In the middle of the bed, Evan’s sister-in-law lay on her back, her arms straight by her sides, her dark brown hair tucked to the side of the pillow in a long braid, her eyes open, vacant, staring up at the canopy.
Had there not been the slightest lift of her chest with each breath, Juliet would have thought her dead.
She moved toward the bed and Nessia offered no movement—not the tiniest twitch of her eyes toward Juliet. She shifted the fat upholstered chair beside the bed to face Nessia directly, and sat down, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap.
“Nessia, my name is Juliet Thomson. I’ve come to Whetland Castle with your brother-in-law, Evander. I understand you’ve suffered a terrible loss and I was hoping to sit with you. Do you need anything? Tea, broth?”
Silence.
Juliet let the quiet of the room sit in the air between them for a long stretch. She was fine with silence. Silence oftentimes brought healing.
Unless Nessia was close to dying. She hadn’t considered that thought.
Evan’s brother hadn’t mentioned the possibility, nor the maid.
She stood, leaning over the bed and placing the back of her hand across Nessia’s brow. Cool. Thank the heavens. At this angle, she could see the wide swath of the tear stains that ran down along her temples.
Nessia’s unusual amber eyes shifted to her, unfocused. “Who are you?”
Juliet smiled down at her. “My name is Juliet. I offered to Gertie that I would sit with you so she could get some rest.”
She stared at Juliet for a full silent minute, her eyes going in and out of focus as her voice shook. “You are not a maid. Why are you here?”
“I came here with Evander, your brother-in-law.”
“Why? No women come here.” Her voice was wooden, each word an effort.
Juliet moved backward and sat on the chair. Nessia’s look followed her, more focused than it had been. “I am to marry Evan.”
Nessia’s head gave a slight shake. “No.” The one word burst out of her mouth, her voice suddenly sharp and strong, madness in her eyes. “You need to get out of this place.”
Juliet’s head snapped back. “Your room?” She pointed over her shoulder toward the door. “I can go and retrieve your maid.”
“No, not my room. You need to leave this place.”
“Whetland Castle?”
Her amber eyes, part gold, part brown, bored into Juliet, though Juliet wasn’t even sure Nessia truly saw her.
“Yes. You need to leave. Leave for your own safety.”
“My safety?” Juliet frowned. “But I am here with Evan.”
Nessia’s voice cracked, her words dipping into a whisper as though all the energy of speaking the earlier words had sapped what little strength she had. “You need to leave. He will know about you. You need to leave.”
“Who will know what?”
“He—he will know. Leave.”
“I am afraid I cannot.”
Her stare left Juliet, shifting to the peach canopy above once more.
Nessia fell back to silence. Back to the dark world that had snaked up from Hades to engulf her.
Juliet shifted backward on the chair, settling her body as comfortably as she could onto the cushion. Gertie was right, madness was afoot with her mistress, and someone needed to stay in the room with Nessia.
It was going to be a long night.
~~~
Juliet jerked awake with a gasp of a breath at the door slamming behind her.
Instantly on alert, she spun around in her chair.
Gilroy strode across the room, his boots crossing the rays of morning sunlight streaming onto the floor through the crack in the draperies.
She glanced back at Nessia. His wife hadn’t woken with the slam of the door—small favor for how she’d been in and out of consciousness, rambling, for most of the night.
Juliet stood, moving away from the chair and trying to block his approach to the bed. Nessia was finally asleep—the best one could hope for.
Both of Gilroy’s hands were drawn into fists at his sides as he pulled to stop in front of Juliet. “Who said you could be in here?” Still drunk, his words slurred. Had he been awake the whole night?
Her brow furrowed. “Last night—I said I would stay with her. Her maid needed to rest. You heard me say I would visit her in the library. You agreed.”
Red splotches started to dot his pale face, his words spitting out in raging chunks. “I heard no such thing.” His arm swung wide and if she hadn’t jerked backward, the back of his hand would have been across her face. “Get out. Leave this blasted place, ye little witch.”
More anger directed at her than the night before. Something about Evan’s brother was truly off.
With a quick glance over her shoulder to Nessia, Juliet stepped in a wide arc around Gilroy and exited the room.
She moved out into the hallway, trying to shake free the rage Gilroy spewed at her that made her skin crawl. It wasn’t until she heard footsteps that she realized she’d stopped, staring at the floor as she’d tried to rationalize Gilroy’s fury at her.
He was clearly the worst kind of drunk—an ass to begin with that became a vicious, belligerent sot two drinks in. She shook her head. Where was Jasper when she needed him?
She looked toward the end of the corridor where it turned and Gertie appeared around the corner. She hustled forth. “How is my mistress?”
“She rested a little.”
Gertie grabbed her hands. “Thank you so kindly, miss. I needed the sleep.”
“Please let me know if I can do anything else for her. I will be sure to come back for a visit again later today.”
“Thank ye, miss.”
Gertie skirted past her and went into the room.
Juliet waited a long moment, listening through the door to hear if Gilroy turned on Gertie as he had on her.
No voices. Gertie must know well how to manage herself around Gilroy.
Exhaling a sigh, Juliet started walking, not sure where she should head to. Evan hadn’t gotten a chance to show her about the castle last night and she needed her room—a bed.
As a footman had brought her to Nessia’s chamber in the dark the previous night, Juliet had to wander along the corridors for a spell before she found the main staircase.
Reaching the main level of the castle, she aimed for the library, peeking into room after room, hoping to find Evan.
Just as she opened the door to the third room on her right side, he appeared in the hallway and walked over to her. Slipping his hand along her neck, his thumb gently nudged her chin up to him. “You look like you haven’t slept even an hour.”
“That would be generous.”
Concern edged his grey eyes. “Ness is not well?”
“Delirious, though it is understandable. Even with no fever, she mumbled nonsense all through the night, though I could not get her to drink or sip any broth. Her maid is with her now.”
“Thank you for that.”
“It was what little I could do for her.” She glanced over her shoulder, looking in the direction of the stairs. “Your brother must be rather upset at the loss of the babe.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He came in Nessia’s room and was rather…vicious in kicking me out of there. Did I offend him last night?”
A flicker of anger flashed in his eyes. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, nothing like that. And he’s still drunk. The anger in him is ferocious.”
His hand dropped away from her neck. “Don’t worry about Gilroy. He’s offended by everyone.”
Her lips curling into a frown, she nodded. Evan’s dismissal of Gilroy’s anger told her he must be far more accustomed to his brother spewing hatred at everyone about him. “But it seemed to be more than just anger, he—”
“My brother is fine, Juliet.” His words came out clipped, jagged edges slicing into her. “I’ll not hear it about him.”
Her head sna
pped back, her eyes widening.
His look immediately softened and he set both of his large hands on either side of her cheeks. “You must be exhausted. Grandfather has been itching to get you alone to himself—or to at least dine with you, but I’ll put him off for the day while you get some sleep.”
“Thank you. That would be helpful.” Her forehead furrowed at the lightning-quick change in him and she stared up at him.
He stared back, silent moments ticking by. Finally, his brows lifted. “What?”
“I have no idea where I should sleep.”
He chuckled. “Of course, sorry. When I checked into Ness’s room last night, she was sleeping and you were still so I didn’t want to disturb you if you had fallen asleep. I don’t sneak well into rooms.”
She laughed.
He motioned to the doorway. “Come, I’ll show you to your chamber.”
They walked back up the main staircase that centered the rectangular medieval castle with its four tall corner towers and its heavy, weathered grey stone everywhere she looked. A left and then a right after they passed a wall filled with swords of diverse lengths from various periods of history. It was the third display of its kind they’d passed.
She pointed to the wall of swords as they walked by it. “I’ve seen more weapons on display in this short walk than I’ve ever seen gathered in one place.”
Evan glanced at the steel. “I don’t notice it as it’s always been in front of me, but you’re right. My grandfather does take his collection of swords and weapons of destruction fairly seriously.”
Her finger ran along the blade of a heavy, long broadsword as they passed it. “Why does he collect them?”
“Homage to the past, I presume. He doesn’t want the soul of Scotland lost in the machinations of how English folk have begun to think on it.”
“Which is how?”
“Romantic. My grandfather is old enough to remember well that Scotland’s bones were crafted with bloodied steel. I imagine that’s what everyone wants most—to not be forgotten. The swords are his way of not forgetting and not letting anyone around him forget.”
She nodded as they turned to the right down a new corridor. They’d made it into one of the four towers that anchored the corners of the castle as the hallway in front of them ended with curved stone and two arrow slits in it. That would get drafty in the wintertime.
Evan stopped, opening a door to his left. “Here. The maids should have been in here to freshen the room. And I had them bring in one of my grandmother’s night rails and a wrapper of hers. I can have them deliver one of her dresses, though it would be forty years old and require much more”—his hand waved about her hips—“under things to support it.”
She stifled a chuckle. “There are no clothes of your mother’s?”
“My father burned all her clothing after she died.”
Juliet stopped, her gaze whipping to him.
He moved beyond her without noting her abrupt stop, stepping fully into the room as his fingers flicked about him. “I apologize for the ancient décor—this was my great aunt’s room. She died before I was born, but it was the best place to hide when we played hide-and-seek as children. We all thought it was haunted.”
Her eyes went to slits as she pinned him with a look. “You’re giving me the haunted room?”
A lopsided grin lifted the right side of his face. “It’s not haunted, and it does have the most comfort available.”
“What about your mother or grandmother’s rooms?”
He turned away from her, his voice clipped. “We do not go into my mother’s room. And my grandmother’s room is next to Gilroy’s room and that won’t do.”
“Why not?”
He looked over his shoulder at her, the smile on his face pure carnal lasciviousness. “I already admitted I am terrible at sneaking about.”
Her mouth pulled to the side, trying not to smile. “And why would you need to sneak about into my room?”
“The exact reason that’s making it hard for me to leave you here alone to sleep. And I’ll not have anyone—namely, my brother—think ill of you if he were to see the comings and goings of your room.” He moved in front of her, his hands slipping around her sides and he pulled her into him, insistent, even as he was determined to hold back. He set his lips not on her mouth, but on her forehead. “You need to sleep, so sleep. I can do my sneaking about later this evening.”
As much as the wanton crux of her wished him to stay, the muddled blur in her mind made her nod her head. She looked around the room. A four-post bed centered the space, with heavy maroon drapery lined with gold tassels hanging from the upper rails. The maroon coverlet on the bed was faded, but looked thick. Two diminutive wingback chairs by the fireplace in the same maroon cloth. A small square table with a pitcher of water and bowl atop. A wardrobe sat against the outer stone wall next to the one window in the room, the dark drapes already drawn so the room was dark and cozy and ready for a midmorning nap. For the older décor, it did look clean and neat. Whetland’s staff must have been busy all night long.
Evan took a decided step away from her and walked toward the door. He paused as he opened it. “The dressmaker will be here in three hours—don’t worry about waking for it—I’ll have her wait until you’ve woken.”
“But I hate to waste her day.”
“I’ll describe your height and shape with my hands and she can start working.”
“It is a little bit more precise than that, you realize?”
“Is it?” He shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll manage.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
She gave the bed a longer assessment than her earlier cursory glance and her look flew to the doorway. “Evan?”
He stopped and looked back at her. “Yes?”
“This bed is not nearly big or sturdy enough for sneaking.”
He inclined his head to her. “That’s why my room is directly across the hallway.”
He closed the door.
This, she could do.
A smile she couldn’t quite control spread across her face. Another week of that man was just the salve her soul needed at the moment. Taking away her worry. Transporting her to a place far away from the drudgery of London and the Den, and that bastard, Lord Vontmour.
As long as she kept Evan strictly in the slot she’d slid him into—a temporary diversion—she might actually enjoy herself here at Whetland Castle.
She just had to keep a tight rein on her emotions.
And that, she was an expert at.
{ Chapter 12 }
Evan let the bowstring free, his arrow whizzing across the air. With a hard thunk it embedded into the outer black ring on the coiled straw mat.
Not horrible, considering he hadn’t picked up a bow in six months.
“What do you think you’re doing bringing a woman like that here?” Gilroy’s voice hissed into the great hall.
Evan took a step back from the line carved into the stone on the floor—carved in, because Gilroy would always move the ribbon they used to mark the shooting line and their grandfather had one day finally had enough of the arguing about the blasted ribbon. He’d handed Evan and Gilroy each a chisel and hammer, and stood over them, not letting them up until the line had been etched into the stone.
Annoyance on Gilroy’s face, his brother brushed past him and set his toe to the edge of the line, setting his arrow in place across his bow.
Ignoring Gilroy’s comment, Evan went over to the ancient, heavy oak table that sat crosswise behind the practice area of the great hall. Their grandfather had turned the great hall into an archery range for his grandsons to practice within after Gilroy had accidently stuck the tip of an arrow into a stableboy that had been passing too close to the practice area by the south woods. The happenstance that Gilroy had actually been arguing with the boy earlier in the day and the boy was a good distance away from the targets had been suspect. But Gilroy claimed a bee had darted in front of his nose and
he’d reacted, letting his arrow fly, as he tried to avoid getting stung.
Evan had believed him. Their grandfather had not, and had thusly brought them into the great hall for archery practice—stone walls surrounding them to catch errant arrows.
Not that using the great hall as a practice area was a loss to them. In all his years, Evan had never actually eaten in the great hall—though he’d been told tales of grand banquets that had once graced these halls. Their dining room was in the cozy solarium built at his grandmother’s request just past the library. Even though it was chilly in the winter with all the glass above and on three sides, it also had the best chance of catching rays of sun to brighten the table. A cheerful juxtaposition to the rest of the castle.
The table in the solarium easily held twenty people, though Evan had never known more than twelve people to be seated at it at one time. After his wife died, Grandfather hadn’t entertained company aside from those here at Whetland for business dealings.
Evan sat on the edge of the ancient table in the great hall and picked up his glass of brandy, taking a healthy swallow as he stared at the back of Gilroy’s blond head. At least his brother was half sober now. Enough to keep his toe steady at the line. His right fingers shook as he drew back the bowstring, but Evan knew that was from the anger coursing through his brother, not the remnants of the night swimming in whisky.
Evan waited until Gilroy let the arrow loose. Straight into the center gold paint. Gilroy always was a better shot than him.
“You know what I’m doing,” Evan said. “This is for grandfather, what he wants—don’t you dare think to steal this away from him.”
It took Gilroy a long moment to turn around to him. “That better be all it is—I don’t know where you found the girl, or what ye promised her to get her to come and contribute to this farce, but I did see how you looked at her.”
Evan stifled a sigh and set his tumbler down, then stretched his fingers over to the pile of arrows scattered on the table. One with a rusted tip—those were always his lucky ones. “And just how did I look at her?”
“Like ye wanted to devour her.”
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