скачать книгу бесплатно
Her father had yet to notice she was present, for she stood out of his sight. He had just greeted her cousin and was making introductions.
“Lord Robert MacBain, Baron of Baincroft, meet my kinsman and chosen tanist, Sir Ranald MacInness.” He inclined his head toward their cousin who would be laird of the MacInness after him.
Ranald was a tall, stalwart man of thirty years who seemed cursed with a perpetual smirk. The sin-dark eyes examined their guest as intently as the man’s silvery-gray gaze regarded him.
Though Ranald bore the sword, spurs and other trappings of a knight, Mairi knew he possessed none of the inner qualities required of one. Chivalry, humility and honor were unknown to him. She wondered whether that would be obvious to one who had never met him before. Lord MacBain’s handsome face remained so unexpressive, she could not tell what he thought.
“Sir Ranald,” MacBain acknowledged gruffly, her cousin’s name sounding foreign upon his tongue.
He offered his arm and, after a short hesitation, Ranald clasped it briefly in greeting. “MacBain,” he replied with obvious disdain, ignoring the baron’s title. An insult.
Mairi felt a prickle between her shoulder blades. Ranald would bear watching, she thought. It was a safe wager the man had a purpose in being here other than to meet her bridegroom. He had requested that nebulous honor for himself with some regularity, much to her disgust.
“I regret I cannot stay for the nuptials,” Ranald told her father. “I must return to Enslor before the morrow.”
“Expecting trouble?” the laird asked.
“Nothing I cannot deal with,” her cousin replied curtly. “’Tis little enough I have to do these days when I could be relieving you of many duties hereabout.”
Mairi’s father sighed. “Ambition is often admirable, Ranald. But I’m not dead yet, as ye can see.”
This could degenerate into another family squabble, Mairi thought with mounting apprehension. What an embarrassment to them all, that would be. Her gaze leaped to Lord MacBain, who observed her father and Ranald with keen interest.
Ranald pressed a hand to his chest in mock dismay. “Ye mistake my offer of help, m’laird.” He looked past her father and fastened his evil gaze on Mairi. “Just as ye mistook my frequent proposals to become as a son to ye.”
Her sire snorted inelegantly. “Cousin is a close enough tie to suit me. The clan chose ye years ago, and ye’ll have yer due, but not through me or mine.”
Ranald looked Mairi up and down, then smiled his oily, suggestive smile. How often he had done this, silently promising her what would happen if he ever caught her alone?
Abruptly the MacBain stepped between them, purposely cutting off her cousin’s view of her. Only then did Ranald halt his taunting of her and take his leave.
Thank God he did. The man made her skin crawl as though she were covered with leeches.
When they were finally free of Ranald’s presence, her future husband turned and looked her straight in the eye, as if she were the only person in the world worth seeing. Mairi’s skin felt fine at that moment. A bit overheated, yet fine. ’Twas her bones that melted.
God save her soul, this man could charm the thorns off of thistles. She felt totally bereft when he looked away to focus expectantly on her father.
Today, for the first time since she had found she was to marry, Mairi MacInness felt the definite thrill of expectation.
Of course, she had another reason for that feeling. She had not even hoped that he would be this handsome or look so worthy, given her father’s obvious reluctance to speak to her of the match.
“Lord MacBain, here is my daughter, Mairi MacInness,” her father said by way of introduction, and drew her forth by her arm to stand immediately before her intended. “Yer bride.”
Again she became the target of his full regard. The steel-gray, long-lashed eyes widened slightly with avid interest, mayhaps even desire. Mairi almost shivered.
Cautiously, as though he thought she might refuse the gesture, he extended one large hand, calloused palm upright. Mairi offered her own and watched as he lifted her fingers to his lips. He had wonderful lips. She sighed.
His eyes never left her face as that finely shaped mouth nearly touched her knuckles. She felt his breath warm upon them. That sent tingles up her arm and they did not stop at her shoulder.
“My lord,” she acknowledged. She wished she had not sounded quite so breathless, but indeed she was. His size and very presence quite overwhelmed her. But in the most wonderful way she could imagine.
“My lady,” he murmured in a very deep voice completely devoid of inflection.
She could not decide whether she liked the sound of him. However, the rest certainly left no room for complaint. He bore the scent of costly spices from the East. Cloves, she decided, drawing another deep breath. And cinnamon, which she dearly loved. That boded well, Mairi thought, used as she was to men bearing only the smells of sweat and horse.
Her father cleared his throat. “Coom, sit and rest yerself,” he commanded loudly, and motioned across the hall toward the low-burning fire. “Bring us ale!” He nearly shouted the words at the servants now bustling about the tables, readying them for the evening meal.
“Da! Please, speak more softly,” Mairi reprimanded quietly, patting her sire’s arm.
He merely grunted in a very low voice, not moving his mouth, “’Tis lack o’ hearing, lass. Sad to say, but ye must have pity and patience. I should ha’ mentioned it before.”
Mairi sighed, troubled, but not overmuch. Such a loss was to be expected in a man of her father’s advanced years. Yet he did not have to treat everyone as though they shared his affliction. Still, the young baron seemed not to have taken umbrance at her father’s loud barking. Mayhaps he understood.
To her surprise, her intended bypassed the comfort of the only two cushioned chairs, leaving these softer ones for his host and hostess. Deferring to a lady and an elder spoke very well for the man’s manners, she thought.
Why, then, did her father look so uneasy? Not fearful, exactly, but certainly wary. There was little that ever disconcerted him. He probably worried she would disgrace them all.
Not so, this time. She’d put her rash, impulsive ways behind her. Never again would she rush into an action or for a judgment, forsaking caution and good thought.
Was she not proving this even now? Each move the baron made, she evaluated with great care. After all, her very future depended upon how well they got on together.
Mairi modestly bowed her head and busily arranged her skirts as she asked pleasantly, “Were yer travels here remarkable, my laird? The hills are bonny this time o’ year, aye?”
He disregarded her completely as though she did not exist, his full attention still focused on her father.
“I wondered whether ye encountered any difficulties along the way, or if the trip proved an easy one,” she continued softly, waiting, unmoving, determined to get a reply of some kind from him.
He gave her none, but kept his eyes trained upon her sire as though expecting him to reproach a forward daughter for speaking freely. Da did grimace at her in warning when she glanced at him. “Hist, lass,” he muttered, shushing her.
That turned MacBain’s attention. He inclined his head to her slightly as one might to notice a bug upon the floor.
“You think me impertinent for speaking?” she prompted the baron yet again. Daring him, really.
That gained her an almost imperceptible shrug. Barely there and then gone. His lips curved, but it was not a smile. More like a gesture of mild annoyance.
And she had thought this man mannerly? How churlish of him, deliberately refusing to answer her. Contentious knave. Did he think so little of females in general? Or was it her in particular he found offensive? Had she mistaken his former look of interest after all?
When he did speak, it definitely was not to her. He had ceased looking at her and addressed her father.
“When may we wed? I must go home,” he stated very slowly in the same low, brusque tone that did not vary up or down.
Each word, he presented distinctly, as if it would stand alone. Did he think her father a lackwit? Or did he mock him as a Highlander who was unused to comprehending correct English? Either way, he had no cause to insult. Craigmuir might be isolated, but its laird was certainly educated, nonetheless. The MacInness had traveled widely in his youth and was well read. He had even insisted that she be taught to read and cipher.
Her father sighed sorrowfully as he replied. “Ye must wed soon, I suppose, since we’ve settled upon it.” Then, as though he had not yet answered, he forced a smile and raised his head as well as his voice. “Soon. Ye may marry this week.”
“This week?” Mairi exclaimed. She glared at her father, willing him to heed her. Did he not realize that she must get to know this man before the wedding? If, indeed, there was to be one, she thought diffidently. Fine, young and wealthy as the man appeared, Mairi was not certain she liked him at all.
With a succinct nod, MacBain then turned to her. “Do you agree?”
At last! He deigned to notice she was present for this conversation, could one even call it that. It was likely to turn to an argument if he did not change his ways on the instant. If there was anything she detested, it was to be ignored.
Mairi smiled sweetly at him. “Ye jest, surely, my good laird! Have ye ever known any maid of my age to cry off a marriage? However, I feel you might wish to think twice on it, ere ye get more than ye bargained for!”
“Mairi!” her father gasped. “Mind yer tongue!”
She rose and turned on him then, giving the pompous baron her back. “Well? I am four and twenty, Da. Not that anyone has bothered to notice my aging these past dozen years. Now ye invite this man to take me off yer hands? Paugh! He can scarcely stand to look at me! He will not even reply to a common pleasantry!”
Her father grasped his chest and rolled his eyes as though caught in the throes of apoplexy. Not that she believed that for a moment. ’Twas an oft used ruse to raise her guilt and gain an apology. Well, he’d not get one now, she decided. Not after trying to match her to this surly scoundrel.
“Do excuse me, Father,” she said as haughtily as she could. “I would retire and leave ye to your guest! I am certain he willna be missing me.” With chin high and without another glance for her erstwhile betrothed, she stalked off toward the stairs.
Handsome the man might be, but damned if she would shackle herself to one who had likely been bribed to wed her. From the look of him and the way he behaved, her father had not paid nearly enough to make the haughty wretch glad of the transaction.
She had done without a husband all these years and fared well enough. Why take one now who did not consider her worth a smile, a kind word or even a second glance? Rot him, then. She would stay a maid.
Rob appreciated the swing of those slender hips as the fair-haired lady took herself away. A pity he could not grasp one word in ten of what she said or he might guess the reason for her leaving.
He found any Highlander’s odd speech hard to ken, especially when one spoke as rapidly as did she and with hardly moving her lips. The old laird made an effort on behalf of Rob’s understanding, but the woman did not. Possibly, she did not yet realize she needed to.
Could that be? Had they not told her? Thomas said he had insisted that she know. Rob had made it a firm condition before his steward set out on the quest.
He shrugged off the worry. Thomas would never lie, not about that. The woman knew about him. She simply did not understand how to deal with it yet. That could be taught easily enough.
Mairi MacInness was a lovely woman by any man’s standard, not at all the timid girl he had feared he might find. Thomas had not told him her age, but Rob guessed she had passed twenty. That suited him.
Anger at her sire had added color to the smooth cream of her cheeks. The blue eyes had sparked when she had included him in her fit of pique. Whatever had caused her displeasure, he was glad that she showed some spirit. She would need it.
Again he faced the laird. “You did tell her?”
“What?” the old man asked warily, his gaze darting here and there, avoiding Rob’s.
Rob eyed him steadily, waiting, not bothering to define what the man already knew but was obviously reluctant to discuss.
“Aye, I told her, but I was brief.” He ducked his head, then looked up again. “And I left it late,” MacInness admitted.
“Late?” Rob repeated, sorely afraid he now understood the woman’s anger all too well. “How late?”
The laird looked shame-faced and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Today. Just now.”
Rob exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Damn.”
“She’ll grow accustomed,” MacInness said hopefully. “Mairi is a guid lass. Kind,” he added.
“When you told her,” Rob asked, hiding his apprehension, “she was angry?”
Rob did not want her to reject him, he realized. With others, he had not cared so much. Except for Jehannie. Her betrayal had nearly destroyed him. Since she had broken their long-standing betrothal, he had cared not one way or the other whether he ever wed anyone.
If he had not needed to produce an heir for Baincroft, he would never have agreed for Thomas to contract a match for him. He had felt no great rush to wed anyone. Not until he had seen this woman…
“Nay! Nay. ’Tis not that which angered her,” the laird assured him, shaking his head. “She but wants courting, I think. All women do.”
Rob nodded. Courting, of course. He should do that, yet he had little time or inclination for it. Nor did he think it necessary in this instance. The betrothal contract had been signed. The woman was his. All that remained was signing the marriage documents and repeating the vows. And the bedding, of course. Not likely he would forget that now that he had met her.
He chewed his bottom lip for a second, caught himself doing so and quickly smoothed his features. If he did not court her properly as her father suggested, she might be the one willing to forget that final detail of the ceremony that Rob so looked forward to accomplishing.
She could cry off the match and he would never touch that fair, smooth skin of hers the way he wanted, or inhale fully that subtle scent of roses she wore. Not to mention the other pleasures he now anticipated.
Fine, then. He would court, but he would not prolong it. Now, he only wished to wed and go home again.
Once they reached Baincroft, the lady would soon see that she had no reason to doubt his ability to care for her and the children they would make together. There, among his people, lay his best chance to impress a wife.
However, if she wanted constant courting and sweet words daily after their marriage, she might go lacking. Rob had tried being courtly with his first betrothed as soon as she’d grown old enough for it. That had come to no good end.
His beloved stepfather and brother had been right all those years ago to caution him against showing any gentler feelings he might have. They had said he must cultivate a stern and commanding demeanor in order to gain respect.
Though both had spoken of Rob’s dealings with other lords, knights and men of business, Rob wondered if the advice might not hold true for women he wished to respect him.
Should he play the smiling, teasing courtier with this one as he often did with the women he sought for pleasure? Or ought he to remain somewhat aloof, since she was a noble and about to be his wife? He wished Trouville or Henri were here to advise him in this.
He did not like to be away from Baincroft, especially in these strange surroundings where he knew only the four men who rode with him. Because of their low rank, he could not keep them close by in these delicate encounters with his future bride and the MacInness laird.
Had Thomas come with them to speak for him, matters might be proceeding more smoothly. Then this would not be so difficult because Thomas already knew these people. Unfortunately, that one lay abed back at Baincroft with a broken leg.
Rob damned his luck, losing the services of his friend and factor at such a critical time. The loss of his usual self-confidence plagued him. Jehannie’s doing, of course.
Only once, as a child needing the love of a father, had he given any particular care at all as to what a person thought of him or his abilities. Until Jehannie had refused to wed him.
Since that time, self-doubt had increased with every new acquaintance he made. He must somehow recapture his early certainty of his worthiness. His mother had worked too diligently to instill that for him to lose it forever. But he much doubted he would regain it here and now amongst these people.
Was it lack of courting alone that had put the Lady Mairi off? No matter how much he might wish that were the case, Rob found it hard to believe. Especially in view of what she had only just learned about him. That surely must play a part.
Well, it was her misfortune, then, if she could not deal with her lot in life. The bride price was paid. She must honor her father’s contract. Rob would have her.
The laird looked miserable, he noticed. Sad to be losing his daughter, Rob surmised. Losing her to such a man as the MacBain could not be easy for him.
Rob admitted he might feel the same way in like circumstance. Thomas said that he had explained everything in detail to MacInness. Since the laird had only told her just now, she would not have those details as yet.
Would she be consoled to know that Rob’s deafness would not pass down to their children? His mother assured him this was so, since he had been able to hear for a while after his birth. A fever had stolen the sounds.
Would it help her to know that he could hear some things? He scoffed at that as soon as he thought of it. Heavy drumbeats and shrill whistles did not count for much when nothing but muffled silence existed between the two extremes. No, she likely would not care about the fine points of it. To all intent and purpose, he was deaf as a stone and that was that.
The contract had cost him dearly because MacInness had not wanted to let Lady Mairi go to him as wife at first, so Thomas had said. However, the laird had needed to see to his daughter’s future now that he was growing old. Rob might not be able to hear the lass, but he could make her a very wealthy woman.
In return for the bride price, Rob would gain a crumbling estate near the border as her dower. A bog around rocks, that place. He had gone out of his way to see it on the way here. He might as well have accepted the woman dowerless for all the good that useless property would do him. But he knew such was not done, even among the lower classes, though Rob would have been well content with only her person after having seen her.
Rob needed a son to inherit sooner or later. Considering his deafness, it was not likely any other family of nobles who learned the truth about him would trust him with a daughter. He supposed he must concede something to MacInness for extending that trust.
“For two days, I court,” he promised MacInness, holding up two fingers for emphasis. “Then we wed and go.”
