Chapter Nine #3
“They nae longer fit.” He added to that statement by lifting his hands, and strengthening a portion of his chest or abdomen, and a good portion of his arms as well, in order to make everything bulge through the fabric of his shirt.
That way, she had no choice but to notice the accuracy of his statement.
Lisle had to swallow around the spittle, and telling herself she was acting ridiculous had no effect on her own body. She only hoped that begging her own face not to redden was actually working.
“They could have been handed down,” she replied, finally.
“To whom?” he asked.
“Servants need cloaks.”
His eyebrows rose. “My servants all have cloaks.”
“Are they new?”
“Of course,” he replied.
He was still puffing himself out everywhere, if such a thing were possible, and making certain his frame was still holding her eye, but at least he dropped his arms.
“What do you intend to put…on your own children?” she asked.
“My children?”
“Most lairds possess children. I assume, at some point, you’ll act the same, and get some.” Her command wasn’t working. She knew she was pink.
“Oh. In that event, they’ll wear new cloaks, of course.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’ve no idea of the value of your own gold.”
“I beg to differ, my dear. Gold is for guaranteeing a certain lifestyle. My children, when, and if, they arrive, will have nothing but the best. That’s the goal of wealth. ’Tis my life pursuit, anymore.”
He’d called her my dear, and it didn’t mute her other reaction. Lisle’s upper lip lifted, despite her command to her body not to do anything to show how his words disgusted and upset her. “You should have offered them to the nearest child,” she managed to reply.
“You’re under an assumption that it would have been accepted, and gracefully, at that,” he replied.
Lisle’s color changed as her eyes widened. She knew she paled. “You could have done it anonymously,” she said in what sounded like complete stillness.
“True. There is a slight problem with that plan, too.”
Her chin rose. She waited until the cloak was upon her shoulders and then she was tying the ties at the neckline by herself, before some servant fellow jumped in to assist with the chore. “What would that be?” she asked, directing the words to her hands at her chin.
“They’re all crafted in my family colors. Very distinctive. Hard to disguise. Especially hard to look at, when one dines on principles and clothes oneself in stubbornness, and makes one’s children suffer the same. Surely, you ken the feeling?”
He breezed past her as he said it, giving an airy quality to words that felt as weighty as stones, and were having the same effect in the pit of her belly. She watched him nod to another servant, who was also almost the same height as he was.
Lisle caught up at the first bend in the hall. “Your wastefulness is still appalling,” she told his back.
“Appalling? Are you certain?” he asked.
His walk was with a side-to-side, rocking motion, she noticed absently, and he only tipped his head to speak to her as he led the way out. He expected she’d be following him, without even checking. Of course, she would be. Some of his hulking servants were behind her, guaranteeing that very thing.
“You make us look like fools, my lord.”
“Oh please…call me Langston.”
His reply was said to the top of the button placket at the neckline of her dress, since he was the first one down the steps and had turned to address it to her, but wasn’t quite at the same level. Lisle watched as his eyes widened, and then he moved his head up to reach her eyes.
“Perhaps this is na’ such a good idea,” he said, narrowing his lips into slits of pink-toned flesh.
“As I’ve already listed some of the pitfalls in this plan, doona’ look to me for help with that remark,” she answered.
“Come. We’ll pick out a mount for you.”
He had one leg on the step between them, making the material of his trousers work at clinging to a muscled thigh, and Lisle had to look away before he heard her gasp.
If he had to wear English fashion, he should craft his clothing of stronger, thicker material.
That way, a woman wouldn’t have to watch things get defined every time he moved.
He was tipped slightly forward, one shoulder just beneath her chin, and had crooked his arm at an angle, silently offering it to her for an escort.
Lisle looked upward for a moment before returning her gaze to the mass of man in front of her.
“I have nae trouble walking about on my own, my—Langston,” she said, as evenly as possible.
“I would na’ wish you to trip.”
“I’ve nae problem walking about…without tripping,” she replied.
“There’s an awful lot of men and horseflesh at my stables, Lisle. Take my arm,” he said with the same nonchalant air, and then he added, “We’re being watched,” with a quiet earnestness that didn’t match any tone he’d used thus far.
Lisle took a step down, reached out to put her hand on the inside of his offered elbow, and wished she’d had a ready answer, since he brought his arm close to his body as soon as he felt her.
His movement tucked her hand effortlessly into the bend of his arm, imprisoning her in place at his side.
They set off, walking on a stone-set path, across the length of his courtyard, and then they were disappearing beneath the shadow of one of the gates that had a spike-tipped portcullis raised out of the way.
He took her to the original castle stables, and it hadn’t been built to house the amount of horseflesh that it appeared to contain. Lisle looked about her, as it appeared every stall had at least two horses in it, and there were more being curried in the yard out front.
“How many horses do you have, my lord?” she asked.
“At these stables, or the ones I had built because these weren’t sufficient.”
“You have other stables?”
“Several, actually. Most are near the town of Glousburg. It’s still full of Monteith clan. Very loyal. ’Tis the only place I trust with my Arabian stock. I have more stables there.”
“Why?”
He turned, looking down at her, and blocking out just about everything else. “Why do I have more stables, why is it near the town of Glousburg, why is Glousburg still loyal to Monteith, or why do I have Arabian stock?”
Lisle shook her head; opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her voice was missing. It was ridiculous. She cleared her throat. “What is…Arabian stock?” she asked.
He smiled. Her belly reacted. She barely kept her eyes from showing how horrid that sensation was.
“Arabians are horseflesh from Persia. Beautiful animals. Lots of stamina. Fast. I’ve an idea to raise and sell them all over this country.
The English pay good gold for prime horseflesh, and they have an excellent eye to value.
Arabian horses are unique. Much faster than our Clydesdales.
The one I rode the other day when we first met?
He’s my favorite. His name is Saladin. I named him after one of the Arabic generals, since he won the Sassenach in one of the Crusades of centuries past.”
“Someone won the Sassenach?” she asked, shaking her head to clear it.
“It must have been a bad day for them. It does happen. Na’ oft’, but it does happen. Have you a choice, or do you wish me to decide for you?”
“I wouldn’t have the first idea what to select,” she replied.
“Truly?”
His voice told her he was laughing at her.
He already knew she was no expert! No Highlanders owned a horse, unless they catered to the English and were wealthy enough to have coin enough to house and feed a horse.
Her back went straighter, and she said the first thing she could think of: “I’ve rarely been atop a horse.
Women ride in wagons and coaches. We doona’ ride atop horses. ”
“Well, as the lady of Clan Monteith, you’re going to have to put a change to that.
I’ll tell you what. We’ll take two horses.
You!” He waved his other arm, moving his body with the motion, and since he had her gripped into his elbow still, she moved with it.
“Bring out Blizzom and Torment. Get them saddled.”
Her eyes went wider. They didn’t sound like comforting names for horses, and when the pure white and almost purple-black stallions were trotted out, she knew they weren’t comforting horses.
“My lord, I—”
“Doona’ worry, Lisle. I only select these for their stamina. I’ll na’ allow you to ride Torment…by yourself, anyway. Blizzom is another story. He was named for his color. He’s actually quite gentle.”
He may be gentle, but he was also nearly the size of Langston, muscled everywhere, besides, and he was pawing at the ground as she watched.
“And I’ll have your rein. Here! Fergus! Hold Her Ladyship’s reins.”
The name Fergus belonged to a man with a large beard of an orange-red color that was attached to another large, strapping, well-muscled physique. Since he had a tam covering his head, she couldn’t tell what hair color he had. She didn’t have any time to try, either, as her feet left the ground.
“Allow me to do the honors.”
Lisle’s senses assimilated how it felt to be held off the ground by Langston, and then she was above him, sliding into place in the saddle, and wondering how she’d had the presence of mind to open her legs enough to do that much.
He didn’t look like he’d enjoyed the contact, if the set of his jaw was any indication.
Lisle decided it was safest to look over and beyond him, and turned her mind not to wondering why he had so many groomsmen, but to why they’d all look so fit, robust, healthy, and muscled.
Then she answered herself with what everyone kept telling her.
They must be the best his gold could hire.
She already knew he’d pay for more men than he needed, and their wages would be triple what they could get anywhere else.
It also included meals, and she knew he fed them well. She knew that from Mary MacGreggor.