Amanda Scott (12 page)

Her eyes had scarcely adjusted to the brighter light when a familiar, high-pitched masculine voice said tartly, “One would
think that before disappearing for hours without a trace, a well-bred young woman would take a moment to consider the upset
such behavior was bound to cause those who care for her.”

Malcolm Vole stood with his arms crossed over his thin chest, glowering at her. Clearly, he had been on the lookout for her
return and had exerted himself to be the first to greet her.

Anne returned his look as she calmly stripped off her gloves and said, “Is my aunt sitting in her bower, Malcolm?”

“Aye, and where else would she be, with supper over this half hour and more, and with Ashkirk kindly bearing her company.
You should be—”

“Thank you, that will be all,” she said as if she had not realized he meant to say more. “I shall go to her at once.” She
gave him a straight look, and although he met it, he made no further comment as he stepped aside to let her pass.

Conscious of his quick, mincing footsteps behind her, she paused when she reached Olivia’s bower and waited for him to open
the door. Instead of holding it open for her, however, he slipped through ahead of her.

He did not so far forget himself that he let it close in her face, as she half expected, but said pompously as he held it
for her, “Here is your errant niece, my lady, returned to us at last.”

Anne indulged in a brief fantasy of drawing a pistol from her cloak and shooting him. From that vision, it was a natural leap
to wonder if Sir Christopher would actually teach her to shoot. Perhaps after he and Fiona were married…

Swiftly recalling her wandering wits, she said, “Good evening, Aunt Olivia. I apologize for missing supper.”

“Mercy, Anne, where have you been?” Olivia demanded querulously. “I have been so dreadfully worried that dear Ashkirk felt
obliged to remain and take supper with us, which means that he must now spend the night.”

“That was thoughtful of him, madam, but you need not have concerned yourself. As you see, I have returned safely.”

Eustace, lounging in an armchair with his legs sprawled before him and a pot of ale on a small round table conveniently nearby,
stared balefully at her, but when she gazed back, affecting mild surprise, he remembered his manners.

“Here, Malcolm,” he muttered as he got to his feet, “bring more ale, for I’m parched. That fish tonight was too salty. As
for you, lass,” he added as Malcolm left, “you should know better than to distress your aunt so. You won’t mind my putting
a word in, my dear Lady Carmichael. You may be sure that such behavior will cease forthwith after Fiona and I are married.”

“Do you intent to reside here at Mute Hill, sir?” Anne asked innocently.

“No, no, of course I don’t, but her ladyship knows she can call upon my services whenever she likes. She has allowed you—and
doubtless Fiona, as well—entirely too much freedom.”

“Where is Fiona?” Anne asked, turning to her aunt.

“She went to bed right after supper,” Olivia said wearily. “She said she had a headache, but it was thoughtless of her to
leave me to entertain Ashkirk by myself. Not that you present any difficulty, dear sir,” she added gracefully. “I am sure
no one could ask for a more pleasant companion.”

“I am sorry if no one told you I had ridden to the Towers, madam,” Anne said. “Malcolm, Fiona, and my own Peg Elliot knew
that I had.”

“Yes, yes, Fiona did say something,” Olivia said, “but I could not imagine you would do such a thing with Ashkirk still in
the house, so I paid her no heed.”

“You would scarcely have expected me to entertain him by myself.”

“When one is a dependent in a kinsman’s household,” Eustace said as he sat down again, “one does not form an intent or act
upon it without permission.”

Anne glanced at him, more strongly tempted than ever to tell him his nephew was alive and meant to reclaim what was rightfully
his. Only the certainty that Sir Christopher would not thank her for forcing his hand prevented her from speaking.

Had anyone asked how she could be so sure of his thoughts on the subject, she could not have told them, but she was certain
he would be annoyed if she revealed his intent before he was ready to do so himself. Indeed, the gleeful pleasure that she
knew she would feel if she revealed all to Eustace right now was pleasure that Kit Chisholm had every right to enjoy for himself.

A lackey entered with a pitcher of ale, and silence reigned while he refilled Eustace’s mug, but when he had gone away again,
Anne said, “Is there anything you would like me to do for you before I retire, Aunt Olivia?”

“No, no, my dear, but you mustn’t run away just yet. We don’t want the servants carrying tales about my sitting alone with
Ashkirk,” she added archly.

“In truth, I was surprised to find only the two of you in here,” Anne said.

“I should have been more careful, I expect,” Olivia said, “but Moira has just gone to fetch a new canvas to stretch on my
frame. Perhaps you will be so obliging as to help her sort my threads, although I warrant you must be starving.”

“If you will accept my advice, my lady,” Eustace put in with another, more challenging look at Anne, “you will send the lass
to bed without her supper.”

Anne thought again of his nephew, and a smile touched her lips, but noting a flash of anger in Eustace’s eyes, she quickly
lowered her gaze.

As she removed her cloak, tucked her gloves inside, and folded it over a stool, she said quietly to Olivia, “I did not intend
to be so late, but my horse stepped in a rabbit hole and came up lame. I was forced to walk a good part of the way.”

Eustace launched into another lecture, but as Anne adjusted the candles near Olivia, replacing one and trimming two wicks,
she paid him little heed other than occasionally to glance his way so he would not realize she was ignoring him. One such
glance produced a sudden, startling awareness that his gaze was far too intense for a gentleman merely scolding one whom he
regarded, however inaccurately, as in his charge. Although he clearly sought to dominate her, his expression was strangely
possessive, even flirtatious, and it made her uncomfortable.

Moira entered then with linen for Olivia’s tambour frame, and Anne had no more time for private thought. In the hour that
followed, she learned that Eustace had decided to remain at Mute Hill House until the wedding, having sent his servant to
Hawks Rig to collect what he required for the ceremony.

It was Olivia, of course, who had persuaded him to stay. “For it will give me such assurance to have a strong-minded gentleman
to support me,” she explained, gazing limpidly at him in a way that made Anne want to shake her.

He said, “’Tis my pleasure, madam, but surely your uncle is an excellent man and one upon whom you must place great reliance.”

Olivia sighed. “Would that it were so, sir, but you must see that Uncle Toby has been a sad disappointment. He spends much
of his time in alehouses with men of low repute, several of whom he has actually invited to Mute Hill House.”

“God’s wounds, to what purpose?”

To Anne’s astonishment, Olivia lowered her eyes and blushed. “Why, sir,” she said coyly, “I fear he quite fails to comprehend
the depth of my bereavement and hopes to provide me with an eligible suitor.”

“Poor lady,” Eustace said, patting her hand. “You must suffer grievously.”

Anne suspected him of mockery, but Olivia smiled warmly and said, “You are so kind, sir. My dearest Fiona—
our
dearest Fiona, as I should say—is much luckier than she knows.”

“’Tis I who am the fortunate one,” he said.

Anne stood up more abruptly than she had intended but said with carefully controlled calm, “Pray excuse me, madam. There will
be much to do tomorrow, so I should sleep whilst I can. Good night, Sir Eustace.”

Scarcely awaiting permission and ignoring his look of irritation at being addressed as Sir Eustace instead of Ashkirk, she
left them and hurried upstairs, where she found Peg Elliot in possession of her bedchamber.

“At last!” Peg exclaimed. “Like a cat on hot bricks Mistress Fiona is and will not rest until she speaks with ye. Pray, go
tae her at once.”

“I thought her asleep this past hour and more,” Anne said.

“Not her. Fretting, she is, over what’s tae become o’ her. If she were a pony, mistress, I’d say she were ripe for bolting.”

“I am sure she never had such a wicked notion in all her life,” Anne said. “She is the least likely person I know to go against
her mother’s wishes, let alone dare to snap her fingers at a man as domineering as Eustace Chisholm.”

“Aye, but she’s so frightened o’ him there be nae saying what she’ll do.”

Anne sighed. “I know she is frightened, and they are cruel to force her into this marriage, but we may yet find a way out,
Peg, if only the Lord proves willing.”

“I canna think how,” Peg said.

“Nor may I tell you,” Anne said. “The possibility involves others for whom I must not speak, but if all goes as I hope …
Well, just pray that it does, that’s all.”

“Aye,” Peg said, eyeing her skeptically. “Likely, ye’re up tae some mischief, and we’ll all of us land in the suds.”

“When have I ever landed anyone in the suds but myself?”

Peg grinned. “Aye, butter wouldna melt in your mouth, would it? But I could tell a tale or two, were I of a mind tae do so.”

“But you won’t,” Anne said confidently. “I shall go to Mistress Fiona, so if you have laid out my things, you may go to bed.”

“Oh, aye, I’ll go,” Peg said with another chuckle, “but if Mistress Fiona disappears afore she walks tae her doom at that
wee chapel, I willna ha’ far tae look for the one who stirred the notion in her head.”

Anne considered Peg’s words as she hurried to her cousin’s bedchamber but dismissed them before she reached it. Even if by
some miracle she could persuade the timid Fiona to defy both Olivia and Eustace, she had not the slightest idea how she could
remove her cousin beyond their reach. Surely, they would find her and force the marriage anyway, and then Anne would face
punishment herself for encouraging such rebellion.

The thought of her own fate was the least of her concerns, but she had taken Eustace’s measure and that of her aunt Olivia
was a woman who believed in the superiority of men over women to such an extent that she submitted to the wishes not only
of her uncle and Eustace but also of her absurd house steward. And while she held Toby in mild contempt, Anne had long realized
that the contempt arose from his singular lack of interest in exerting authority. Toby took no responsibility, generally behaving
in the manner of a favored guest.

Because Olivia would submit to nearly any decree Eustace issued, Anne knew that both she and Fiona would have to tread carefully.
He had so far behaved in a civil if lecherous manner, but Anne sensed that beneath his civility lay a more primitive, even
violent nature.

These thoughts passed through her mind in the few minutes it took her to reach Fiona’s room, but their remnants evaporated
when she entered to find her cousin pacing back and forth before her fireplace, wringing her hands.

“Oh, Anne, you’ve come! I’ve wanted you for hours!”

“Hush, love, I’m here now. But what are you thinking to be striding about in that thin bedgown without so much as a shawl
to fend off the chill?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and I cannot sit still. Oh, Anne, I cannot marry him! All through supper he gazed at me like a wolf contemplating
a lamb feast!”

“Then tell your mother you won’t marry him,” Anne said as she opened a chest and found a soft, pink wool shawl.

“I couldn’t! I should be in such disgrace, and it would be utterly dreadful. Just the thought of it curdles my stomach.”

Anne shook her head but smiled as she draped the shawl around Fiona’s slim shoulders. “I expect I could tell her for you if
you like,” she said.

Fiona shook her head, making her long hair ripple and gleam in the candle- and firelight. “She would be so angry. I couldn’t
bear it. You
know
I couldn’t!”

Anne hesitated, then said gently, “Something may yet happen to prevent it.”

Fiona brightened. “You could take my place! Oh, Anne, it is the very thing, because every woman needs to marry, and you are
not afraid of him. I know you are not. And he is a very good catch, my mother says—so rich and powerful. He counts Cardinal
Beaton and even the King amongst his friends, you know, and others nearly as powerful. Some of the gifts they have sent are
utterly splendid, but I shouldn’t mind a bit if you have them,” she added. “They say,” she added, lowering her voice, “that
Ashkirk has powerful friends even in England.”

Anne chuckled again. “My dear Fiona, surely you realize that every powerful man in the Borders has friends on both sides of
the line. Why, one of my father’s best friends was the late Lord Dacre of Naworth, warden of the English westem march. He—my
father, that is—said the only way to hold one’s own was to know all that the other side held dear and to treat every opponent
with respect.”

“See, that is just what I mean,” Fiona said, “you will understand him much better than I ever could. Oh, do say you will,
Anne. No one need ever suspect.”

“Silly, they would know at once. We are much the same size, but our hair—”

“I am to be veiled, Mama says, because of your papa’s so-recent death.”

“The veil must come off at the end of the ceremony, however,” Anne reminded her. “Such talk is nonsense in any event, for
I’ve no desire to wed Eustace Chisholm. Indeed, I am sure I would murder him at the first opportunity.”

“Anne, you wouldn’t!”

“I am very sure I would,” Anne said.

“You should not call him Eustace, you know. Mama said we must always call him Ashkirk.”

“I just always think of him as Eustace Chisholm,” Anne said. “You will be Lady Chisholm, after all, not Lady Ashkirk, because
your title derives from his knighthood, not from the property. But never mind that now. Just get into bed, love, and enjoy
what sleep you can, for tomorrow will be a long day. And do not despair. I have a premonition that everything will turn out
well.”