“None of your business. The only thing that should concern you is that supper is to be on the table within the hour. I expect claret, lots of it. Donovan, you are not to play the harp drunk again tonight. We have a guest. Effie, get
those damn pigs out of here or they’ll be sizzling rashers of bacon in the morning.”
With that he hoisted Marsali higher and walked from the kitchen to the door where Edwina waited, grinning in shameless enjoyment. Duncan considered it a major triumph that he made it to the yard without Cook’s rolling pin descending on the back of his head. But it was a bitter victory.
He swung Marsali to her feet, catching her hand when she made to bolt. “Oh no, not so fast. You embarrassed us both in there, lass. I’m not forgiving you that easily.”
She tugged her hand free, surprise brightening her eyes. “But I only spoke the truth about what that awful woman did to you. ’Twasn’t your fault.”
“You’ve humiliated me for the last time, Marsali Hay. That convent is sounding better by the minute.”
“There’s no convent within a hundred miles of here,” Marsali said, unperturbed. “Now try to calm down. I’m not going to take your behavior personally.”
He scowled. “Why not?”
“Because I realize you’ve been hurt by what that woman did to you, and you only
think
you’re angry at me.”
“I am angry at you.” His voice rose an octave as if to prove the point.
“Calm down, Duncan,” Edwina said.
“I have a right to be angry.” He was practically shouting now. “I
am
angry.”
Marsali smiled at him in sympathy. “No, you’re not. You’re just a poor wounded beast lashing out in its pain.”
“You have to feel sorry for him,” Edwina said.
Duncan snorted. “All right, I’m not angry. I am a beast lashing out. But my sister, Judith, is still the mother superior of a convent school on a small island off the coast. She’s built her order on the dowries of troublesome young women just like you who were sent to her by concerned families.”
Marsali frowned. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother. You don’t appreciate anything I do.”
“You can say that again.”
“You treat me like I’m a child.”
“Exactly.”
“Now
I’m
getting angry,” Marsali said. “In fact, if you’re so anxious to take care of a child, perhaps you should look for the one you left behind.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, never mind, my lord. It was just kitchen gossip. You made me lose my temper. ’Twas just something I heard when I was little. You made me angry, and I misspoke.”
“That’s why people shouldn’t get angry, Duncan,” Edwina said.
“Is there any truth to the gossip?” he demanded.
“Not as far as I know,” Marsali said honestly.
“Then do not repeat it again.”
“Excuse me.” Edwina gave Duncan an admonishing stare. “Marsali might have embarrassed you, but her heart was in the right place.”
“Stay out of this,” Duncan said.
Marsali shook her head again. “Now he’s lashing out at you, Edwina.”
The older woman sighed. “It was bound to happen.”
Duncan resented the empathetic look the two of them were exchanging. “I will not have Marsali humiliating me and risking her damned neck. I will restore order to this damned castle, and that’s the end of it.”
“What can Duncan do to stop the problems between you, Marsali?” Edwina asked gently.
“All I ask of him is that he stay and take care of us—”
“She expects me to behave like some medieval chieftain who sacrifices life and limb for his moldering castle,” Duncan broke in, his patience snapping.
Edwina frowned. “Well, traditional obligations are important, Duncan. Imagine what would happen to the world if we all just decided to abdicate our responsibilities. Surely a man with a dukedom in his future understands the weight of stewardship.”
Marsali was really starting to like Edwina. “That’s exactly what I tried to tell him.”
Duncan threw up his hands in defeat. “There’s no arguing with women.”
“Control yourself,” Edwina said.
“All right, Edwina. You think you’re so blasted clever,
then you take care of her. Take care of the whole castle if you like. It’s yours. She’s yours. Have fun. I’m finished.” His face set like flint, he strode from the yard toward the keep. For a moment there was stunned silence behind him. Then he heard Edwina’s voice.
“I’ve never seen him behave like this. It must be the shock of losing Sarah.”
Duncan scowled, resisting the urge to turn around. Yes, it was bad enough to lose the woman you intended to marry, and thanks to that wretched girl he hadn’t even been allowed the luxury of mourning the loss in private. But what was almost as disturbing was the sneaky alliance he could sense brewing between Edwina and Marsali. As incredible as he found it, even his former
fiancée’
s
aunt appeared to be moving to the enemy camp, and the thought unsettled him. It unsettled him almost as much as Marsali’s taunting allusion to a child he had left behind.
Chapter
13
E
dwina fed a few morsels of raw rabbit meat to the hawk on the driftwood perch inside the ship’s cabin. “What a nice birdie you are. Colum, I do believe Eun is coming to like me a little more every day.”
The wizard glanced at Edwina’s warm face and robust figure in admiration. “My lady, you would charm the most wild of creatures. How could he resist?”
Edwina tittered, lowering her eyelashes in pleasure as she turned from the hawk’s perch, her taffeta skirts rustling.
Fiona, sitting ignored on the bunk with her face hidden behind her Book of Shadows, rolled her eyes heavenward. Sickening, that’s what it was, the way these two old people had struck up a friendship only two short weeks ago on the moor.
Colum had been collecting elf-bolts by the cairns. Edwina had been taking her exercise. One look and they were meeting almost every day since like soul mates. A merging of the minds, her father said. Fiona couldn’t stand it.
Colum handed Edwina a goblet of mulled wine. “Some libation for your ladyship?”
Edwina clasped the goblet in her beringed hands. “I shouldn’t. Marsali and I are going to row out across the loch this afternoon.”
“How goes the battle between her and the chieftain?” Colum asked casually.
“Unchanged. Duncan is still intent on marrying her off, and she is determined he will stay.” Edwina shook her head. “I have been working on her deportment. She’s far too lovely to end her days as an outlaw.”
Colum frowned. “The best spells take time. Perhaps when you’re finished with Marsali, you could work on my daughter.”
He and Edwina glanced simultaneously at the petite barefoot figure pretending to be invisible on the bunk.
“Yes,” Edwina said, sipping her wine with a pensive air. “Possibly on my next visit. In the meantime, it is all I can manage to help Cook keep peace in the castle.”
Colum touched her forearm, smiling into her eyes. “Patience, my lady. Magic cannot be rushed.” He lowered his voice, leading her across the cabin to where Fiona could not hear. “Are we still to meet at midnight on the cliffs so I may draw down the moon in your honor?”
Edwina sighed in anticipation. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
A
month had not exactly wrought any miracles. Sometimes Duncan had nightmares of trudging back to London with his tail between his legs, admitting defeat, explaining that a handful of Highlanders had broken his spirit. He could have trained the castle chickens easier than his clan. The hope of his Border dukedom grew dimmer by the day.
He bit back a scathing remark as he entered the great hall. A piglet barreled past him. Ailis or Alan, he still couldn’t tell the “twins” apart and was all but resigned to their presence. He stumbled over Lachlan asleep on the floor, the mug of beer on his chest rising and falling with the sonorous rhythm of his snores.
“Lachlan.” He nudged the unconscious figure with his foot.
“It’s time to rise, my lord?” Lachlan called up groggily.
“Oh no, Lachlan, why do you ask? It’s just past noon. You were only to relieve the sentry on the tower four hours ago. Don’t bestir yourself. I wouldn’t want you to lose a wink of your beauty sleep.”
Lachlan scratched his unruly eyebrows, the sarcasm lost on him as he gave his chieftain a grin and promptly fell back asleep.
Yes indeed, what miracles a month had wrought, Duncan thought, sinking into his ceremonial chair with a ponderous sigh.
He blamed it partially on Edwina’s influence, Edwina’s passion for playing “jokes” and having fun. Whereas Duncan’s hereditary title commanded only a modicum of grudging respect, Edwina had won the stubborn Highland hearts of everyone in the castle, from Cook to stableboy, with her flamboyant charm. Everyone avoided Duncan. Everyone sought Edwina’s opinion and colorful company. Including Marsali. Duncan had never felt more like an outcast.
Edwina had taken the wild girl under her wing like a mother hen, promising to transform her into a prize no man could resist. At first Duncan had been amused by the project. After all, despite her uncivilize
d behavior, Marsali had been born
and bred a lady. It wasn’t as if Edwina were re-creating the original woman. All Marsali needed were a few finishing touches here and there. A bit of polish.
Still, it wasn’t yet July, and Edwina had already commissioned a pair of dressmakers from Inverness to costume her, a parfumier originally from Paris to create an original scent to match her character, and a cobbler to sheathe her dainty feet in dancing slippers. Duncan had been kept in the dark about the details of the transformation. He had been spending his time trying to find the girl a husband.
He glanced up irritably as an ominous shadow fell upon the table. “Yes, Cook. What is it?”
She hesitated, her expression ste
rn
. “Actually, my lord, I was looking for Lady Edwina. I canna find her anywhere.”
“Perhaps I will do instead. What is it you wish to ask her?”
“Nothing to worry yerself about, my lord,” she replied, giving him a perfunctory curtsy before turning away. “A small domestic matter, ’tis all.”
“Perhaps I can help you,” Duncan said loudly. “After all, this is supposed to be my castle, and I am supposed to be the chieftain.”
Cook turned stiffly, raising her eyebrows at his reaction.
Damn Edwina anyway, Duncan thought moodily. She meant well, but she’d become a pain in the neck by playing fairy godmother to Marsali’s Cinderella. Which, Duncan reflected sourly, probably made him the equivalent of her wicked stepmother.
“What is the problem, Cook?” he asked in an impatient voice.
She inched toward his chair. They had come to an uneasy truce over the summer, at Edwina’s encouragement, but Cook clearly didn’t trust Duncan, and Duncan still refused to taste the first spoonful of her potage when it was served. “I dinna like to bother ye, my lord, with the little things.”
Duncan frowned. “I am concerned with the running of the castle. If there is a problem, even a minor one, I would like to be informed. That is why I am here.”
“Well, my lord, I canna decide if we should serve the fish croquettes or the truffles before the ball on Friday. And I had a question about the Rhenish wine Lady Edwina ordered. Then there was the matter of the strawberry tortes, and the rosemary for the rack of lamb.”
“Ball on Friday?” Duncan repeated, the nerve endings on his nape stirring. “Is there to be a ball on Friday?”
“I’ll just check with Lady Edwina,” Cook said, edging away from the chair at the tension vibrating in his voice.
“I’ll—”
Duncan rose to his feet, feeling his power slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. “Where is Abercrombie?” he asked. “I haven’t seen the man in over a week.”
“He’s hidin’ in the chapel again,” Cook said. “The children were chasing him all over the castle, and he couldna take it.”
Duncan glanced around, distracted by the sight of Johnnie and Effie rolling a pair of empty herring barrels into the hall. Owen followed with an armload of pink satin ribbons, which he proceeded to drape over the antlers of the ancient deer mounted above the fireplace. “What the hell are those barrels for?” he demanded.
Johnnie glanced up morosely. “They’re for the ball on Friday, what else? Lady Edwina said they’d have to do in place of urns for the potted plants. Pots of lupines and sweet
peas, she wants. Don’t see what use they’ll be, though, seeing as all the damned plants in the garden are dead.”
“Lady Edwina said that, did she?” Duncan smiled unpleasantly as he pushed his chair back from the table. “And where precisely has Lady Edwina enthroned herself this morning?”
Effie righted the barrel she’d rolled up against the wall. “She’s in the solar with Marsali, but ye’re not allowed to interrupt them. We’ve all been banished until they’re through.”
Duncan shoved his chair back so hard it bumped into Lachlan, who awoke with a violent start and upset his mug of beer onto the floor. “I am not allowed to interrupt them?”
Effie blinked, moving behind Johnnie for protection. “Th-that was what Lady Edwina told us.”
H
e hovered outside the solar door, a muscle twitching in his cheek. To judge by the air of secrecy that shrouded the castle, by Edwina’s excited whisperings and Marsali’s accompanying gasps of pain, Duncan might have concluded that something very peculiar was going on inside that room.
He could hear other voices, a pair of females chattering in the background; and if it hadn’t been so ludicrous, Duncan would have suspected Marsal
i of convincing English-to-the-
core Edwina to join the Jacobite cause. Whatever their conspiracy, he had been excluded. He resented it. Being forbidden to use his private sanctuary, women taking over the castle, his life.
He pushed the door open. And nearly fainted. Bolts of every fabric under the sun from watered silk to Valenciennes lace, from taffeta to tartan, smothered the fastidious order of his desk. Frills and furbelows, fans and strands of faux pearls squashed his priceless maps, his military memoirs, battle plans, and notes.
Standing unnoticed in the doorway, he listened to the conversation within. Marsali was bouncing around a long cheval glass while Edwina scolded her to hold still, and a pair of seamstresses sewed furiously at the hemline of a gold tulle gown that billowed from her slender waist like petals
from a rose stem. A feathered headdress sat atop her untidy mop of hair.
“There is a language to wielding a fan, my dear,” Edwina was in the process of explaining. “For example, what would you do if you’d like to let a gentleman know you are interested in him?”
“I’d tell him straight to his face,” Marsali said. “I’d walk right up to him—”
“No, you would not,” Edwina interrupted, rolling her eyes. “You would position the fan against the side of your cheek like this. It’s far more subtle. No, darling, don’t scratch your nose with it. That’s very crass.”
“But my nose itches,” Marsali said. “It’s from all of these horrid feathers stuck in this ridiculous thing on my head.”
“It’s called a
tiara
,”
Edwina continued, unperturbed. “By lowering the fan to your throat you’re issuing an invitation to a private meeting.”
Duncan entered the room. Sneaking up behind Edwina, he grabbed a sandalwood fan from the clutter on his desk and bopped the other woman on the head. “And this means you’re an extravagant ninny, Edwina. Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
Edwina glanced around, batting the fan away in annoyance. “I am helping this dear young woman in her quest to attract a mate.”
“Edwina, I have arranged to interview every prospective suitor within a hundred miles on Friday afternoon. The dowry I am offering is hefty enough to lure MacDuff from the grave. Do you really need to impoverish me and undermine my influence with your well-meaning inanity?”
Edwina plucked a loose thread from Marsali’s hair. “I suppose you were going to get her out in rags and parade her like a guttersnipe?”
Duncan gently shouldered Edwina aside and stared out through the window, deliberately not glancing at Marsali. The seamstresses at her feet fell silent, watching the renowned warlord in awe. Rarely did they glimpse the man in such a personal moment.
“I’ll take the dress off if you don’t like it,” Marsali said with a self-martyring shrug, breaking the silence that had
fallen. “I look like a baby duck that’s been tortured in it anyway.”
Duncan turned slowly, as
sessing her with a long, heavy-
lidded look.
To tell the truth, she despised the fussy dress, her small white breasts forced into full view by the bindings of her gusseted bodice. She lowered her gaze to the floor, frowning as the silence lengthened.
He swallowed with effort, struggling not to smile. “You do not look like a baby duck at all, lass.”
She glanced up, hope replacing her uncertainty. “No?”
He shook his head. “No. Not at all.” A slow grin broke across his fa
ce. “You look…
like a baby turkey a fox dragged across the farmyard.”
She gasped. Then she stepped over the two seamstresses sitting in wide-eyed interest on the floor and punched him in the shoulder, pretending outrage. Duncan backed into his desk with a helpless grin, making little gobbling noises behind his hand.
“Stop it,” Edwina said, giving Duncan a cold glare. “Marsali, you’re going to ruin that dress. Both of you, stop acting like infants.”
Marsali ignored her to pull off her feathered headdress and throw it at Duncan. He caught it in one hand and put it on his head, mimicking a turkey strutting around the room. Marsali laughed until she couldn’t breathe, until she was bent over at the waist and leaning against the desk for support.
Edwina braced her arms on the desk and watched them in disapproval. The seamstresses straightened, sharing amused smiles. The chieftain never behaved in such a manner.
“Look at this, my lord,” Marsali gasped between giggles, pulling her gown down over her shoulders. “Edwina put powder on me
here.
As if anyone would care. Have you ever seen such a thing in your life?”