by Maya Banks
Graeme led her toward the entrance to the keep. They walked by several of the women of the clan, and not one of them offered so much as a smile in Eveline’s direction.
Eveline kept her gaze trained forward, not wanting to see what it was they had to say. She’d already seen quite enough to know her presence was reviled.
The hall was bigger than the Armstrong’s great hall. The room was sprawling, with two great stone fireplaces, one on either end. There was a raised dais with a table that could easily seat a dozen people. Scattered over the rest of the room were several other tables, signaling that many ate within the keep.
In front of the other fireplace was more of a sitting area. There were several chairs and a few rests for propping up one’s feet. It was clearly a place of leisure.
This was where Graeme led her. He plunked her down into one of the softer chairs that was to the side of the burning fire. She studied him closely, fearful of losing any directive he may give her.
“Would you like food and drink?”
She was hungry, but the idea of putting anything into her stomach was enough to make her insides twist in protest. She was too nervous to eat.
“If you’ll wait here but a moment, I’ll return and show you to your chambers. I’ll arrange to have all your belongings brought up and unpacked for you.”
She didn’t even have time to nod her understanding before he turned away and disappeared from the hall.
She sat, unmoving, afraid to breathe lest she call more attention to herself. Montgomerys filtered in and out of the hall, obviously with the intent of seeing the new addition to the clan.
Not one friendly face did she find. Nothing to reassure her or offer her comfort. The sorrow of leaving her home and clan was never more keenly felt than in this moment.
She was truly alone and locked in a silent world where people thought her nothing more than the mad daughter of their most hated foe.
A moment later, Graeme returned, and he came to where she sat and offered his hand down to her. Puzzled, she slid her fingers into his and allowed him to assist her to her feet.
He was saying something, but he turned away and started guiding her across the room. It frustrated her to not be able to see what it was he said.
She tried to quicken her step so she could move ahead of him just enough that she could glance back, but she wasn’t able to keep pace with him.
He held out his arm when they reached the stairs, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. Reluctantly, she climbed the steps, and when they reached the landing of the next level, he guided her out instead of having her continue up the stairs.
There were several chambers down the hallway. Toward the end, he stopped, opened a door, and gestured her in.
It was a small chamber, but not tiny. There were two windows, which told her that it was a corner room because there was one on either side. Heavy furs were pulled away from one while they covered the other, secured by leather ties to prevent the wind from flapping the ends.
Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating it without need for the candles that lit the hallway. There was a bed against the far wall, a washbasin, and a chair by the small fireplace. Other than that, the room wasn’t furnished at all. It was apparent no one stayed here, except perhaps in the capacity of a guest.
She turned to Graeme, confused as to why he would show her into this chamber. He gestured around and then said, “I’ll have your trunks brought up and provide someone to help you unpack and settle in. Perhaps it’s best if you rest before this evening’s meal.”
She stared back in surprise, then glanced once more at the room where they stood. This was to be her room? She frowned, not knowing what to make of this. Graeme was her husband. He should share his chamber with her. It was the way of things. Her father and mother had shared a chamber as far back as Eveline could remember. Indeed, her father would object most strongly to his wife sleeping anywhere else.
Was she to be relegated to a position of guest? An unwanted guest, from the appearance of things.
Graeme backed from the room, leaving her alone to frown as she pondered the situation. Nay, this would not do. It would not do at all.
A wife’s place was with her husband. Not shoved into a guest room along with all her belongings. There must be a way to remedy this situation at once.
CHAPTER 12
Graeme went in search of Rorie. He hadn’t seen her in the courtyard, and it wasn’t like her not to greet him and their brothers after an absence.
He found her, predictably, in the antechamber he used as his accounting room. Where he kept correspondences, returned them, kept ledgers and records of clan business as well as the births and deaths of all Montgomerys under his care.
His da had been meticulous about such things and had insisted that Graeme learn to read and write at a young age. At a time when most boys were being fostered and were learning the art of war, Graeme had been putting in long hours by candlelight memorizing the alphabet and reading accounts kept by his father.
Robert Montgomery had insisted that the mind first had to be shaped and molded in order to be a good warrior and adept physically and that an intelligent warrior would win out over an ignorant one every time.
Graeme wasn’t certain he agreed, but then he hadn’t any choice in the matter.
Rorie, on the other hand, was determined to learn to read and write and pored over every piece of writing she could lay hands to in an effort to teach herself.
She’d always been an odd little thing, but she was pure Montgomery, and Graeme loved her dearly.
“Still determined to take over as laird one day?” Graeme drawled from the door.
Rorie jerked her head up guiltily and hastily covered the scroll she’d been staring at with such concentration.
“Why weren’t you out to greet us?” he asked in a quieter voice.
She sighed. “There seemed little point. You brought home the wee daft Armstrong girl. It’s hardly a reason to celebrate, is it?”
Graeme frowned. “When did you become so uncharitable, Rorie? It isn’t like you to cast judgment before you’ve even met someone.”
Rorie gave him a look that suggested he was an idiot. “She’s an Armstrong, Graeme. What else is there to know? And before you lecture me on being judgmental, do I need to remind you that since birth we’ve been taught to hate the Armstrong name and anyone who bears it?”
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “She isn’t just any Armstrong, Rorie. She’s my wife and she’s now a Montgomery. I expect you to accord her respect. I’d like … I’d like you to seek her out and be nice to her. She’s up in her chamber now, likely frightened and alone. Her reception was not kindly. I don’t know how much she understood, but even a complete simpleton would realize how hostile the clan was toward her. I need you for this.”
Rorie’s expression became thoughtful. “How daft is she, Graeme? Really. Were the rumors exaggerated?”
He ran a hand through his hair and blew out his breath. “I don’t know. I have much to learn of her. At times she seems … distant. Unaware. But I was able to communicate with her. She has a fascination with me talking to her. Which is apparently uncommon, because her mother was flabbergasted over Eveline’s response to me. I have to think that all is not as it seems, but as of yet, I’ve not had time to determine the whole of it.”
Rorie crossed her arms over her chest and then sent Graeme a look he’d long ago associated with absolute scheming. She may not like blood or violence, but she had a mind worthy of any bloodthirsty warrior. She always went for the kill, even if it was figurative. “How much is my niceness worth to you?”
Graeme had to clear his throat to keep from outright laughing. The lass had audacity and yet he’d never been able to bring himself to chasten her. She’d been allowed to run wild, no doubt about it.
Raised without a mother figure, Rorie likely spent most of her childhood believing she was a lad.
“What do you want, you little chit
,” Graeme said in amusement.
“I want a tutor. A real one, Graeme. I want to learn to read and write.”
Her chin came up a notch, and she boldly stared him down.
“And where do you propose for me to find this tutor?”
“Father Drummond.”
“Rorie, he’s a man of God, and he has duties to more than one clan. I can’t appropriate him for your own personal gain.”
“It seems to me that as you aren’t entirely certain of the faculties of your new wife, it would behoove you to have a man of God bless your union and furthermore convince your clan that your bride isn’t marked by the devil. In his free time, of course, he could instruct me.”
Graeme had to laugh then. The little schemer. What galled him was that she had a very solid point and having the father’s blessing on the marriage as well as calming his clan’s fears and superstitions could go a long way in ensuring Eveline’s well-being and happiness.
“All right, Rorie. I’ll send word to the father. You, however, I want to show Eveline every kindness. She’s a sweet lass and I think you’ll like her. She’s just … different.”
“I’ve never known you to be so diplomatic,” she said dryly.
He pointed out the door. “Just go, you little imp. Before I put my boot to your arse.”
She grinned and hurried past him, her hand covering her behind as she fled.
Rorie hesitated outside of Eveline’s closed door. As much as she was loath to admit it, she was nervous about the impending meeting with her sister by marriage.
On the one hand, having a sister was an interesting thought. Having a crazed sister was not, however, appealing.
She rested her palm against the wood for a long moment, then sucked in her breath and knocked. She waited, growing more nervous by the moment. When she received no response, she knocked again. Only to wait several long seconds.
She stuck her ear to the door, frowning. There were odd sounds emanating from within. Scraping? As if something was being dragged across the floor. And the sound was growing louder until suddenly the door flew open and Rorie found herself face-to-face with a blond-haired woman barely larger than herself.
Eveline jumped, obviously startled by Rorie’s presence. Her face was red with exertion and her hair was in disarray. As Rorie glanced down, she saw that Eveline had dragged one of her trunks toward the door and indeed, it appeared as though she was planning to shove it out of the room all together.
“I’m Rorie,” she said, unsure of what she was supposed to do. “I’m Graeme’s sister.”
Eveline stared at Rorie, studying her intently until Rorie squirmed. There was something intelligent and discerning about her gaze, almost as if she were judging Rorie, and it made her distinctly uncomfortable.
Eveline was the intruder here, not Rorie. Rorie belonged and Eveline was the outsider. The enemy.
Then, to her further bewilderment, Eveline reached out and grabbed Rorie’s hand and pulled her downward, motioning toward the trunk.
“Uhhh, Eveline? What do you intend to do with the trunk?” Rorie asked.
Eveline paused and frowned. Then she stood to her full height—not that it was much—and peered out of the chamber and down the hall.
Her expression grew more perplexed, and then she abruptly left Rorie and walked across the hall and opened Bowen’s door.
“Hey! You can’t just barge into my brother’s room like that,” Rorie protested.
Eveline stuck her head in, then withdrew and turned to Rorie, her brows drawn together in a deep furrow. She licked her lips almost as if she wanted to speak, but Rorie knew that was impossible. Graeme had said she was mute and had been ever since her accident.
Then she pointed to the open chamber door and raised her palms in question.
Rorie shook her head, confused.
Eveline pointed to Rorie and then back at the chamber and then once again raised her palms.
Understanding finally, Rorie shook her head. “Nay, it’s not my chamber. ’Tis Bowen’s.”
Once more, Eveline grabbed Rorie’s hand and fairly dragged her down the hallway to the next chamber. She slapped her palm against the door and then turned to Rorie, that same question in her eyes.
By now, Rorie understood what it was she wanted.
“ ’Tis my chamber,” Rorie said.
Eveline frowned in displeasure and once more, Rorie found herself dragged to the next chamber. By now she had figured out the point of all this and she was tired of being hauled around by a woman only slightly larger than herself, so she extricated her hand from Eveline’s hold and then took Eveline’s hand herself so she could direct the movement.
She took Eveline down the hall, pointing at each of the chambers and saying whose it was or what purpose it served. Eveline seemed to grow more frustrated with each one.
Understanding smacked Rorie in the face. “You’re looking for Graeme’s chamber, aren’t you?”
Eveline smiled and nodded vigorously. For a moment, Rorie was spellbound by the change the smile brought to the young woman’s face. She was quite beautiful and not all daft looking. No crazed look in her eyes, even if her behavior bordered on unusual. Or maybe a lot unusual …
Then Rorie’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Eveline’s smile turned into a quick frown, and then Rorie found herself hauled right back down the hall to Eveline’s chamber. There, Eveline pointed at the trunk and then made an away motion as if she were pushing the trunk down the hall.
Then she jutted out her chin, pointed inward to her chamber and shook her head mutinously as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Rorie burst out laughing. Her sister-in-law wasn’t happy over her accommodations and she wanted to move into Graeme’s chamber. She should be loyal and sternly inform her brother’s new bride that if Graeme had wanted her in his chamber, he would have put her there. But the devil on her shoulder told her it could be quite fun to aid Eveline in her endeavor and give Graeme a shock when he retired later.
“All right, I’ll help you,” Rorie said, still smiling.
Eveline beamed back at her and then bent to grasp the handle of the trunk. Rorie bent down as well, and they slid it out of the doorway and into the hall.
Rorie pointed toward the end. “Graeme’s chamber is all the way down. We’ll need to hurry if we’re to move all your belongings before someone finds us.”
CHAPTER 13
Graeme paused outside of Eveline’s door, indecision wreaking havoc with his mind. Guilt plagued him because after dumping her in her chamber, he hadn’t come back for her. Hadn’t checked to see if she’d settled in. He hadn’t even assigned a lady’s maid to aid her in unpacking her trunks.
The truth was, he wasn’t at all sure who he could trust with the task because everywhere he turned, he was treated to overt hostility over an Armstrong taking up residence at Montgomery Keep.
It was time for her to come down for dinner. He wasn’t at all certain he should set her among her new clan so soon, but waiting would only prolong the agony. Better to have done with it quickly and then set to work on making her fit in with his kin.
How he was going to accomplish that, he had no idea.
He knocked softly and waited, not wanting to intrude on her privacy even though he had every right as her husband to do as he wished. It wasn’t his intention to set her against him or to make her fear him. In fact, the thought was repugnant to him.
After a moment, he frowned when she didn’t respond to the summons. He pushed open the door only to find the room completely dark. He took one of the candles from the wall sconce and walked into Eveline’s room and to his further surprise, the room was bare.
No trunks. None of her things. It was as pristine as it had been before he’d delivered her to the chamber just hours before.
For a moment he wondered if he’d given her the wrong room, but even he wasn’t that absentminded. He retreated quickly and then strode down the hall, throwing open doors left
and right.
When he got to his own, he nearly didn’t go in, but then thought better of it and opened his door. If he was to find her, he needed to cover every inch of the keep. He certainly would have known if she’d made an appearance below stairs.
This wasn’t what he had in mind for his first day of wedded bliss. A missing wife who may or may not be in full control of her faculties.
He almost missed her when he pushed inside his chamber and hastily scanned the room. But he certainly didn’t miss the fact that his chamber now housed all the trunks that had accompanied her to Montgomery Keep. They were also unpacked and her things covered most of the available surfaces in his chamber.
Most notably, she was curled into a small ball on the far side of his bed, the side closest to the wall, and from all appearances she was fast asleep.
He blew out his breath, raised his hands and then let them fall to his sides in exasperation. She was everywhere in his chamber. Her belongings. Even her smell. Trunks. Clothing. And then there was the fact that she was in his bed. Where he had to sleep.
She hadn’t even eaten, and she had to be starving. He’d yanked her from her home the moment the vows were recited, and she hadn’t eaten when they’d arrived here. The lass was slight enough as it was. She certainly didn’t need to be missing any meals.
And yet he didn’t want to disturb her sleep. She hadn’t so much as stirred, and he hadn’t been quiet when he’d come into the chamber. The day had likely exhausted her.
Still he crept closer to the bed and leaned over to peer down at her. It was ridiculous that he was tiptoeing around his own chamber out of deference to a wife who’d taken it upon herself to move herself into his private quarters.
She looked angelic in sleep, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks. Her blond hair was tousled and in disarray and spread out. Over his pillow. He frowned. She’d even stolen his pillow.
She was dressed in a white linen plain shift that modestly covered all the necessary parts. All that he could see was her face and one bare arm that rested down her side. The other was tucked beneath her as she faced the wall.
