Chapter 17
Roland fingered the delicate earthenware cup before hurling it into the stone fireplace, sending sparks and pottery shards alike out onto the stone hearth.
He flung himself into the chair to wait, his fury seething with no outlet in sight.
That Agneys still valued her mother’s worthless trinket after all these years angered him.
Angered him, but didn’t surprise him in the least.
His daughter was so like the needy cow who had birthed her. Useless. And now, when at last she had some small part to play to finally, finally, be of some value to him, even now she couldn’t properly do what he’d asked of her.
A scrape sounded at the door and he was on his feet instantly, ready and waiting when she entered.
Her back to the room, she closed the door quietly, gasping when she turned and saw him there.
“Father! You frightened me. What are you doing in my bedchamber?”
“Waiting.” He purposely kept his words short and clipped. There was nothing to be gained in lulling the dull harlot into any sense of security. “Have you done yer duty this eve? Did you lie with him or has he rejected you again? Is that why yer here now?”
Her eyes darted around the room. He knew the instant they lit on what was left of the little cup he’d destroyed. Her lips tightened and thinned with her displeasure, and when she met his glare, her face took on that pathetic sniveling look he so detested in her. As he had in her mother.
“Well? I’m waiting. It’s an easy task. You’ve but to lie on yer back and open yer legs.”
He took a step toward her and she flinched away, as if she anticipated the back of his hand. Perhaps she wasn’t as stupid as he thought. She was, at the very least, trainable.
“I’ve done what I needed to do this night, Father. My laird sleeps now. He’s asked that my things be moved to his lady’s chamber, adjoining his, on the morrow.”
What was that he heard in her tone? A haughtiness? He was across the floor, towering over her in an instant, his fingers crushing into her chin as he drew her face to him.
“Dinna you think for a moment that wedding the laird raises yer station, lass. Yer nothing more than you were last night. You never will be anything but the vessel to carry the laird’s heir.
My heir. And once we ken for a fact you carry that babe, we’ll rid ourselves of the old man and I’ll be in charge. ”
The dream of power, so close to reality now, energized him, thrilled him. He loosed his hold on Agneys, allowing her to stumble away from him, back to her bed, where she grasped the bedpost as if to hold herself upright.
“But . . . but what if the child is a girl?”
He turned on her, feeling the pulse in his head pound with his irritation. “It makes no matter. She will be the laird’s daughter and under my control.”
“And what of the laird’s proclamation this night? That if the babe is a girl all goes to Isabella?”
That had certainly come as an unpleasant surprise. The old fool seemed determined to thwart his plans to the very end, even going so far as to clean up his half-witted granddaughter and try to pass her off as acceptable to his people.
But it wouldn’t make a difference.
“Isabella can’t very well inherit anything from beyond the grave, Daughter.”
Another of her annoying tremulous little gasps. “You couldn’t possibly mean to harm . . . not with yer own hands, Father.”
What a disappointment she was.
“I won’t need to. I’ve already dispatched a rider to find the MacDowylt and then I’ll go to him. We’ll lead him to Isabella, and in the struggle her guardian will no doubt put up, the laird’s precious granddaughter will be a casualty.”
“Neither her guardian nor MacDowylt will allow that to happen.”
Stupid cow. No ability to think ahead at all.
“Perhaps not. But a few of my own men, well placed, can see to it. If all goes as planned, they can see to the MacDowylt being a casualty as well.”
He wasted his time sharing his plans with her. She hadn’t the wit to appreciate his brilliance.
At the door he paused. “I await confirmation of what I announced as fact tonight.”
“Yes, Father. As soon as I can be sure, I’ll bring word.”
It would have to do.
Agneys stared at the door for several minutes after her father exited her room before going over to drop the bolt into place.
Madman.
She hurried to the hearth, picking up the pieces that remained of the little cup she’d used earlier this evening and tossing them into the flames.
In one of his classic temper rages, her father had destroyed for her the very item she’d hurried here to dispose of herself.
“Never leave evidence behind,” her grandmother had told her, and she had always followed that advice.
Though it was unlikely any could ever detect the traces of the dwale that little cup had held before she’d emptied it into old MacGahan’s whisky, it was one risk she was unwilling to take.
She slipped out of her gown and shift, letting them pool at her feet before slipping the heavy woolen nightdress down over her head.
The herbal potion her father’s mother had taught her to make had done its job well. The old laird had fallen into a deep sleep before he’d been able to do more than fondle her breast with his bony, wrinkled hands. Exactly as he had the first time.
As if she’d allow that old man to stuff his flaccid tarse into her body.
Something would have to be done soon, though. Her ingredients for the dwale were running low and it wasn’t likely the traders who sometimes visited the castle would carry opium and hemlock among their regular wares.
Perhaps she could convince her new husband to allow her a visit to Inverness. Once there, it should be simple enough to slip away to that little shop as she had before. The young merchant had been more than willing to barter for the items she’d wanted and he’d filled all her needs.
All her needs.
Too bad the old laird didn’t look more like that merchant. It would have been exceedingly pleasant to have all those needs tended to this night.
Now the MacDowylt, he was another story altogether. There was a laird she’d welcome into her bed without hesitation. He had the look of a virile man, one who’d have no trouble planting his seed in her belly.
And not carrying a child would soon become an issue to be dealt with. The people expected it, and certainly the laird did.
Once again, her father’s thoughts for the future centered on making his life better, not hers. For too long he’d taken advantage of her for his own benefit. Underestimated her.
His thinking her the malleable fool would only make it easier for her to surprise him one day. For now she’d played the part he expected of her, following along with all his schemes, knowing a time would come when his plans would open a door of opportunity for her to walk through.
His rush to set his plans in motion, however, came as more than an untimely inconvenience. He’d pushed ahead so quickly, she hadn’t yet decided on a proper course of action.
She slipped into her small bed, pulling the covers up around her neck, her mind a whirl of possibilities.
There were so many challenges she’d need to consider, her not being with child and the lack of any prospects to become pregnant chief among them.
Isabella and her handsome guardian would be a problem, and perhaps it would be best to let her father deal with them as he’d planned, though she didn’t like the idea of his killing Isabella.
Not that she’d ever been fond of her strange cousin.
Still. The idea of murder didn’t sit well with her.
And definitely not the old laird. Not yet. And not MacDowylt.
Agneys could see too much potential for MacDowylt to allow her father to succeed in eliminating him right away.
No, she’d need to think on this situation. There were too many loose ends to satisfy her.
Still, she had time. A few weeks, at least, before she’d need to implement any plans of her own. Until then she would relax and enjoy her new life as the laird’s wife.