Lord of Dunkeathe. Margaret Moore

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      “And do you stand guard over it like an anxious mother hen? Are you handy with a slingshot?”

      “I was speaking in general terms, my lord. I take care of my uncle’s household, and that means I have to prevent waste and loss wherever possible.”

      She was still remarkably calm in spite of his obvious anger, and he suddenly felt like he was tilting at a wooden dummy who neither feared nor favored him.

      “Your uncle informed me that you run his household,” he said, walking toward her, this time mindful of the rows of plants. “He also claims you’ve done so since you were twelve years old.”

      “That’s quite true,” she answered.

      “My steward says yours is not a rich estate, so I presume you haven’t many servants to supervise.”

      “No, we don’t,” she confessed without rancor or embarrassment, “so I do a good deal of the work myself and have little time for leisure. As I was sitting in your garden, I was enjoying having nothing to do.”

      He thought of his early years as a soldier for hire. How he’d cherished every peaceful moment, every hour he had free to do with as he pleased. Then he recalled how he’d wasted some of those hours in brothels and taverns, and the memories soured. “I feared you might be sick and wanting some fresh air, although the night air may be doing you more harm than good.”

      “I’m not used to such a crowd and the noise they make. I wanted to have some peace and quiet, that’s all.”

      From the direction of the barracks, the soldiers who’d finished their meal started singing a bawdy ballad, loudly. The shouts of a very angry and frustrated cook chastising the spit boy, the scullery maid and incompetent servants in general filled the air. At the same time, the door at the entrance to the hall opened, and Sir James and Sir George came stumbling out, obviously drunk and laughing uproariously at some shared jest.

      Nicholas raised a brow, just as he had that morning when he’d wanted to see what that boldly staring maidservant—who was no maidservant—would do. “This is your notion of peace and quiet?”

      She laughed softly, a gentle rising sound of mirth that he found most pleasant. “It was quieter here than your hall, my lord.”

      Sir James and Sir George staggered toward the well near the kitchen. Not wanting to have to talk to them, hoping they’d go back to the hall or retire for the night, he moved closer to the apple tree and its shadows, and her. “I should go and give the guards the watchword for tonight.”

      “Ah yes, the very many guards.”

      What did she mean by that? “I worked and strived for many years for what I possess, my lady, and I intend to keep it.”

      “Obviously.”

      He didn’t appreciate her tone. “The Scots king himself gave me this estate. If you aren’t pleased by that, you should complain to him.”

      “Somehow, I don’t think he’d much care what Riona of Glencleith has to say about it.”

      She stayed where she was when he joined her beneath the trees. The movement of the leaves made the moonlight shadows dance across her face.

      Wanting to see her more clearly, he inched closer. “Your family has no influence with the king?”

      “My family has no influence with anybody,” she freely admitted.

      The only other woman who’d ever been so frankly honest with him was his sister—yet the thoughts he was having about Lady Riona were far from fraternal.

      “How exactly did you guess who I was this morning?” he asked, no longer able to contain his curiosity. “Or did someone tell you when you arrived?”

      Again, she answered without hesitation, as boldly as he’d come to expect. “You weren’t doing any work, although there was plenty for the servants to do, and I saw how the other servants and guards responded when they saw you. I realized you must in a position of some power or command, and I remembered what my uncle said about you.”

      Which was? Nicholas wondered, even as he told himself the opinion of an impoverished Scots thane was completely unimportant.

      “Your uncle claims you’re very clever,” he noted, “and given that you were the only person to realize who I was this morning, I’m inclined to agree.”

      That brought a smile to her face.

      She wasn’t a beauty, like Lady Joscelind, or even what he’d call pretty, but there was a vibrancy to her features, a liveliness and spirit, that fascinated him, especially when she smiled. Her bold responses were far more interesting than any coy answers from Lady Joscelind and her kind, too.

      “They also weren’t expecting you to be dressed like a soldier and unloading baggage carts,” she continued. “Neither was I. I’m curious, my lord, as to what prompted that act of subterfuge?”

      He suddenly wasn’t so proud of what he’d done, or why. “You heard me give my reason to Lady Joscelind. I wasn’t properly attired.”

      She regarded him with such outright and unabashed skepticism, he blushed.

      It had been many years since he’d felt his face warm like that, and he was glad they were in the shade of a tree at night. “You could say I was getting the lay of the land,” he admitted.

      Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you were looking for a wife, not a fight.”

      “I was sizing up the players before the game commences.”

      She frowned even more. “It may be a game or amusement to you, my lord, but it certainly isn’t to these nobles and the women.”

      Her words startled him. He hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what the women involved would think of his plan—until now. Yet he wasn’t about to confess that to this slip of a Scot, no matter how she looked at him. “I’m not doing this for my amusement. I require a wife, and I see nothing wrong with inviting suitable women to Dunkeathe and choosing the best among them.”

      “And you will decide who is ‘best’?”

      “Who better? She will become my bride, after all.”

      “Yes, she will.”

      He could decipher nothing in her eyes or voice to tell him whether she thought that a worthy goal. Yet after what had passed between them in the courtyard, he was sure she found him attractive.

      Determined to prove that to himself at least, he sidled closer and dropped his voice to a lower, more intimate tone. “So, what exactly did your uncle say about me?”

      “Clearly he told me enough to guess who you were.”

      “So now you will prevaricate, my lady?” he replied, inching closer, willing her to be attracted to him, to feel the same sort of desire that was waxing in him. “After the boldness you’ve displayed, I’m disappointed.”

      She straightened her shoulders СКАЧАТЬ