Chapter 21
A knock on the door made Sarah roll her eyes.
“Can you get that, Florie?” she asked. “There have been more people in this suite in the last hour than I’ve seen in days.”
Florie went to the door. Sarah heard two female voices, then Florie appeared once more.
“Linda Tulloch is here, Lady Sarah, to take you into dinner.”
Who was Linda Tulloch?
Sarah walked into the sitting room to find a woman standing there, attired in a dark blue dress with a full hoop, drawn up at the bottom in two places to reveal an underskirt of white lace.
A delicate cameo at her throat was her only ornament.
Her hair, a shade between brunette and blond, was parted in the middle and drawn into a severe bun at the nape of her neck.
She was lovely but gave the appearance of either being bored with her looks or uncaring for them.
Winged brows arched over deeply brown and thickly lashed eyes.
Her cheekbones were high, almost as if she were an exotic creature from the Far East and not Scotland at all.
A mouth, perfectly formed, was pulled into a thinner line than nature had designed, however, giving Sarah the impression that Linda Tulloch did not often smile.
“I’m your cousin,” she announced. “My father was your mother’s brother.”
Until this moment, she’d not even known she had an uncle.
“I’m here to take you to dinner, but we must hurry.” Linda turned, and glanced behind her impatiently. “Grandfather does not allow for any tardiness. If you’re late for dinner, you simply won’t be served.”
Sarah nodded to Florie. “Don’t wait up for me,” she said.
As they descended the stairs, Sarah noticed what she hadn’t seen earlier. Shields and claymores, broadswords and dirks were mounted on the walls, above the arches, and sweeping into a large, spacious room where three people stood waiting.
Douglas was there, and beside him the man she recognized from the porte cochere, and her grandfather, Donald Tulloch, who was frowning in her direction.
If he thought to unsettle her, he was doomed to disappointment.
Ever since childhood, she’d been forced to stand in front of her father’s desk and wait until he raised his head to acknowledge her, all the while praying that she wouldn’t cry when he spoke.
After those childhood experiences, Sarah doubted she was capable of being intimidated.
The two of them approached the others, Donald reaching out to take Linda’s arm, as Sarah went to stand beside Douglas.
“She’s my cousin,” she told him.
“You’ll find that a great many of us are related.” The man to the side of Douglas stepped forward. “Robert Tulloch,” he said, introducing himself. “Another cousin. Third or fourth or more, I believe.”
Donald turned, and began what Sarah could only call a procession. Linda and Robert next. Douglas offered Sarah his arm, and they followed.
“He’s not an adversary,” he said in a whisper. “He’s at least seventy, and deserves some respect. For survival if no other reason.”
She frowned at Douglas, but he only shook his head and escorted her into the adjoining room.
The dining hall was as cavernous as the room they’d just left, with an arched ceiling reminding Sarah of a cathedral.
The sound seemed magnified here too, as Douglas pulled out a thronelike wooden chair for her and walked around the table and took his place.
Legs grated against the pitted stone flooring, and for a few minutes that was all she could hear.
The table where they sat was pocked and scarred, at least twenty feet long and made from rough planks nailed together at irregular intervals.
In places, the lacquer was darker than in others.
The chairs were upholstered, seat and back, in cracked brown leather.
Did this table, did all the furnishings in the Great Hall, date from Kilmarin’s beginnings?
Everything was rustic and oversized, built for Scottish warriors, a definite contrast from the furniture in the Queen’s Suite.
The settings looked oddly out of place, as they seemed like something she’d find at Chavensworth.
She immediately identified the Spode china, with its distinctive crimson-and-black pattern.
The napkin was well-pressed linen, with a wolf’s head embroidered in the corner.
The silverware was sterling, as were the serving pieces.
Sarah sat opposite Douglas in the middle of the table. Linda sat next to Douglas, and Robert sat to Sarah’s right. At the head of the table was Donald, while the foot of the table was left empty.
Donald waved his hand, a signal, evidently, because a parade of young girls came through the door at the far end of the room bearing trays of food.
“Move the cattle tomorrow,” Donald abruptly said in the silence.
“I’ve already moved them,” Robert said.
Donald stared at him. “Did I give you leave to do so?”
“Yes,” he said, an answer that evidently surprised the older man. “The minute you put the herds under my control, you gave me leave to do so.”
Donald sat back and regarded Robert for a minute, then surprised Sarah by repeating: “Move the cattle tomorrow.”
Robert only smiled.
Evidently, this was a game of long standing, and the only conversation at the table.
Dinner consisted of two types of fish, neither one of which Sarah could identify, slices of beef, a selection of ripe cheeses, and a dessert made from strawberries and tayberries atop a round of cake and topped with cream.
The fish was flaky and delicate; the beef was succulent, and each selection of cheese seemed more pungent and aromatic than the next. But it was the dessert that almost made her moan aloud, and more than once she caught Douglas looking at her as she savored her portion.
Her dessert finished, Sarah placed her spoon on the edge of the dish and blotted her mouth with the napkin.
Was she supposed to remain silent? Did everyone at Kilmarin treat Donald as they would a king? Was he as much a despot as her father? Was he as cruel? She had stood up to the Duke of Herridge; she would not cower before Donald Tulloch.
“My mother never talked about you,” Sarah said, lobbing a comment into the silence. She glanced at Linda. “I didn’t know that she had a brother, let alone that he had children. I thought, until tonight, that I had no family other than my father. And you.”
“Did she not tell you of Kilmarin?” Donald asked.
“She mentioned the name once or twice in stories she told me, but nothing of her family.”
Donald closed his eyes, as if Morna’s silence was a sorrow greater than her death.
“You’ve not asked about her. Don’t you want to know? If she was happy? Or even how she died?”
Linda looked aghast. Robert only wore a small smile as if he was applauding her rebellion. As for Douglas, she didn’t dare look across the table to see his reaction.
“Would you like me to assist you from the table, Grandfather?” Linda asked.
Donald focused a stern look at her, and Linda subsided without a word.
The silence in the cavernous room was loud enough that it was an occupant.
Thunder rolled across the roof, and Sarah was grateful for the sound of the renewed storm.
In those minutes, when Donald placed his napkin on the table and folded his hands on top of his lap, Sarah discovered that she was capable of being intimidated after all.
However, Douglas was here, and she knew he would protect her.
Donald still didn’t speak, and it was a silence left uninterrupted by the other occupants of the dining hall.
“Your mother chose to leave Kilmarin,” Donald finally said. His voice was eerily calm, his Scottish accent adding a sweetness to the raspy tone. “On that day, she stated that nothing would ever bring her back. Nothing did. Not her mother’s death. Not her brother’s death. Nothing.”
For long moments, he didn’t speak, as if composing himself.
“They grieved for her until the day they died, her mother especially. She spoke of her as she lay dying, but Morna never came. She delivered to them a cruel blow.”
Sarah glanced across the table to find that Douglas was watching her grandfather with a curious expression, one she could almost interpret as compassion.
Yes, Donald was old, and yes, he might be frail, but he couldn’t be permitted to say such things about her mother.
“My mother was the kindest and the gentlest person I’ve ever known,” Sarah said. “Everyone loved her. If she never returned to Kilmarin, if she never wished to return, there had to be a good reason. Perhaps it was something you did that kept her away.”
Linda glanced at her, wide-eyed.
For some time, Donald studied Sarah’s face with great deliberation. Finally, and with great difficulty, he stood, but when Linda moved to help him, he waved her away. “Leave me be, child,” he said. “I’m old, and I move like I’m old.”
“Grandfather, you aren’t old at all.”
Donald ignored her. He took a deep breath, leaned on his cane for just a moment, then straightened to his full height. He left the room slowly, all four of them watching him depart. Neither Linda nor Robert spoke.
Douglas glanced at her, and she nodded, understanding his unspoken question. He came around the table and pulled out her chair. When she stood, Douglas placed his hand at her back, guiding her down the hall to the grand staircase. She didn’t shake off his touch or move away.
She couldn’t go to her mother and ask why she’d left Kilmarin and never returned. All she had were her grandfather’s words, and an ever-present feeling of loss.
Anger was an acceptable haven, but even in that she was frustrated. Who was the worthy object of her anger? Her mother, for hiding secrets? Her grandfather, for his bitterness? Or even herself, for thinking only of reaching Scotland and not about her reception?
“Are you all right?”
Douglas hesitated on the landing, turning to her.
She looked away rather than face his intrusive glance.
“Sarah.”
She nodded. Why must he always see her weep?
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “I’m fine, really.”
He didn’t speak, leading her to their suite in silence.
Once there, he lit the lamp in the sitting room and led her to the sofa in front of the fireplace. She didn’t demur when he bent and renewed the fire. Although it was summer, it was chilly in the room. Or perhaps she was the one who was cold.
She closed her eyes and wished herself away from Kilmarin.
“I’ll draw you a bath.”
She opened her eyes to find him standing over her.
“You needn’t be my servant,” she said, remembering his earlier words. “Not my footman.”
He smiled. “I don’t mind serving you occasionally, Sarah. I’m not constrained to certain behavior by a title. I just won’t be addressed as a servant.”
“I frankly doubt you would have been constrained even as a footman.”
She took his hand and stood, but instead of stepping back, he stepped closer, the tips of his shoes disappearing beneath the fullness of her skirts. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her forehead.
Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe again, but it wasn’t tears that held her silent. Instead, some other emotion, something startling bright, flooded into her mind as if he were sunlight, and just by standing so close to him, he illuminated all the dark corners inside her.
“Oh, Douglas. I made a mistake coming here,” she said, so softly that he had to bend his head to hers in order to hear.
His cheek, growing more bristly with his night beard by the hour, gently abraded hers, and she shivered at the touch.
When he would have drawn away, she raised her left hand and placed it against his face, keeping him in place just for a moment.
“Why haven’t you made me your wife?” she said, and a second later pulled back, horrified. What had compelled her to ask such a question? She looked up at him, dropping her hand to her side.
He smiled. “Should I have seduced you while you wept? The time was not appropriate, Sarah,” he said. “But my desire hasn’t vanished.”
She really shouldn’t have brought up the issue at all.
“Doesn’t it say something to you, that I cannot sleep without your scent?”
She didn’t answer.
“Or that my dreams, like it or not, are filled with you?”
“Why wouldn’t I like it?”
“Because man was not designed to be a celibate animal, Lady Sarah,” he answered. “And I hurt for you.”
He pulled back. “What else can I do for you?” he asked. “Besides your bath, I mean,” he added. His expression was somber, his eyes intent.
Do not look at me as if you find me wanting. Do not judge me by your standards of honor, higher than any I could hope to achieve. Do not undress before me as if I’m so cold and unfeeling that I’m unaffected by it.
“Nothing,” she said. “And you don’t even have to do that.”
He held up one hand as if to forestall her objections.
She answered with a smile.
Douglas turned the cold-water tap, then the hot, thinking that he could easily become accustomed to this degree of convenience. He needn’t ring for the upstairs maid or summon any servants to their suite.
He walked back into the sitting room where Sarah still sat in front of the fire, her gaze pensive and focused on the flames.
“Your bath is ready,” he said, rolling down one sleeve.
She looked up at him.
“I found some bath salts and put them in as well.”
“You’re quite well versed in a lady’s bath,” she said.
“It doesn’t seem that difficult,” he said. “Put some water in the tub, sprinkle in something that smells good. You’re done.”
She smiled and stood. “You’re right. It does sound simple enough. But thank you for your trouble all the same.”
“Go take your bath,” he said. “Do you want me to find a nightgown and wrapper among your things?”
She looked so horrified that he smiled. “I’ll do it,” she said quickly, and stepped aside, intent on her trunk. After selecting the top two garments, she held them close to her chest and slipped behind the screen and into the bathing chamber.
“Can I wash your back?”
Silence met his question, then Sarah’s laughing response, “No!”
He walked back into the sitting room, banked the fire, and sat on the sofa. The sounds of water splashing made him smile. Preparing her bath had been such a simple act, and one she’d found difficult to accept.
Why haven’t you made me your wife? Now there was a question, wasn’t it? Because, my lovely virgin, I wanted to seduce you, but Providence has thrown just about everything between us.
With that thought, he went in search of a jot of whiskey.