The king lowered his voice. “That will not happen, Tam. You will not insult the English king, so you must look out for the maidens and keep them safe. You can do it.”
Tam scrunched his brow and peered down at the king. “Alex, why do you mention the English king? What has he to do with this?”
“The English king will not take kindly to having two of his finest maidens murdered whilst under my protection.”
A hammering started inside Tam’s chest. “Do you mean to tell me these two maidens are English? They’re Sassenachs?”
“Aye. And you’ll be as civil to them as if they were members of my own family.”
Tam stood, rigid as a circle of stones. “What has become of my life? Now I am expected to host English maidens? What do I know of maidens, let alone English ones? Sire, put a sword in my heart instead. I beg of you.”
The king laughed and then rose from his chair. “Soon enough you shall fight, my friend. But first, the maidens arrive. Think of this as one of my little tests. Get through this mission, and we shall look seriously at gifting you a lairdship. What do you say to, ‘Laird of Ross?’”
Tam felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Ross was a huge county in the Highlands, an important post to be sure. Aye, he could picture himself as Laird of Ross and right-hand-man to the king. “I’d be honoured, Sire.”
The king moved toward the door. “Right, well, get through the next two hundred days, and then we’ll discuss your boundary lines.”
Warmed inside, Tam nodded. Mayhap he didn’t want to die just yet. First, he’d like to sample some of that influence and power.
“I’ll expect a detailed recant of the maidens’ visit. You must interact with them every day. No shirking.”
Tam bowed to his king and watched him leave.
So, all he had to do now was babysit two English lassies, then he’d be made Laird of Ross. It was almost too easy. The two hundred days would certainly fly by. He could almost feel the press of new steel in his palm. Mayhap he’d even get a jewel inserted into the handle. After all, Laird of Ross was the fanciest of positions and deserved a bauble or two. He was not averse to showing off.
He closed his eyes. He’d endured much pain in the past year. But, as life had a way of doing, things were changing. Aye, things were looking up. Laird of Ross, no less. And all he had to do was be courteous to two English maidens and, of course, spy on them a little. They mustn’t get up to mischief, not under his watch. Ha, ‘twas too easy. For the first time in more than twelve months, he felt like laughing.
Chapter 3
Juliette stared up at the looming castle, her eyes too bleary to focus properly. Her rear end throbbed, and her legs screamed out for a stretch. It had been a hard journey across even harsher land. Who knew that the Highlands were riddled with hills? But, to be fair, she would not easily forget the majesty of this country with its sapphire rivers, emerald fields, and snow-dusted peaks that scratched the sky. Had they just travelled across a painting?
She leaned toward Vienna and gently patted her sister’s hand. “It’s nearly over, sweetheart. We’re almost there.”
Vienna narrowed her angry eyes. “Don’t you mean it’s just beginning?”
At least they couldn’t grumble about their carriage. Their fancy wagon belonged to King Alexander himself, so it was opulent in every way and simply the best that coin could buy. But, despite the padded seats and large coils cushioning their journey, they were dog tired and out of sorts. Even the poor horses were protesting. They snorted their disapproval at the sight of yet another hill. But, at last, they were on the path that wound up to the castle atop.
Juliette poked her head out of the carriage, so she could get a good look at the king’s home. One lone turret pointed toward the sky. The girth of the castle was surprisingly small too, and it was far more modest than she’d expected. “Surely this is not the royal household? Our own King Henry lives in a far grander manor.”
“We are in Scotland now, Juliette. Remember that the Scots do nothing as well as us. It’s likely they have no notion of how a king’s castle should look. We must pretend to be impressed.”
Juliette nodded. “Of course, we’ll do just that. I will say how wonderful it all is, even if I have to walk through a veil of webs.”
“And I shall compliment the king on his stone,” Vienna said, sounding pleased.
“His stone?”
“The king’s castle is made of stone, is it not? How many castles have we seen thus far made from sticks? At least the king’s home is not wooden.”
Juliette bit her finger. What could she offer as a compliment? She simply refused to be bested by Vienna. “I’m going to say that the royal carriage is a marvel. I adore the embroidery on the carriage roof.”
Vienna reached up and traced a finger over the stitching. A huge thistle ambled across the inside of their covered wagon. “Even the Scottish flowers are deadly.”
The carriage bumped along until it reached the top of the pathway and then bumped some more until they came to rest.
A wild stableman bounded out of the shadows. The girls caught each other’s eye.
“Beastly looking,” Juliette whispered, but then she remembered her oath to be cheery and folded her face into a smile.
“Look at him,” Vienna whispered back. “He is coated in mud.”
The girls studied him, barely blinking. There was so much to note: his unkempt clothing, his bare wild-animal arms, and his ferocious jawline. He charged for their carriage door, his mammoth sized boots splashing up yet more mud and dirtying the carriage stoop.
“He’s like a wild creature that roams the forest at night,” Vienna whispered.
“Hmmn. Strong looking, isn’t he? Kind of frightening too,” Juliette added.
“Strong certainly—huge even. How handy that size must be for a stableman. I’ll wager he parks the carriage by lifting it and carrying us to our resting place.” The sisters gave each other a wry smile.
“Look at the length of his hair,” Vienna said. “I wonder if he binds it back when he gets tired of those great strands flapping around his cheeks. Should I ask him, do you think?”
“Not if you wish to live,” Juliette responded, quite taken by his savage appearance. Their carriage came to a complete halt, and, as quick as a Scot’s sky turns from sun to rain, Juliette began to clamber out.
“Stableman,” Juliette cried, calling him over with a sweet smile. “Would you mind lending me your great hand? I have my satin slippers on and do not wish to ruin them.”
The stableman hesitated, but then he charged forward. “My lady,” he said, offering his arm.
Juliette stared down at his splayed fingers. They were attached to a great splatter of a hand. He had the body befitting a wild hunter in a fairy tale. She licked her lips. This type of man was new to her.
She placed her small hand in his monster paw and gingerly began to step down. But, before she could register what was happening, the stableman placed his huge paws around her waist and hauled her clean out and away from the carriage. Without ceremony, he carried her around, as if she was no heavier than a rag doll. Worse still, he ignored her pleas to be put down. He tucked her against his chest, holding her tight and silencing her struggles. Just like a caveman from an ancient story, he stomped about with his woman over his arm, or at least that was how it felt to her. In reality, he was in search of the perfect piece of dry land to save her slippers.
“Put me down, at once. Right now. Do not think of my slippers again. I am not a doll, and I cannot be carried off.”
At last he found a patch of thicket that pleased him and placed her atop. Juliette did not know whether to thank him or scream in his ear. Her legs were shaking and her heart, well, that thudded as vigorously as his. She’d felt his beat beneath her hand. She drew in a b
reath and reminded herself that they were in a strange country where the folk acted in even stranger ways. In Scotland, everything untoward was called normal.
Juliette pulled herself free of his grip. She lowered her gaze, thinking it best she correct the stable master straight away. Otherwise, he might think it acceptable to spend the next two hundred days carrying her around the castle.
“No stable master in my father’s manor lands would dare handle me as you have just done. I know you were only trying to keep my slippers dry, but still, there are limits and a certain way a man must behave around a maiden.” Her heart was thumping still, and she prayed he couldn’t hear it. She must not give him the wrong message.
“Does Laird Tam let you pick up and carry ladies about in that manner? Vienna and I shall have to watch ourselves.” It was the most polite form of a telling-off she could manage, especially with an aching rear-end and a body in uproar. But, looking far from contrite, the stable master simply rolled his eyes and looked away.
She decided to ignore his rude behaviour. In all fairness, his poor manners were a reflection of Laird Tam himself rather than of his staff. She continued, “Tell me about this Tam character—this laird of yours. I believe him to be a miserable man. Does he treat you well? I do hope so. Do you think he intends to be kind and respectful to us? As you know, we are from England and have far higher standards.”
The stable master raised an eyebrow. “You’re in the Highlands now, m’lady. Our ways are different to yours. Best get used to them.” He moved toward Vienna, but she shrunk away from him, pulling herself into the body of the carriage.
“I can manage, thank you.”
Vienna’s statement was entirely false. Juliette watched her struggle as she tried to find the right footing, avoid the muddy puddle, and all the while, hold her voluminous cape that bellowed in the breeze and obscured her view.
The stable master groaned, a noise that said, I have little patience for visitors in general and high-born women in particular. Then, as if Vienna had said naught at all, and in direct opposition to her wishes, he lunged for her. In one fluid motion, he swept Vienna up out of the carriage and plonked her down by Juliette on the dry ground. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the stable master dusted his hands, as if they were the dirty ones. He turned, giving them his back, and promptly stomped off.
“Wait on, stable master,” Juliette cried. “You mustn’t run away and leave your visitors stranded like this. It isn’t polite, especially not when the visitors happen to be English ladies. We need escorting into the king’s castle. I do not wish to speak to Laird Tam about your behaviour. I really do not. But, if you don’t return and escort us into the castle, you leave me no choice.”
He turned slowly, his face more sour than last moon’s milk. This was entirely too much. In her homeland, the men about the manor were always happy and willing to do either sisters’ bidding, offering favours aplenty and keen to make them smile. It would be no exaggeration to say that her father’s men fell over themselves in order to please. Father’s knights actively vied just for the opportunity to interact. This beastly approach was new, startling, and would take some getting used to.
The stable master had looked upon them in the same way a hunter looks upon a deer he wishes to stuff and hang on his wall.
“If it is the king’s castle you Sassenach ladies seek, you’d better scurry away as quickly as those silly satin slippers of yours will take you. The darkness is fast approaching, and the king’s castle is still a fair way off. You’ll need to travel through the town of Dingwall and again out the other side.” With that, he turned and, bold as you please, headed for the stables.
“Hold on, you wrongdoer. What are you saying? That we are not at the king’s castle? If not, then pray tell me where we are?”
He didn’t even turn, but instead he chose to yell over his shoulder, “Welcome to Tulloch Castle. We’ve been expecting you.” With that, he slunk back into the shadows.
The sisters stood gaping. It was then that the coach driver stepped down and led them around the west wall and into the castle court. An older woman with severe grey hair and the sharpest nose the girls had ever seen, walked toward them. “This way, m’ladies. Tis not long till our eventide meal is served, so you’d best get to your room. Your chamber is this way.”
They wandered past many dank stone walls. Poor Vienna, how would she cope, being forced to live in such bitter, hostile conditions? At home in dear Mother England, even the horses lived in cheerier surrounds. With a jolt, Juliette realised she’d better pretend all was well, otherwise Vienna might just crumble under the strain. She cozied up to her sister. “Tis not too bad really,” she said, taking Vienna’s hand.
“How not?”
“Well, we appear to be in the right place, at least. They are expecting us.”
As if on cue, a huge barn owl swooped down from the rafters, narrowly missing their heads. Both girls ducked and screeched in surprise. The old lady with the unruly grey hair turned to see what caused the ruckus. She studied both girls, and then glanced back at the swooping owl.
“Tis not a ghost, if that be what you’re thinking. That’s naught but an owl. I know many say that Tulloch Castle is haunted, but you don’t want to believe everything you hear about this place. Otherwise, you will nay sleep a wink.”
The sisters glanced nervously at each other.
The old crone carried on. “The only ghosts I’ve come across here have been friendly. As long as you do what they want, they’ll not harm you.”
Vienna grabbed hold of Juliette’s arm. Juliette tried to make her voice sound strong, but despite her best efforts, it came out wobbly. “In England, we don’t have ghosts, and we certainly don’t do what they want.”
The old woman climbed the stairs, “Well, you can ignore them if you want, but don’t expect that to work out so well.”
Juliette trudged up the narrow stairway after her.
“She’s mad,” Vienna whispered, “and we will be mad too, by time two hundred days is up. Who wouldn’t be, in a macabre place like this?”
Juliette slipped her arm over her sister’s shoulder and pulled her tight. “Nay. We’re English, and they’re Scots. That’s the difference. Just pretend everything is fine, and you think this creepy castle is quaint and welcoming.”
The owl swooped again, but this time he rose with a squawking mouse wedged in his beak. Vienna squealed louder than the poor field critter.
The old woman looked up at the owl’s prey. “That reminds me. Our eventide meal will be served in one hour. Do not keep Laird Tam waiting. He doesn’t like it when his food is cold. He doesn’t like it one bit.”
The old woman led them to their room, high up at the top of the castle. When Juliette peered inside, the chamber reminded her of home. The chamber had dripping walls and rusted metal hooks, just like one of the rooms in Stanford Manor. But that chamber was not at the top of their father’s manor house, and nor was it used for visitors, unless they were troublesome ones. Nay, her father would never put two young maidens to bed in his dungeon.
“Don’t close the door, I beg you,” Vienna whispered, sounding afraid.
Raising her diminutive chest, the old crone said, “I s’pose you’ll be wanting water and warm too.” The pained expression on her face spoke volumes. Clearly, she considered the task of washing to be a terrible waste. Washing in heated water—well—was a waste of good fuel to boot.
“Please,” Juliette responded. “English folk do like to keep clean. We’re also accustomed to dressing for dinner.”
“Suit yourselves. But don’t bother on account of Laird Tam. The master will nay notice you, one way or t’other.”
Juliette ignored the old woman’s sour comments. She had more pressing concerns, like her imminent meeting with Laird Tam. “This Laird Tam . . . I’ve heard t
hings.” She would have liked to elaborate, but there was no sense of camaraderie or sisterhood between herself and the miserable old castle mistress.
“Have you now.”
The old crone was being particularly unhelpful. No surprise there.
“I certainly have, and none of it is complimentary.” She would make the woman spill some secrets even if she had to stall her all eve.
When the old crone said nothing more, Juliette pushed again. “I’m told that he is in the doldrums, and it is our job to cheer him. What say you to that idea?”
The woman cocked one eyebrow. “What is wrong with being in the doldrums? Tis the way of things here in Tulloch Castle.”
Juliette drew back a little. “Well, nothing, I suppose. It’s just that I can’t imagine what we’ll chat to Tam about all eve.”
The old woman’s voice was harsh, her words falling out in a rush. “You’ll talk of naught. He won’t talk to you at all.”
“Not at all?”
The woman brushed her withered hand down her pitch skirt. Her whole attire was tar-black from head to toe, and thus it was the perfect outfit for creeping around castle corridors in the dead of night.
“If you say something interesting then his Lairdship may listen, but—” She looked them over, top to toe. “—all things considered, I think the three of you will sit in the private dining hall in total silence.” The woman turned and left.
What a hide she had. The dour old puss as good as said that she and Vienna would have nothing of interest to say. Well, prepare yourself, Laird Tam, because we’re coming, and it will take more than a bleak host and a dank castle to get us to hold our tongues. They’d been raised to speak, and speak they shall. They were not obedient Scots girls. Nay, they were English, through and through. English lassies were free with their opinions and more than willing to offer advice—on all matters.
Thistles and Thieves: Highlander Romance (Troublesome Sister Series Book 2) Page 3
