by Amanda Scott
“Nay, lass, you underrate your worth to him. Sakes, you must be more important to him than this defiance of proper authority.”
“How easily you claim proper authority,” she said, her anger clear again. “Maxwell authority must be proper, must it not? Dunwythie authority, which I’d remind you has held sway in Annandale for centuries, is as naught to you!”
“You would be wise to refrain from taking such a discourteous tone with me,” he said, his own temper threatening to ignite. Not that he was angry with her. She just seemed to have a knack for arousing his more volatile emotions.
When she stood, it took every effort for him to remain as he was.
Her chin jutted. Her icy expression challenged him.
“Sit down, lass. You have not finished your supper.”
“I have, aye,” she said. “As have you. I am tired after today’s adventures and do not want to debate further with you now. We are unlikely to agree, so I would bid you goodnight. Faith, though, if you can sleep after all you have done, you are a greater villain than you have yet shown yourself to be.”
“By the Rood, woman, you will not talk so to me!” he exclaimed, coming to his feet so quickly that he rocked the table. Hastily catching and righting it before its contents could crash to the floor, he looked up to see that although her expression was no less chilly and she had hooded her eyes, they had not quite shut.
Before they did, he detected the glimmer of a twinkle.
Her lips pressed harder together.
Although he had come to his feet with a strong urge to shake her and tell her exactly what he thought of such impertinence, and though he still wanted to catch hold of her, he knew his reason was an entirely different one now.
Staring at her lips, waiting for them to soften, he felt himself stir, and he stirred again when her lips parted slightly.
Collecting his wits and naming himself every inch the villain she had called him, he said in a more controlled voice, “I’ll not burden you further tonight with my presence, my lady. I will bring food to break your fast in the morning, though. Mayhap we can talk more then. For now, I will bid you goodnight.”
“I shall need someone to help me dress,” she said, her own words carefully measured. “Also, I must have some task or other to pass the hours.”
“I’ll help with whatever you need,” he said, wondering what tasks existed that might keep her amused for more than an hour. He could always find something to do, but women’s interests were none of his. Still, he’d have to think of something.
He realized she had said something while he was pondering what to provide for her. But her words had flowed past without penetrating. “What did you say?”
“Faith, you are standing right there! How could you not hear me?”
“I was thinking.”
“By heaven, can you not think and listen at the same time? I said that while you must certainly find tasks I can do, I don’t want you to help me dress. Surely, there must be a maidservant or someone’s wife who could aid me.”
He thought of Fin Walters’s wife, Dora, a most capable woman and loyal. But she was less likely than most of his people to turn a blind eye to holding a lass against her will. He could trust his men to keep silent. But, although he had brought her in through the sea entrance, word of her presence at Trailinghail would spread.
He would need an explanation to give out. And none would survive long if she refused to agree to support it. But then he would be asking her to lie, and he would not do that even if he thought she might agree.
“Well?” she said, tapping her foot.
Her impatience made it easy for him to sound stern again. “We have said enough tonight. If you still wish it, we can discuss this more tomorrow.”
“By heaven, we will talk of it now!”
“Nay, we will not!”
“I say we will!” She reached for the trencher, still laden with uneaten food.
“Do not touch that unless you want to start something that I will finish.”
She froze with her hand hovering uncertainly above the trencher and glared at him. Then, with a sigh, she lowered her hand and looked rueful.
“I do not suppose you will believe me when I tell you that I had never thrown anything at anyone before meeting you.”
“You are right,” he said curtly. “I don’t believe it.”
With that, he turned toward the door, opened it, and took a long step out.
The little cat, poised to dart in, ruined the dignity of his grand exit when he had to stoop with startled swiftness to scoop it up before it could shoot past him.
Shutting the door with a snap, he lifted the first hook into place just as something crashed against the other side of the door and then to the floor.
Grinning, he set the kitten on his shoulder and went downstairs to his bedchamber. But his improved state of mind was short-lived.
He had long prided himself on his ability to plan his actions. But in this event, he had clearly failed to consider a number of things. Not least of them was what he should do if he came to like his captive and to feel as if abducting her might have been the greatest mistake he had ever made.
The lass was right about one thing. He would not sleep well.
Chapter 8
Mairi stared at the mess of cold, fatty mutton slices, bread, and raspberries on the floor, wondering what demon had possessed her to heave the trencher at him.
From the moment the devilish man had brought her into his tower, she had behaved in a manner most unlike her usual self.
She was not, by nature, an impulsive woman.
Staring at the mess, she sighed, wishing she were one who could just leave it all where it was. But she was not.
It had been such a futile act, too.
“I’d have done better to have flung it in his face,” she muttered, then smiled at the thought. To her astonishment, she found herself wondering what he would have done if she had flung it when the temptation had first struck her.
Dangerous musing, she decided. To taunt or challenge a man so much larger and stronger than she was would clearly indicate that she had lost her senses. In some ways she thought she had. What else could explain this recurring desire of hers to throw things at someone most people would believe she ought to fear?
The plain fact was that although Robert Maxwell did not terrify her, he could easily enrage her. Rage certainly explained throwing the stool. His outrageous hope that she might find her prison “comfortable” had deserved such a response.
However, heaving the trencher at him had been no more than a simple, perhaps even childish, impulse born of frustration and unexpected opportunity.
He had been leaving the room. She could not.
Thanks to his so-provocative declaration of disbelief in the fact that she had never thrown anything before, her hand was still touching the trencher when he suddenly bent over as he passed through the doorway. Such a tempting presentation of his backside just then had made throwing the trencher at it simply irresistible.
Only by the worst luck had he pulled the door shut just when he had. She wondered as she took the towel from the washstand just why he had bent over.
There being no way to ask him before morning, she set about clearing up the mess she had made. The food on the floor was only part of the problem, since he had gone away without taking the other things he had brought on the tray. They were still on the table, including the pitcher and the goblets of barley water.
Deciding to leave them on the table since she had no idea what else to do with them short of hurling them into the sea from her window, she went to close the still open shutter in case it rained during the night.
At the window, however, she saw that she need not worry about rain. The wind had dropped, and the sky was a blanket of stars. The window was wide enough for her to put her head and shoulders out, so she did. If she had to remain a prisoner, at least parts of her could pretend for a time that she was free.
Smiling again at the odd routes her thoughts had been taking, she breathed deeply of the cold night air, savored the starlight for a while, then straightened and went to prepare for bed. Although she missed having a maidservant to aid her, she enjoyed being able to think in silence as she took off the tunic and underskirt.
A candlestand stood near the head of the curtained bed. So, after blowing out two of the candles he had lit, she placed the third carefully on the stand and opened the bed curtain. Soft warmth engulfed her.
The bed was larger than what she was accustomed to, and much more luxurious. Pressing down on it, she realized that it boasted more than one featherbed and a thick quilt. One quilt was all she ever used as a cover at home except in deepest winter when a second, wool coverlet customarily came into use.
The pillows were many and plump, and she soon found explanation of the warmth, in the stone wall at the back of the bed. Clearly, the wall was the same as the fireplace walls in the hall and kitchen, and their warmth spread upward.
She was glad she did not have to close the curtain to keep warm. She was prisoner enough without shutting herself in. The shutter stayed open, too. The only visitor that might enter would be a moth or an eagle. Neither would worry her.
Stretching out atop plush softness and against down-soft pillows, with linen sheet and quilt drawn to her chin, she suddenly felt emotionally drained. Taking herself firmly in hand, she decided that she had to consider carefully all that she had learned about her captor and try to think of how she could protect herself.
The next thing she knew, sounds at her door heralded a visitor.
Startled awake, eyes open wide, she saw morning sunlight spilling through the unshuttered window in a golden path across the floor. It revealed a few shiny spots from mutton fat that she had missed in cleaning up the night before.
The door opened, and a flash of orange and white briefly diverted her attention before she saw that her nemesis had returned.
Rob paused in the doorway when he saw that the table still contained the remnants of their supper. He had forgotten all about them and had simply ordered another tray of food to take up to her ladyship after he had broken his fast.
As he had clearly startled her, he apologized, adding, “I thought you would be up long since, lass. Also, I fear I never spared our leavings a thought last night. Too accustomed to having others clean up after me, I expect. But I ought to have sent someone up or taken away the remains myself.”
She was looking beyond him.
He frowned, thinking she meant to offer him only silence again.
Then she looked at him, and her eyes twinkled. She showed not the least embarrassment to be still abed or for him to see her there.
“Apparently, you did bring a helper along to clear the mess away,” she said. “But I fear it may make itself sick if it eats too much.”
Glancing over his shoulder to see the kitten on the table, he muttered an oath and hurried over, setting the tray on the settle as he had before.
The kitten, wolfing food as fast as it could, shot him a quick upward look without moving its head and then ignored him to concentrate on its breakfast.
When he grabbed it, it hissed at him and tried to wriggle back to the food.
Carrying the squirming, angry little creature to the bed, he handed it to her, saying, “Here, hold on to him until I can get those things cleared away. Then the two of us will leave you to dress and break your fast.”
She took the kitten without a blink.
As Rob turned away, he said, “Take care, the wee devil bites.”
“Nay, then, you malign him,” she said in a cooing voice, clearly for the cat’s benefit. “You’re a princely fellow, aren’t you,” she went on. “And so soft. I don’t believe you’ve ever bitten anyone who did not deserve it. What’s his name?”
“I call him ‘cat.’ Gibby calls him ‘the wee terror.’ And he does bite, so do not trust that innocent look.”
A rhythmic rumbling sound reached his ears just then and he turned toward the bed to see that she had leaned back against the pillows with the little cat snuggled on her chest. It had its paws tucked under its chin and was gazing at her adoringly, purring loudly as she gently stroked its head with two slim fingers.
She smiled at Rob then so warmly that he felt something inside him melt.
Quietly, she said, “May he stay with me?”
“If he will, aye,” Rob said, turning back to his task with a sudden wish that they had met under other circumstances and that she was not Dunwythie’s daughter.
Calling himself a fool again, he swept the things from the night before onto the first tray and carried it to the landing. Then, wiping off the table as well as he could with a towel she had clearly used to clean up the food she had thrown at him, he carried the towel to the landing and dropped it atop the things on the tray.
Returning, he set the new tray of food on the table. “I brought bread and ale, barley porridge, some milk, and two apples,” he said. “I don’t know what you usually eat for breakfast, but if you will tell me, I’ll see to providing it for you.”
“You are too kind, sir,” she said.
He gave her a look. “Just be glad you cleaned up what you threw at me last night, or you would learn that I am not kind at all. Not that you did much better with your cleaning than I did with that table,” he added. “I nearly slipped on a greasy spot when I came in.”
“It would have served you right if you had,” she cooed. “A good thump on the head might knock some sense into you.”
She did not look at him as she spoke, and he grinned at the picture she made, murmuring impertinent things to him in the soft, gentle tone she used with the little cat, which was still purring contentedly. As well it might, tucked snugly between those tantalizing breasts as it was.
She was still looking at the kitten, still stroking it, and still ignoring Rob.
“Lass.”
She looked up, eyebrows raised.
“It is not wise when you are in someone else’s power to provoke him.”
“Is it not?” She frowned. “I think it is more unwise to treat me as you have, Robert Maxwell. Just what do you mean to do with me? Am I simply to remain in this chamber until you have got whatever you expect to get by keeping me? How long do you expect that to take?”
“That must depend on your father,” he said.
“Then it will be forever,” she retorted. The kitten stirred, and she softened her tone to add, “Believe me, sir, my father is not a man who submits to threats. He is a peaceable man and a good one, but he can be as stubborn as anyone I know. A threat will just anger him and make him go contrary to whatever you demand.”
“That must be a load of blethers,” Rob said. “No man would risk injury to his firstborn child, certainly not to such a daughter as you are to him. You underrate yourself a-purpose, I think, to dissuade me.”
“I would dissuade you if I could,” she admitted. “Faith, but I’d strike you down flat if I could, for you have made me angrier in one day than anyone else has ever made me. I had thought myself unable to achieve such behavior as you have stirred me to, and with so little effort! Moreover, you ruined the first true freedom I’ve had since my family returned to Annan House from Dunwythie Mains.”
“Are you not free to do as you please at Annan House?”
“Not since you Maxwells threatened to take our land. My stepmother worries that at any moment an army will engulf us. Naught will persuade her that we would get due warning first. Your having so easily snatched me away will only increase her concerns,” she added bitterly.
“’Tis always painful to learn that those in authority over us are right in what they say, is it not?” he said with a reminiscent smile.
Instead of the quick retort he expected, she looked at him for a long moment. Then she said, “So, you have had similar experience, have you?”
“Aye, too much of it,” he said. “To hear my brother—”
“Who is
that lady, and why are ye in her chamber whilst she’s still abed? I’m thinking Herself would no approve o’ that.”
Whirling on Gibby, who stood in the doorway, eyeing him with strong disapproval, Rob snapped, “Who the devil said you could come up here?”
“Nae one did,” the boy retorted, still eyeing him askance. “I were a-looking for ye, and when ye were no in your chamber, I came out again and heard ye talking. So I came a-looking up here. Shall I take this tray below for ye?”
“Aye, do that,” Rob said. “Then wait for me downstairs.”
“But who is that lady?” Gib asked, swinging an arm around to point at her. “And—Coo, would ye look at that now? That wee terror’s no a-biting her!”
In fact, the kitten, still purring, had stretched out with its head still resting between her breasts. It rolled onto its back then, fore and aft legs extending in a long stretch, and she stroked its furry white stomach. The damned cat seemed almost to be taunting Rob, saying, “Just look at me now, will you, chappie?”
“You must be Gibby,” the lass said to the boy with a smile.
“Aye, and ye must be a witch,” Gib said, clearly awestruck. “Ye ken me name wi’ nae one telling ye, and ye’ve cast a spell on that wee terror.”
“I am not a witch,” she said. “I know your name because the laird told me you call the kitten a wee terror. Sithee, he is no such thing if you treat him kindly.”
“I dinna treat him at all,” Gib said firmly. “I dinna hold wi’ cats, ’specially cats which would rather than nowt eat me, like that one. Ye take care, me lady.”
“And you take yourself off now with that tray, Gib,” Rob told him.
“Ye didna tell me her name. I should ken how to call her, should I no?”
The lady Mairi looked at Rob, challenging him to lie.
“You need know only to address her as ‘my lady,’” Rob told him sternly. “Also, you are not to talk about her to anyone else unless you want to explain your loose tongue to me when I learn that you’ve been gabbling, as I will.”
