know who would blame her—you look as though you just left the woman.”
“I did just leave her. Audrey and I aren’t wed yet, Muir.”
“True. So you plan to loose the Douglas woman after you take Audrey as your wife?”
Tavish felt his irritation returning. “Would you of all men lecture me on morality? Many lairds keep mistresses; it has naught to do with their marriage. I’ve not agreed to a betrothal with Master Keane, and even if I do, ’tis best Audrey understand now that she’ll not rule over me—Roscraig isn’t Edinburgh. I’ll do as I please. And I’ll bed whom I please. Now and in the future.”
The corners of Muir’s mouth turned down. “I see.”
“I sought you because I have several items I wish brought back from Edinburgh, in addition to what we spoke of before. They may be difficult to obtain on such short notice.”
The captain’s demeanor changed almost at once from that of a disapproving if concerned friend to a businessman about his task. “That sounds like a challenge; I accept.”
It was only several moments later that Tavish was climbing back into the warm bed at Glenna Douglas’s side. She had not appeared to move in his absence, and he wondered if she was already asleep.
“Good night, princess,” he said in a low voice, and then turned over to face the fire before closing his eyes, the wine he’d drunk making the bed undulate comfortingly, like a ship at sea.
“I thought you’d gone to seek another woman” came the whisper from behind him.
Tavish’s opened his eyes to the flickering tableau once more. “Nay. Only a forgotten order for my captain.”
The silence was complete for several moments, and Tavish thought that she had gone to sleep. He closed his eyes again.
“I was heartened by your efficiency.”
Tavish’s lips quirked. “Sorry to disappoint you, but my romantic attentions take far longer than a handful of moments.”
Glenna sighed. “I guessed as much.”
Tavish drifted off to sleep with her quiet lamentation in his ears and an amused smile on his lips.
Chapter 10
Glenna swiped the damp rag across Iain Douglas’s face, and his faded blue eyes rolled up in their cavernous-looking sockets, following her every move, studying her.
“You’re looking much better, Da,” she said softly, hesitant to disturb the peace of the chamber, bathed in bright sunlight, the tiny motes of dust sparkling as if exhaled on a magical breath. “You’ll be well soon enough.”
Glenna turned to the basin to rinse and wring the rag, the strong smell of Harriet Cameron’s herbs tingling the insides of her nose. When she turned back, her father was still looking at her intently, as if he actually saw her and recognized her.
His lips parted, stretching and pulling away from each other slowly. She heard a whisper and leaned closer.
“Who?” The question was little more than a sigh.
Glenna’s heart fell and she straightened enough to look into his face. “’Tis I, Da—Glenna. Your daughter.”
Iain’s head twitched as if
refuting her answer. “Who s’ere?”
“Who…who’s here?” she repeated.
Her father gave a long blink.
“You mean…” Glenna broke off and felt at a loss as to how to answer his question. In his mind, were there other people in the chamber with them?
Or could he have realized that Roscraig had been seized by strangers?
As if to answer her questions, Ian’s mouth moved again.
“’Arr’et.”
“Harriet?” Glenna repeated, surprise making her words bright. “Nay, I’ve nae seen her today.” She swallowed. Her father continued to stare at her, as if waiting for her to expound. But Glenna didn’t know what to say as her heart thudded in her chest.
She’d never thought to hear her father’s voice again, never thought that he would regain enough awareness to question the hostile takeover of his home and his title—and perhaps his only child. He was a proud and quiet man, a private man, and fiercely protective of what was his—especially Glenna. If she told him now that Tavish Cameron had not only challenged his place as laird but had already overthrown his rule and turned Roscraig upside down—even for the better—the shock alone might kill him just when it looked as though he could live.
She pulled the coverlet higher and tucked it around his thin shoulders, avoiding his gaze now. “Are you hungry? Aye, you must be. I’ll just pop down to the kitchen for some broth.” She straightened with a smile and chanced a glance at his face, but he was still staring at her.
“Sen…t’er?”
Glenna frowned. “Center?”
His head twitched again. “Who…sen…ter?”
Who sent her?
Iain seemed to want to gasp for air, but the best he could manage was a reedy inhalation. “Har…cave?”
“I’m sorry, Da,” Glenna said with a feeling of relief. He wasn’t making sense at all, which meant that he still didn’t realize what had happened. “I don’t ken your meaning. Perhaps the words will come easier after a nice bowl of broth. I’ll fetch it now.”
She leaned down to kiss his thin, cool cheek.
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