Chapter Nine #2
Lisle was afraid she was going to giggle, giving away her vantage point, and she wasn’t going to do that for anything. She’d been locked in? She’d suspected it was a prison, but to find it was true was worse.
“I would na’ know, my lord. It’s been a powerful long time since I was wed, and well…my spouse was na’ Your Lordship, you ken?”
Now, that statement was going to give her the giggles, if nothing else did. Lisle had to put a hand to her mouth to stop them.
“I want her found, and I want her found now. Start the search in the house, with this floor. Keep it quiet. Nae alarm. Alert the staff and report to me. I’ll be in my study.”
He was angry, if the way he shut the door was any indication.
The sound of it traveled upward, in a thundering sort of way.
Lisle wondered why he was so angered. He wouldn’t think his bride had run away from him, would he?
And if he did, that was priceless. She already had the gold, the MacHughs already had their dowries, and he had what?
A wife that had deserted him, and he hadn’t even gotten a consummation out of the deal.
As the man betraying everything, it was priceless if he thought a portion of that.
She might just keep her mouth quiet, and let him.
Her legs were beginning to ache from how she had them scrunched, or maybe it was the exertion she’d just put them through, of actually climbing her own headboard.
Lisle looked back down at her bed, and gulped.
She wondered if she dared walk out onto the center of the beam, put her arms out, and then just leap outward, and hope she’d bounce on the mattress.
She didn’t know that much about it, but that sounded like a logical way to go about it.
She could also go back the way she’d come up.
The canopy material was still firmly attached to the wall above the bed, and she could just hang onto that and slide down onto the bed.
She might even be able to do it without ripping the material… too much.
There was no use for any of these beams, save as holding the walls together, and maybe for stringing excess furniture from, as he’d done in the lower rooms. They certainly weren’t for supporting an army of archers, or marksmen, as they protected the castle from an invasion.
Lisle didn’t know where she got her ideas from, but she was going to curb them in the future.
Just look where this one had gotten her. Sitting high in the rafters, covered in grime and dust, and wondering how the devil she was supposed to get back down without breaking her neck.
She ran her eyes along the beam she’d used, looking for where it connected with the perpendicular ones that made up the lattice frame.
Then, she followed where her beam connected to the one closest to her dressing room, following it to the one running back to the main wall.
That’s when she saw the way the beam narrowed before meeting the fireplace wall.
Beyond that, it disappeared into the wall from which it had come, where it probably became one of the beams laced above the Great Hall.
Lisle narrowed her eyes as a shadow caught what could be a groove.
She leaned forward a bit to look better and saw that it actually was a groove, indented into the wall with such a perfect precision, it was impossible to spot unless the sun had lightened it for her.
She followed the six, shelf-looking things that were molded into the walls, until they met the side of her fireplace.
Then, it was easy to spot the way the rocks were put together, by such a master crafter of mortar, it looked like the shaping of the rocks.
It was a series of uneven steps. It had to be.
“I had you fetched because ’tis such a fine day. I’m going to teach you to ride.”
Monteith announced it to her when she was finally dressed in her only daygown and escorted under a heavy guard of six serving men, two on each side and two behind, to the laird’s study.
There were two guards on either side of his door—again, she noticed absently—and they both appeared to be large, strong, well-muscled types.
She decided they were just the kind a Sassenach-leaning laird would want for his personal guards.
She eyed them for the few moments it took for one of her escort fellows to reach out and open the door for her, before preceding her into the room.
Lisle hadn’t looked to see if her escort stayed in the room behind her, or was planning on leaving.
She couldn’t. Langston was too visual and had snagged her attention with his words the moment she saw him.
“I already know how to ride,” she told him finally.
Langston smiled mirthlessly and waited for the door to shut before answering. “I beg to differ. You already know how to hitch your skirts up, jump onto the backside of a horse, cling to a man, and chase down where you think your uncle just shot himself. That, my dear, is not riding.”
Lisle frowned at his use of my dear again. “It’s na’ a good day for it, I’m afraid,” she countered. “I’ve nae riding attire sewn yet. I’ll have to beg off.”
“The dress you’re wearing will do nicely.”
“There’s nae split for straddling a horse.”
Again a mirthless smile touched on his face.
Lisle sucked in on both cheeks to hide what promised to be a bubble of mirth that would have her laughing if she didn’t keep it tempered.
Monteith was in a quandary and it was one of his own making.
He couldn’t let his wife out of his sight, now that she’d disappeared for a horrendous span of twenty minutes, and he couldn’t tell her that he couldn’t let her out of his sight.
He’d never admit to any of it. If he did, he’d have to let on that he knew she’d disappeared, and he’d have to confess how he knew it—and that he was locking her in, making her a virtual prisoner in her own room every night.
If he did any, or all of that, he’d have to explain why…
and that had to be a very interesting explanation.
Lisle watched the emotions crossing his handsome face and wished it was a full-out rainy day, rather than holding some promise of sun, and sending rays of it into his study and across the planes of him, highlighting every part of him for her to watch.
It was also glinting off several well-placed grooves cut right into the wood of his study wall. Lisle had to counsel her eyes not to follow them upward, where she knew they’d connect with a shortened beam, making it easy to reach any of the alcove windows, if one were so inclined.
“As I’ve already seen your legs, it shouldn’t present an issue for us. Get Her Ladyship a cloak. We’re going riding.”
She sucked in the gasp and held it. He’d seen a glimpse of her legs, and the only reason was she’d been distraught over Angus.
He had no right to infer what he was inferring.
Worse was the way her cheeks reddened, and she knew that they were.
She let out the air and watched him glance to her bodice before he could help it.
That was hardly her fault. The dress had been sewn a bit tightly, as was the fashion.
The fact that the buttons up the front looked like they were having trouble staying fastened was probably her fault, however.
Since she’d been numbed all yesterday, she hadn’t been conducive to puffing her chest out to make certain her feminine charms were fully measured and the space accounted for.
All of which was a moot point, besides the fact that he was taking her outside his castle, and into the scattered bits of sunshine.
She didn’t know why she was against it, except that it was because she had to do it with him at her side.
The servant fellow was also a hardy size, she noted when she turned her back on her husband and watched him instead.
He was going to fetch a cloak, since he’d been requested to do that very thing, but he hadn’t much to do other than open the door and accept the one that was being handed to him, as if they were already well aware of what was required.
Lisle stored that bit of information away for looking at later when she was locked back into her suite again, and everyone pretended that she wasn’t.
The cloak wasn’t hers, or if it was, it was newly acquired, for they hadn’t progressed to outerwear of any kind yet.
Five of her seamstresses were engrossed in creating all the undergarments that a lady, who was particular enough to need the services of twelve seamstresses, needed.
Five others were busily assembling daygowns of varying degrees of elegance and expense, while the remaining two seemed dedicated to putting together evening attire that was sure to make a man stand and gaze in adoration.
At least, that was how the seamstress named Maggie had described it.
Since she was also the woman who had spoken of Captain Barton’s handsomeness and his possible acquisition as a husband, Lisle didn’t quite trust Maggie’s taste, though.
None of the seamstresses had yet to turn their attention to cloaks and such, since the weather was turning warmer and they had other necessities to design and produce first. All of which went through Lisle’s mind as she stood there, looking at the green and gold cloak that was being held out so someone could wrap it about her shoulders.
“From my wardrobe,” Langston offered, when all she seemed capable of doing was looking at how large, well muscled, and fit the servant-fellow looked to be.
“It does na’ look capable of being your cloak,” she answered, turning around again.
“I was a lad once. I wore cloaks. We still have some of them. Only the fancy ones, of course. The rest became castoffs necessitating removal to the nearest compost pile.”
“That’s highly wasteful, my lord.”
“How so?”
“Such items should be used.”