Chapter 7
Amber had found Talia just as she reached her room. The moment Talia’s fingers wrapped around the bronze doorknob, Amber turned the corner, almost as if she had been lying in wait.
Talia inwardly chided herself for thinking her overeager.
“I didnae mean to bother ye.”
When Amber smiled at her, she realized she had been overwhelmed by her ordeal that morning. The pressure sluiced to her feet and slipped between the cracks in the floor to its next victim.
“Ye didnae.” Talia looked up at the woman, who had not seemed so tall when she had leaned down for an embrace.
“Lady McGhee has retired to her chambers, and me husband… well, he is with Laird McGhee.”
“Ah, so I am a last resort for yer entertainment?”
“That would be Jenson…” Both women laughed as if sharing a joke. “Let’s take a walk, shall we? Ye shouldnae spend yer first day hidin’ in yer rooms when there’s so much to explore.”
Talia readily welcomed Amber’s companionship. It would be hard to plot her escape if the only path she knew was from her bedroom to the dining room. And not only for that reason. If she were to stay longer, a friend might just come in handy. Amber seemed like the perfect choice.
Amber linked arms with her and led her along. It had been a long time since Talia had felt this way, like a young girl enjoying an afternoon of meandering with a promise of gossip.
Gossip! She decided that was what she needed.
She was in an unfamiliar place, having been kidnapped by an unfamiliar man who did not share his peculiarity with the rest of his family. Intelligence demanded that she understand her hosts before attempting the Machiavellian task of escaping lands men deemed too far to venture to.
They padded over flagstones that were bleached two shades, betraying the long presence of runners. Who could commit such an atrocity as the removal of the only thing that could have livened up the dull and wanting hallway?
Their footsteps seemed to echo louder, highlighting the dire state of the hallway.
She was of the mind to inquire about the runners’ absence, but had enough self-preservation to hold her tongue. It would be discourteous to complain about furnishings to a woman who was not only a new acquaintance but also not the lady of the castle.
“Mrs. Thomson—”
“Please, call me Amber.”
“Amber.” She smiled. “What is the Laird usually like?”
Amber looked ahead, and silence fell as she considered the question. “He has always been serious.”
Talia sighed. That much she had suspected.
“But he is also quite polite and reasonable. Me husband kens him better.” Amber’s smile widened.
“How did ye meet yer husband? Ye seem very taken with him.”
“Of course, he is me husband after all.”
But that was not always the case. Talia had seen men and women give their spouses looks sharp enough to tear through the hides of the toughest beasts.
They came to her clinic, some better than others, some with no one but their spouses on their arms, some with a horde of villagers when the victim had been in an accident, their spouses in tow.
What they shared, the contempt with which they spoke…
She had watched a woman berate her husband for breaking his leg and insist that he work to pay the next month’s rent.
She had seen a man berate his wife, who had come in with a headache, about how inferior she was to her peers.
On occasions, their arguments would escalate to physical violence, and she would be forced to send one party away or treat a new patient in a separate room.
“We’ve only been married for a short time. It will be three years in a month.”
“How did ye meet him?”
“Ah, I’d rather nae say.”
“So, it’s one of those?” Talia teased.
“Me lips are sealed.”
“I will have to acquaint meself with one of the laundry maids then.” Talia untangled herself from her hold and walked ahead, arms behind her, miming a whistle.
“Damn ye, Jenson, and yer big mouth!”
Talia could not wait to feel the sun on her skin. Her bedroom window offered only a view of the moat and tree after tree. She greedily drank in every lancet window she passed.
She could not see beyond the walls, but the vast expanse of verdant land was breathtaking.
It was so green and so well pruned. A little stream flowed towards the moat, with an imposing alder tree very much in bloom at the top of a hill in the distance.
A little gazebo overlooked the vista. She could not wait to recline on its benches.
She could not wait to be out and about on such a fine day.
Darragh had wasted so much of her time that the sun burned hotter than she would have liked it but no matter, she wouldn’t be deterred.
Soon lunch would be served, and she would have spent the better part of the morning attending to suitors.
Outside, she was greeted by the smell of rich soil and dew. She closed her eyes as calm washed over her, the soft afternoon sun kissing her cheeks.
“I would have loved to show ye the garden, but it is in a quite pitiful state.”
What need was there for a garden when there was such a magnificent view?
They followed the flagstone path that soon disappeared into the earth, then her velvet slippers met the grass. They came out from behind a tower that stretched further than the rest of the castle, and her much-desired gazebo came into view.
But first, she made for the water.
A hand reached out, halting her. She looked behind her to find Amber staring up at the sky.
“I will ask for lunch to be sent out to the gazebo,” Amber said, turning to look at her. Then she hurried away.
She returned moments later and stood beside her until a maid approached and announced that lunch was served.
Talia withdrew her fingers from the cold water and rose. She put off contemplating whether she could acquire a boat to take her across the stream.
“The Laird told me that ye have nay intention of gettin’ married.” Amber stuffed the last of her beef in her mouth.
Talia studied her. She did not sense an ounce of malice, but her lackadaisical mien might as well have been practiced. “I see he has sicced ye on me. Is that the agenda for the day?”
“I am merely making conversation.” Amber shrugged so casually that Talia almost believed her.
She did not respond. Instead, she studied the clematis plants snaking around the trellis, tracing the delicate vines.
From the moment she sat, she had wondered who had been responsible for such magnificent botany.
Purple and pink vines sprouted from white-painted troughs, intertwining in a thick mesh, lending shelter from the sun.
She fought the urge to nibble on her fingers. The plants were poisonous, she knew that, but lunch was light, and she had a large appetite.
The meals in the townhouse were quite a boisterous affair. Jonathan had often intimated how healers forewent their health for their patients, and thus ordered the cook to prepare large servings.
She wondered if she could request dessert. Closing her eyes, she smacked her lips together, savoring the spices on her tongue. Maybe she would have fruit. A perspiring bowl of grapes sat at the center of the table.
When she opened her eyes, angling away from Amber’s probing stare, she saw Darragh making his way across the clearing. Those broad shoulders were unmistakably his.
Her face twisted into a scowl of displeasure.
“Amber, yer husband is looking for ye.”
Darragh did not regard her. Instead, he watched Amber’s every move, from her nod to the tilt of her head when she bid Talia good afternoon, then her retreating figure until it disappeared.
Wordlessly, he climbed three steps in one stride and reached for the bowl of grapes. But Talia wanted grapes. She liked grapes. She lurched forward instinctively and swiped the bowl away.
Darragh did not protest. If he was surprised, he did not show it. He pulled back his hand, walked around the table, and stared off into the distance.
It irked her how he paid her no heed. It was as if he had left hours ago and returned a reformed person. He was no longer the scowling man with dry remarks, but an even-tempered man who tucked his hands behind him and used his broad back to block her view.
She was exaggerating, but he did block something!
“What do ye want?” Her scowl seeped into her tone.
His lips stretched into something that did not resemble a smile, or maybe it was. She couldn’t tell from that angle.
“Are ye always this disagreeable?”
“I shall have to laud ye for me temperament.”
He chuckled, and it was a soft, melodious thing. He looked as though it had surprised him as much as it did her. It was short, shorter than a muffled cough.
For the second time that day, he had stifled his laughter. During her lessons in etiquette, she had learned that it was rude to openly—or in secret—laugh at the misfortune of another.
Stupidity was the greatest misfortune of all, and she would pay no mind to Darragh’s polite treatment of Mr. Ross. She hadn’t had it in herself to behave the same way.
For the second time, she could only conclude that he did not want to get to know her. Or that he planned to ambush her with another suitor and was playing the role of a sane liaison.
Incensed, she hiked up her skirts, marched to him, and turned him around with a firm hand on his bicep. “So where is he?”
He only budged because he wanted to. His eyes seemed to point out and deride her weakness. “Who?”
“The gentleman ye have brought to spoil me afternoon.”
“I have brought nay one but meself.” He extricated himself from her grip.
He sat and reclined on the bench, stretching out his legs and spreading his arms like a king at his leisure.
He studied her. He must have realized she would not break the silence, nor would her misgivings cease, because he said, “I have figured ye out and why ye daenae wish to marry.”
“Do tell what this epiphany entails.” She folded her arms over her chest. She would have tapped her foot if it did not lend a resemblance to an old maid.