Scoundrel Of Dunborough. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ or has he already been hanged?”

      That, fortunately, was an easy question to answer. “He’s dead, drowned in the river after he was wounded attacking Roland.”

      Her green eyes widened. “He attacked your brother, too?”

      “Aye. He thought Roland was Audrey’s lover.”

      “Roland? That’s ridiculous!” Celeste exclaimed. “Audrey didn’t even like...”

      She fell silent and her cheeks colored with a blush.

      Gerrard had often wondered how Audrey really felt about Roland. Now he knew.

      Nor was he particularly surprised. Roland was hardly the sort of man to appeal to Celeste’s older sister, at least until he’d been named heir and lord of Dunborough. “Aye, Duncan was wrong about that, but he nearly killed Roland just the same. Roland wounded him and Duncan fell into the river afterward, trying to flee, and drowned. Too easy a death for a man who’d...”

      Gerrard hesitated and looked away, but not fast enough.

      “There is more,” Celeste said with certainty. She walked toward him, her steady, determined gaze holding his. “This MacHeath molested Audrey, didn’t he? A man angry enough to kill would be angry enough to forcefully take what a woman would not willingly give.”

      Gerrard was sorry she was so perceptive, or his features so revealing. “If there is justice in the next life, he will burn in hell forever.”

      “Did no one see any signs that she should fear him?”

      “He was a fierce-looking fellow, but nobody ever thought Duncan MacHeath would hurt her. Surely she didn’t, either, or she would have sent him away.”

      “Then there was no sign of his feelings for her? No hint that he might be jealous?”

      “The man gave no sign of any feelings at all. He was a silent, sullen fellow.”

      “Where did my sister meet him? How did she come to hire him?”

      “York, I believe. I don’t think she ever told anyone here in Dunborough how he came to be in her employ.”

      Gerrard braced himself for more questions that would be difficult or uncomfortable to answer, but fortunately, Celeste seemed satisfied. She began to move around the room, putting the remaining furniture back in place. With a sorrowful sigh that touched his heart, she ran her hand over the unfinished needlepoint on a stand beside the window. Audrey had been skilled at needlework, among other things.

      He wondered what Celeste planned to do now. The burial had been weeks ago. “I suppose you’ll be returning to Saint Agatha’s.”

      “Not for a few days,” she replied. She made a graceful sweeping gesture. “I shall have to deal with all of this first.”

      Of course. The land was held by the lord of Dunborough, but the house and its contents were hers, with a portion to go to the overlord. “Roland might waive the heriot, considering.”

      “What should be paid will be paid, and the rest I shall give to the church.”

      “You’re welcome to reside at the castle for as long as necessary.”

      She shook her head. “I thank you for the offer, but I don’t wish to impose.”

      “I assure you, you won’t be.” He gave her a smile. “I’m happy to offer the hospitality of Dunborough to an old friend.”

      “Again I thank you, but I would rather stay here until the house is sold.”

      “You brought servants with you?”

      “No, I need none.”

      “You came alone?”

      “Yes.”

      “What the devil was your mother superior thinking?” he demanded, appalled. The roads and byways were dangerous for a woman alone, especially a beautiful one, even if she was a nun. “Did she have no fears for your safety?”

      In spite of his shocked and angry tone, Celeste remained remarkably calm. “I was never in any danger, nor did I ever have to walk far. Many farmers and carters are happy to help a nun, and many a nobleman and innkeeper pleased to give one shelter while asking nothing in return, just as you have done.”

      Although it took considerable effort, Gerrard managed to subdue his temper. “Be that as it may, you can’t stay here alone, and none of Audrey’s servants will come back to the house. They think it’s haunted.”

      “As I told you, I need no servant, and even if Audrey’s spirit does still linger here, I am quite safe. Alive or dead, she would never hurt me.”

      Gerrard felt like a fool for mentioning any supernatural concern, especially when there were other, more worldly reasons she couldn’t spend the night alone in that house. “Rumors of your father’s hidden wealth might tempt outlaws and thieves.”

      She sighed, but otherwise remained the same. “I suppose that’s to be expected. Nevertheless, I’m not leaving. The locks are strong and God will protect me.”

      God? God had not been here to save Audrey. “Just in case He is otherwise occupied, I must insist you come to the castle as my guest.”

      Her expression turned wary and suspicious, a look he unfortunately recognized. Women who’d heard the worst of him looked at him like that. Then he remembered who else was at Saint Agatha’s.

      “You will be quite safe there. I give you my word.”

      He steeled himself for another refusal.

      That did not come. Instead, she spoke as if she’d been agreeable all along. “Very well, and thank you.”

      He tried not to show his relief as he held out his arm to escort her.

      She did not take it.

      Instead, with her expression as placid as if they were in a cathedral, she walked out of the chamber.

      At least she’d finally seen sense, he told himself as he followed her outside. He went to his men and ordered them to continue to the castle, and told the fair-haired Hedley to take Snow to the stable for him.

      By the time he’d done that, Celeste was at an outbuilding at the far end of the yard.

      As he hurried to join her, Gerrard still couldn’t quite believe she was there. When she hadn’t arrived in the days after Audrey’s death, he’d assumed she never would. Now here she was, and staying in the castle, too.

      He wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Celeste had been a lively little elf of a child who skipped and danced more than she walked, and laughed and sang. She’d had freckles and long brown hair that curled as if it had a life of its own.

      Maybe it was long under that cap, veil and wimple. Or maybe it had been shorn to the scalp.

      Not that it mattered what her hair was like, or how СКАЧАТЬ