Chapter Two #2
Had she been strong enough, she would have tossed the tables, too.
There were a few smaller ones that she might have managed to fling across the room without too much effort.
The sturdy settees and cushioned chairs were clearly too heavy for her to lift, or she would have hurled those, too.
She liked how they had been set in artful seating arrangements to make this impressive parlor, with its soaring ceiling and massive hearth large enough to cook an ox to feed an entire army, feel quite welcoming and cozy.
Good grief.
She winced, noting what a mess she had made.
Solway must have sensed her thoughts and now grinned. “Aye, Miranda, ye blew through here like a tempest and totally destroyed the place.”
She refused to apologize. “I was merely defending myself. If anyone is to blame, it is your cousin’s son, Mongo, and his companions.”
“I agree,” he said without a hint of sarcasm, and rose to right one of those overturned tables and place it by her side before pouring her a cup of tea. “Ye were merely doing whatever ye needed to survive a frightening situation. Ye handled yerself as proudly as any Highland warrior.”
He set her cup on the table and then motioned to the cold meats and cheeses. “Would ye like to serve yerself or shall I do the honors? Or would ye just prefer the sweets? Och, and would ye like some sugar or milk in yer tea?”
“A little sugar, if you please. And milk. Honey and lemon, if you have them.”
“Aye, we do. I’ll ring for Gordon again and ask him to—”
“No, you needn’t disturb him. The milk and sugar will do. I’ll have some of that apple pie, too.” She tried not to smile as Solway dutifully served her. But she could not keep the grin off her lips, because this big oaf of a man was being so attentive and polite to her.
He drew up another chair and settled in it beside her.
Despite his polite manner, she was not about to let down her guard. “Can someone not bring you a shirt?”
“Och, I should have thought to ask Gordon to fetch it after he’d delivered the tea. Is it that distressing to ye?” He sighed. “We are almost done here. I’ll have Tilda settle ye as soon as ye’ve eaten yer fill and warmed yer insides with the tea.”
“It does not particularly distress me,” she admitted, although they both knew it was highly improper.
But this was the least of her worries after all she had endured this night.
True, they sat shockingly close. But he looked quite fine. Why should she not enjoy the view? It was never going to happen again.
He poured a cup of tea for himself and then piled some cold meats and an oatcake onto his plate.
“Miranda, ye must let Tilda look at yer ribs once she settles ye,” he said with quiet authority after taking a sip of his tea.
“No jest, lass. I’ll never forgive myself if ye wound up with a punctured lung during the ride back to Edinburgh. It may be punctured already.”
She nodded, for she too was worried about this very thing. It was a sensible request.
She knew almost nothing about healing injuries, but if binding her chest would hold a cracked rib in place and keep her from further injury, then she was not going to remain stubborn and protest.
Her goal was to get out of Lanark Castle as fast as possible, be reunited with Gwenys, and return to the comfort of her London home on Duchess Square with all haste.
And why should she not wish to be home when she lived on one of the prettiest streets in Mayfair?
It was a garden of serenity amid the bustle of England’s largest city, and yet close to everywhere she needed to go when running her errands.
She watched Solway eat, hoping his table manners were execrable and he ate like a beast. That would certainly revolt her, and she could smugly assure herself she had made the right decision in rejecting him, assuming he was being completely honest with her and had no ulterior motive in proposing to her.
But he ate like a gentleman.
Then he grinned at her again, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. “We Scots are no’ quite the heathens ye believe us to be. In fact, we are far more intelligent than ye English. Although I think ye are quite a smart lady. Still, ye are the exception and no’ the rule.”
“That is ridiculous,” she grumbled, which was not very ladylike of her, since she was speaking with a mouthful of apple pie that she had yet to swallow.
“I speak the truth, Miranda. Scottish scientists, physicians, builders, mathematicians, explorers, writers…and I could go on, but suffice it to say we are the ones at the forefront of all the latest advancements in civilization. Ye will no’ find smarter men.”
“And your women?” she asked with an arch of her eyebrow, not certain why she felt the need to provoke him.
“Aye, they can hold their own. Need I mention that we treat our women better than ye English do yers? Ours have more rights here than even fine ladies such as yerself have in England. They can join our scientific societies,” he said, directly rebuking the Royal Society and its ban on women in their ranks.
“We honor and respect their intelligence, while ye Sassenachs seem to view yer women as the enemy…or as cattle a man might acquire and dispose of as he sees fit. Yer English laws are weighted to give that man every advantage.”
She nodded, although it galled her to agree with him. Every word he had said was true.
“It is true our English laws leave much to be desired, but I am still not going to marry you,” she retorted for no reason other than to be contrary.
He sighed and shook his head. “Ye need have no fear of my pressing my suit when it is obvious ye detest me.”
She let out a breath. “I do not detest you, Solway. Indeed, far from it. But you must see the impossibility of my ever accepting your proposal.”
“Ever? I do no’ see it, Miranda. However, I shall honor yer wishes.
As I said, my hope is to make a love match, and such a match canno’ be only one way.
Both parties must love and trust each other, want to be together and care for each other through good times and bad.
The bond will break unless both husband and wife put their whole hearts into keeping it secure and sacred.
I dinna see ye putting any of yer heart into our marriage, lass.
It is no’ my wish to take a wife who would step over me and continue on her merry way if I were bleeding on the street. ”
“Solway! You make me out to be a witch. I would never do any such dreadful thing.”
“But neither would ye love me with all yer heart and soul,” he said in a sober tone. “I’ll deliver ye to London, and then ye shall never have to deal with me or see me again.”
Why did this sound awful to her? She ought to have been pleased.
She wanted to say something more, wanted to assure him he was welcome to pay a call on her at her residence on Duchess Square.
After all, she and Gwenys had come to know several of his kinsmen over the course of the last year or two.
Those kinsmen, she readily conceded, had been respectful and polite when calling on her and Gwenys at their home.
This was probably how Mongo and his friends had learned of them and devised the idiotic plan of abducting Gwenys to be Solway’s wife. Gwenys was a lovely, sweet girl, and Solway’s relations must have spoken of her with much admiration when afterward visiting Lanark Castle.
Had Mongo and his dimwit friends considered it a sign to take action when they overheard someone mention their names at the Lampton Inn? How else would they come up with the lunatic idea to steal Gwenys away and deliver her to the duke?
Only, those fools had got her instead.
But no matter the how and why of it, and no matter that those kinsmen she had met in London appeared to be responsible gentlemen, the fact remained that she did not know this Duke of Solway at all and dared not trust him, even if he did sound sincere.
Perhaps after the situation with Mongo and his companions was addressed and those dolts were properly punished, then maybe the two of them could be friends.
No, never friends. He would never forgive her if she reported his kinsmen to the magistrate.
But was it not her right to do just that? After all, they had abducted her in the wee hours of the night.
Worse, they had meant to abduct poor Gwenys, and would have succeeded had she not been the one to toss on Gwenys’s cloak and step out of their bedchamber to investigate the curious noises outside their window.
Those drunken fools had not even bothered to look at her face before tossing a bag over her head and carrying her off into the April cold with all the care of a farmer hauling a sack of grain.
Indeed, a farmer would have used more care. She might have died from exposure to the elements or fallen off Mongo’s horse and been trampled, the fool was that careless in carting her to Lanark Castle.
No, she was eager to cut all ties to Solway and his kinsmen now and probably forever.
Miranda had just finished her second cup of tea when the housekeeper, Tilda, bustled in.
“Yer Grace, I’ve prepared a guest chamber for the lady and found her some proper clothes to wear.
Och, and she’ll need shoes,” she added, glancing at Miranda’s stockinged feet.
“Never ye worry, m’lady. We’ll get ye rested and righted. ”
“Thank you, Tilda,” Miranda replied, afraid to admit just how tired and achy she was.
But when she rose, she felt a sharp pain to her ribs and doubled over. “Oh,” she gasped, hardly able to let out a breath. Still, she refused to admit one of her ribs might be broken.
Solway immediately caught her up in his arms. “Dinna fight me, Miranda. I’ll carry ye upstairs to yer chamber. Ye’ll do more damage to yerself if ye attempt it on yer own. Tilda will take excellent care of ye.”