Amanda Scott (32 page)

Heat surged into her cheeks at the thought. Then she wondered if, even without such orders, any guard at Roslin would let a lone female leave the castle, particularly one he knew had never been there before. She decided she would be wiser not to test Hugo’s irritation further by asking him.

Instead, she said with careful dignity, “I am not such a fool as to go riding over strange countryside by myself.”

She could not be sure what the sound was that came from him then, but it sounded somewhere between laughter and a snort of derision. He glanced upward as if seeking guidance—or patience—before he said, “Nay, Skelpie, you walk there instead. The last time you did so, you walked straight into Waldron’s arms.”

Much as she would have liked to explain that had resulted from unique circumstances, ones that she had believed, and still believed, to be quite desperate, she did not want to stir the coals of that particular venture again either. Retaining her dignity with considerable effort, she said, “I meant only that I will engage not to ride away from Roslin without an escort, sir. But since it pleases you to throw that other incident in my face, I will likewise engage not to
walk
away from here alone.”

“That won’t serve,” he said. “I want your solemn promise that you will make no attempt whatsoever,
without first gaining my permission, to visit your sister at Edgelaw or anywhere else whilst you are here at Roslin. You are not going to leave this walkway until I have that promise.”

“What if my father comes here? He is likely to do so, you know.”

She was not at all certain Macleod would come, as he seemed to have washed his hands of both Adela and her. But she doubted that Hugo would think of that.

Nor did he, for he smiled sardonically and said, “If you can persuade your father to let you ride to Edgelaw or to take you there himself, I’ll be astonished. But if you think he would do either of those things without consulting me first, you are not thinking at all, my lass.”

She sighed, knowing he was right and knowing, too, as she had from the start, that she had no choice but to obey him. “I’ll give you my promise,” she said. “But I also promise that I’ll give you no rest until you make Adela safe again. You say you care for me, Hugo. If you do, you will
not
abandon her.”

With that, she thrust him aside, opened the door, and did not look back.

After she had gone, Hugo turned back to gaze down at the river and the deeply shadowed woods to the west, wondering if she would keep her word. He knew he had not handled the discussion well, that he had angered her. But after he had told her where Adela was, he had feared with all his being that she might slip away again to find her. And heaven only knew what might come of that.

He dared not take such a risk, but neither had he wanted to infuriate her, and he certainly would do that if he gave orders to his men to keep her inside the castle walls. As for whether he cared for her…

He smiled, wondering what demon had possessed him to fall in love with her. She bore not the least resemblance to the eventual wife of his imagination. That woman was perfectly familiar to him. She would be a calm, honest, competent female of pleasing looks and figure, who would manage his household and bear him numerous sons and a few well-behaved daughters without any fuss or distress.

In return, he would exert himself to be an excellent husband and father, and they would all enjoy an affection that placed no strain on the emotions and thus would likewise share a happy home, free of fractious strife. If he’d expected to wait a few more years before acquiring that paragon, it was only because, for a long while, more important matters had filled his time and demanded his attention.

Lady Adela had certainly seemed to be such a woman if one could dismiss the holy-water incident. That, admittedly, had cast a damper on his intentions in more ways than one. But he had realized at the time that Adela was under great tension and had been willing to forgive the incident if no others of its nature occurred.

Remembering that image of the perfect wife now caused him to shake his head at himself and send up a prayer of thanksgiving that Sorcha would never know about it. He realized, thinking about Sorcha, that his perfect family might have turned out to be a trifle boring. Certainly that perfect wife seemed boring the instant he
compared her to the temperamental skelpie he had fallen for instead.

Trying to imagine Sorcha giving him well-behaved daughters made him grin. It was far more likely that she would give him a dozen just like herself. That is, she would if he could first figure out what the devil to do about Adela.

“Beg pardon, Sir Hugo. It were so quiet here, I thought ye’d gone.”

Hugo straightened and smiled ruefully. “Sorry, Jeb, I should have called you. I got lost in my own thoughts, but I’m leaving now. Goodnight to you.”

As he shut the door behind him and went down the stairs, he grimaced at what lay ahead. Doubtless his father was either sitting with the countess in her new solar or they both still lingered with their claret at the high table. One thing was certain, though. Having said he wanted to talk more with his son, Sir Edward would not go to bed until he had.

Sorcha’s mood had not improved by the time she reached her bedchamber, and she nearly slammed the door behind her before realizing she was not alone. The room had been dark when she’d left it after fetching her cloak. Now, candles glowed, and the sleepy-looking chambermaid who had assisted Sidony stood up rather too quickly to bob an awkward curtsy.

“The housekeeper said Countess Isabella wanted me to wait up for ye, me lady,” she said with a wary look. “But if ye dinna want me…”

Sorcha’s ready sense of humor stirred. The whole place provided pitfalls at every turn, and Hugo was one of them. Trust him to inflame her temper to such a pitch that she could terrify innocent maidservants!

Sternly taking herself in hand, she said, “What is your name?”

“I be Kenna, me lady, Kenna Elliot.”

“Are you kin to the guardsman Jeb Elliot?”

“Aye, he’s me brother,” Kenna said, looking surprised. “Tam’s another.”

“Sir Hugo was kind enough to show me the view from the ramparts, and we met Jeb up there,” she said. “He mentioned Tam, too. I did not know you’d be waiting,” she added. “But I am glad you are. Would it be possible for me to order a bath? I have been traveling for nigh onto a sennight, you see, and although I washed the worst off before supper…”

She stopped, because Kenna was already nodding.

“Aye, sure, ye can ha’ what ye like,” she said. “I’ll just run and tell them to fetch a tub and hot water up here, and I’ll ask the countess’s Martha if ye can use some o’ her mistress’s scented soap. Will ye be wanting to wash your hair, too?”

Sorcha frowned. “I’d like that, but it takes hours to dry.”

Kenna’s smile crinkled up her hazel eyes until they almost disappeared. “As short as it be, it willna take so long, me lady,” she said. “But there be nae fire in this room. Ye’d ha’ to go down to the hall fire or to the kitchen one to dry it proper. Or I could ha’ them fill a tub right in the kitchen if ye like. There’ll be nae one save the baker’s wife there and mayhap a lad to tend the fire. She kneads
her dough for the manchets, and leaves it to rise after they bank the fire for the night. We’ve a screen and all, if ye dinna mind. Or we can wait till tomorrow,” she added cheerfully.

Since Sorcha and her sisters all bathed in the kitchen at Chalamine, she did not mind in the least doing so at Roslin and said so.

“Then I’ll see to it straightaway, me lady. I’ve set out a robe and one o’ Lady Isobel’s clean shifts for ye. Will ye come wi’ me now, or shall I return to fetch ye?”

“Now,” Sorcha decided, and the two went together down to the kitchen level.

The fireplace there lay in the east wall, doubtless directly below one of the two hall fires, and in less time than she had thought possible, Sorcha was stepping naked into her bath. The screen Kenna had produced was solid enough both to provide privacy and to prevent much of the fire’s heat from escaping. The baker’s plump wife had banished the lad tending the fire, and the rhythmic thumping of her dough on a table at the far side of the chamber provided a soothing background.

As Sorcha slid down in the hot water and let Kenna wash her hair, she began to relax, but her sleepy thoughts still resisted order. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on helping Adela, she could think only of Hugo’s kisses and what he had said to her. Angry as she had been when she left him, she had harbored a small hope that he would follow her, if only to say something to indicate that he really meant to do all he could to protect both Adela and Adela’s good name.

“He doesn’t want to, though,” she muttered. “So I hope his father flays him.”

“What’s that ye say, me lady?”

“Nothing, Kenna, nothing at all.”

Hugo had entered the upper hall to find Sir Edward sitting alone before the fire, wine goblet in hand, evidently in rapt contemplation of the leaping flames.

Although the trestles in the lower hall were gone, the privacy screen stood as it had earlier, because a number of the men had lingered and many would sleep there. Two of them, Hugo noted, were casting dice near the lower hall fire. Others had begun laying out pallets for the night.

Sir Edward turned his head at the hollow sound of Hugo’s footsteps on the dais. “I was beginning to think you had got lost,” he said.

“No, sir,” Hugo said. “I had something important to say to Lady Sorcha.”

“I warrant she’s been a handful,” Sir Edward said. “This problem with Waldron has developed into quite a tangle, has it not?”

“Aye,” Hugo agreed.

“And not entirely by fault of the lady Sorcha.”

“No, sir.”

Two more guardsmen strode into the lower hall on a burst of laughter. When one offered to share the jest with the others, they roundly cheered him.

Sir Edward stood up and set his goblet on the high table. “I trust you can provide a place with greater privacy to continue our talk.”

Hugo nodded and led the way to his own chamber.
Since it was above the hall and boasted a small hearth, a fire already burned there, and the manservant who looked after his things at Roslin sat on a low stool before it, brushing a dark-blue velvet doublet. The room was small but comfortable, with a high curtained bed, a pair of back-stools by a small table nearby, and a washstand in one corner.

The manservant got up, bowed to Sir Edward, then said to Hugo, “I’ll just take this gear away wi’ me, sir. Will ye be wanting anything more?”

Hugo glanced at his father, who shook his head. “Not tonight,” he said. “But wake me at dawn.”

When the man had gone, Hugo drew both back-stools nearer the fire and said, “Take a seat, sir. I don’t doubt you have much to say to me.”

Sir Edward arranged the back-stool to his liking and sat down. Stretching his long legs to the fire, he said, “I did have much I wanted to say before you went upstairs. But it occurred to me, as I sat staring at the fire, that you have been your own master for a long while now, lad. I believe I can trust you to manage your affairs without bringing dishonor to our name. And you’ll likely do a better job of it without my sticking an oar into such murky waters as these have become.”