‘You can tell Josh yourself tomorrow. As the father of fourteen bairns and grandfather of nine, he’ll be interested in your theory. This wee lad has been cooped up like a prize chicken, lady. Never allowed to run wild as lads do. It’s time he was let out to see the world. See the smile on his chops? That speaks for itself.’
‘That, sir, is because he’s here with me.’
Even in shadow, the level gaze of his blue mind-reading eyes made her wish she had not said that. But even as she struggled to form added words of astringency, he leaned towards her like a knight seeing an opening for his sword. ‘No one would argue with that, Lady Ebony Moffat, but don’t try to get away from me again or it may be some time before you see his smile, sleeping or otherwise. And you may rail all you wish about bargains and honour and such, but don’t lose sight of the one we agreed earlier, will you? It’s the only one you offered, and I shall keep you to it no matter how many alternatives you can devise. Now, lady,’ he stood up, pulling at the short brown tunic that skimmed his buttocks, ‘I shall send an escort to take you down to Sir Joseph and to bring you back up here afterwards. He will have orders to lock you in…’ he patted the leather pouch at his belt ‘…and to return the key to me. Your freedom has already begun to shrink a little.’ He walked over to the dying fire, picked up a log and tossed it into the embers, pushing at it with his toe as the sparks flew upwards. ‘That will help to take the chill out of the air.’
Suddenly enraged by the man’s monstrous arrogance, she grabbed at one of the bannocks that lay in the bundle beside her and hurled it at him, wheeling it like a discus across the room.
As if she had meant it as a gift, he caught it with supreme nonchalance, took a bite and returned it exactly to her side in the same manner. ‘Au revoir,’ he said, munching. ‘Better close the shutters too, Mistress Biddie. There’ll be no moon tonight.’
In the silence that followed his departure, Ebony could hear her heart pounding as if she had run upstairs, and when Biddie asked her if she should indeed close the shutters, she could find no virulent gems of abuse to throw after him, only a shake of her head. Picking up the flat breadcake that he had bitten, she studied it abstractedly before putting it back in the linen where it would be needed for their journey tomorrow.
‘He’s a fine figure of a man, though,’ Biddie murmured, finding a return of her natural charity. ‘What was it he said about bargains?’ She pulled out the truckle-bed from beneath Ebony’s and drew it across the rush matting to a place near the fire.
‘Nothing that makes any sense.’ Ebony rose at last and lay Sam upon the covers, slipping off his muddy shoes. ‘Get Sam into here while I go down and take a look at Sir Joseph, Biddie,’ she said. ‘And I doubt we shall need this any more where we’re going.’ The knot that tied the bedcurtains to the wall held a sprig of May-blossom that Meg had stuck there that morning and, rather than throw it out of the window, Ebony placed it on the stool where Biddie had been sitting. How useless these old traditions were. If she’d had the slightest interest in remarriage, she certainly wouldn’t rely on May-blossom and reflections to help her. ‘What are you doing with that?’ she asked, staring crossly at Biddie’s removal of the little bed. ‘Sam’s sleeping here with me.’
‘Yes, but I’m not,’ said Biddie, shaking out the feather mattress. ‘I nearly landed on the floor last night.’
Watching his men make preparations for the night, Sir Alex Somers received the congratulations of his friend and second-in-command with his usual wariness. ‘Yes, Hugh,’ he said. ‘As you say, so far so good, but this is only the beginning and the next bit’s going to be much trickier. Save the compliments till we’re through.’
‘And the lady?’ Hugh said, predictably. ‘She looks like trouble, Alex. Certainly not as carefree as she had us believe earlier, is she? Did you get what you were after?’
Alex was used to such teasing. ‘Do I look as if I’ve been mauled by a wildcat, Hugh?’
‘Think you can handle her, then?’
There was no bragging affirmation, but Alex’s laugh was almost soundless, softening into a smile that needed no words to explain it. He stuck his thumbs into his belt.
‘I see,’ said Hugh. ‘But she’s a widow, don’t forget. That’s something you hadn’t bargained for. Hadn’t you better be a bit careful?’ His eyes strayed to the corner of the shadowy hall where a beautiful black cat crouched on top of a trestle-table, her green eyes blazing at Alex’s shaggy deerhound below.
‘That, my friend, is a general misconception.’
‘What is?’
‘That one needs to be especially careful with widows. You’re getting confused with virgins.’
‘Mark my words,’ Hugh said, ‘I know about these things. Widows are not like the others, you know, in spite of your superior knowledge. They’ve had experience, it’s true, but when a widow’s actually loved her husband, she doesn’t find it easy to let him go. It’s as if he was still with her. They’re funny like that. Loyal creatures, even after death.’ When Alex made no comment, Hugh continued, ‘That doesn’t seem to stop them wanting, mind you, but they don’t admit it. Takes ages to convince them that it’s all right to start again.’
‘Yes, well thank you, Hugh, but I haven’t got ages and I’m perfectly aware of the confusion. I’d have to be extremely dim not to be, wouldn’t I? And now I think you should go and mind your own damn business and leave me to get on with mine.’
‘All right. But you’ll be wanting my help before long.’
‘Possibly. That’s what you’re being paid for, so have aid ready.’
Hugh’s eyes widened. ‘That bad?’ He watched the cat stand and arch its back, holding its tail vertically like a flagpole. The deerhound stood motionless, debating the outcome.
‘Oh, yes, certainly that bad. Go on, I give you permission to laugh when you see the blood.’
‘Whose?’
‘Anybody’s.’
Left alone, Alex understood only too well the reasons for Hugh’s concern, neither of them having anticipated the dire condition of Sir Joseph Moffat that day, nor could they have known the connection between his grandson and the two stunningly beautiful women who had taken their breath away earlier.
They had known that the grandson would be a precious weapon to use against old man Moffat, a sure way of extracting the information they needed, but now the situation had changed and was likely to do so even more, by the look of things, and, try as one might, it would be difficult to keep a cool head with those two ferocious beauties in opposition, one protecting her son and the other her father.
Nevertheless, Hugh’s observation had not gone to waste. It was inconceivable that the old man had not already made plans to marry them both off to local lairds or to noblemen, and Alex could not help wondering if she had already been promised to one of them. Not that it made any difference: she had made him an offer and that was a prize not to be rejected for the sake of such niceties. A widow she might be, desolate, loyal and chaste, but he would not deny her the satisfaction of becoming a martyr for the child, since that’s what she seemed intent on. The fun would begin when she discovered that it was all quite unnecessary.
The hollow click-clack of the key was the last humiliating blow at the end of an unforgettably harrowing day. Ebony had pleaded to be allowed to stay with Meg in the claustrophobic steward’s office that had begun to reek of Sir Joseph’s sweaty bulk and the unguents they had plastered over him. But