The Bride of Black Douglas

Chapter 15

Early the next morning, the jubilant song of a bird outside her window shattered her sleep, and for a moment, Meleri thought she was back home. She climbed sleepily out of bed, curious and anxious to see what the day looked like. She went to the window, threw open the shutters and greeted the beautiful setting before her.

Below her window, a lush expanse of lovely green lawn seemed to go on forever. Overhead, a golden eagle soared above clumps of sturdy violets that grew along the edge of a small wood. A herd of sheep grazed in the distance, while up close, a gaggle of geese went honking across the gardens, obviously on a snoop. Everything seemed set to music, perfumed with the wonderful fragrance of bog myrtle.

Meleri turned and thrust her arms up in a luxurious stretch before wiggling her toes and taking a deep breath, vowing to have a fine, glorious day. With no clean clothes, she had no choice but to remain in her gown until Agnes cleaned her riding habit.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open and a huge dog came loping into the room. It jumped upon the bed and off the other side, faster than Meleri could blink an eye. While she stared in slack-jawed silence, the great beast reared up on its hind legs and gave her face a good washing. Never having had a pet of her own, Meleri was not sure what she should do, but a couple of licks later, she did what came natural. She put her arms around the dog’s neck and fell over laughing.

Agnes came running into the room, breathless, clutching a breakfast tray in her hands. “Oh, milady, I am so sorry! That vile, wiry-haired creature has hounded my every step. I tripped over her every inch of the way. I was petrified, afraid I would drop your breakfast before I made it up the stairs. I did nothing but bump into her no matter which way I turned.”

Meleri, who was enjoying all the attention, even if it was wet, and from a dog, said, “It’s all right, Agnes.” She barely managed to speak between gasping for breath and giving in to a fit of laughter. “She is a friendly dog, although I’ve never seen one quite like her.” She managed to extract herself from the playful creature. “She certainly is big.”

“The other one is a male and even larger.”

“Two of them? Oh, how wonderful!”

“For now, two is all I have seen, but one never knows. There could be puppies,” she whispered, as if whispering might not make it so.

“Puppies! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“Humph! Puppies are just little dogs, and like babies, they grow up.”

“Oh, Agnes, they aren’t just little dogs. They are something else entirely. And this is the sweetest dog ever!” Meleri had her hands on each side of the great dog’s head, stroking the silky hair as she studied her dark, blue-gray coloring. “You are a strange-looking creature indeed. I’ve never seen anything like you.” She stroked beneath her chin. “I wish I knew what breed you are.”

“I was told they were Scottish deerhounds.”

“Deerhounds? For hunting deer?”

“I don’t know for certain, but that would be my guess.”

The dog had a long head, with small black ears folded back like a greyhound’s. However, it was not a greyhound. Or, if it was, it was a rough-coated greyhound and much larger than any Meleri had ever seen. The black nose was aquiline, and she had a delightful silver beard that was much lighter than the black muzzle. When Meleri released her head, the dog sat down and watched her with large, dark eyes, her long, curved tail thumping the floor madly. Meleri stroked her back. “Oh!” she said, jerking her hand back and laughing. “Her hair is so coarse and wiry.” She laughed again at the almost whimsical expression on the dog’s face.

She ruffled the dog’s fur. “She is a dear, isn’t she? Do you know her name?”

“Corrie. Corrie Linn. The male is called Dram, for Drambuie.”

“Corrie and Dram. Don’t you think she is quite the loveliest dog you have ever seen? We shall have such pleasant company, shall we not?”

“As long as they remain friendly…and stay out from under my feet.”

“I cannot see such a sweet dog being anything but friendly. What a darling.” Meleri leaned down and gave the dog one last hug, before returning to Agnes, who was still holding the tray and eyeing the dog suspiciously. “Just put the tray on the bed,” she said.

Agnes put the tray down, but before Meleri could get to it, Corrie sprang into action. In the squeezing of a lemon, the dog was on her feet. Two long strides and a leap later, she landed in the middle of the bed. In a blur of confusion, Meleri did not see exactly what happened next. She heard Agnes scream. She saw Corrie with her front paws on the breakfast tray. Then she saw the tray sliding like a sleigh toward the edge of the bed.

Agnes screamed again. Meleri made a dive for the tray. Just as she reached the bed, she tripped on the carpet and went sprawling over the top of the bed. She and the tray—which went airborne when Meleri hit the bed—collided. China and glassware fell to the floor and shattered. Silverware clanked and clattered across the floor. The tray took off like a sled and shot across the room. Meleri, who had too much momentum to stop, sailed over the edge of the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thump. “Ooof!”

“Oh, my heavenly stars!” Agnes exclaimed. “Are you hurt, milady?”

A giggling reply came from the vicinity of the bed. “Only my dignity.”

“I’ll go after something to clean up the mess.”

Meleri took one look at Corrie, sitting majestically in the middle of the bed, a link of three sausages dangling from her mouth, and burst into laughter. When she got control of herself at last, she was so weak from laughing that she could only lie there, on the floor with great globs of oatmeal in her hair, her nightgown splashed with tea and dotted with clotted cream. Corrie walked over to the edge of the bed, looked down at her and dropped the sausages on her chest, then sat down next to her, as if standing guard.

While all of this was going on, Agnes was still standing near the door, looking as lost as one mitten. Curious as to what turned her to a pillar of stone, Meleri was about to inquire, when Robert stepped into the room.

Over the years, she imagined many reasons why she would one day find herself fiercely attracted to a man. It never occurred to her that he might not be equally attracted to her. Whenever she looked at Robert, she was aware of a compelling sense of remoteness. What would one have to do, she wondered, to get close to him? She was not the person to answer that, but the thought of being close to him, of being the object of his attentions as well as his affections, warmed her. One day, you will walk into the room and see me, she thought, your eyes will light up and your heart will fill with pride. One day, you will not be able to stand so far apart. One day, you will love me, only you don’t know it yet.

She fell immobile beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. In spite of what was going on about him, not one spark of mirthfulness emitted from that rigid face. A fierce tension strained the atmosphere, caused by some unknown element that passed between them. She knew at that moment it was all or nothing. She believed with all her heart that was true. It had to be true. Either this man would come to love her until his dying day, or he would destroy her. They would not—could not—ever be mere friends, any more than they could be a married couple who found contentment instead of love.

One look from him and Agnes shot from the room, faster than an arrow from a string.

“You did not tell me about your dogs,” Meleri said.

“I haven’t told you about a lot of things.”

Corrie grabbed the sausages, jumped back onto the bed and sat down. She looked from Meleri to Robert with such interest that Meleri laughed with relief and said, “Corrie has a fondness for sausages.”

“She has a fondness for anything she doesn’t have to run down. You look a fright.”

The cool tone and lack of interest in his voice stung, but she was determined to maintain her cheerfulness. She deemed it necessary to show him there was another side of her, one that was not always critical, or quick to anger. She rolled over onto her side, propped her head in her hand and looked down at her gown. “You’re right. I cannot argue with you on that point. I am a holy mess. I seem to be wearing my breakfast.”

“And seem remarkably content to do so.”

Her laugh was immediate. “Why not? There is precious little I can do about it, so I might as well be content.”

“And are you content?”

The look she remembered from the night before was back, warm and curious in a way that made her conscious of him as a man, and herself as a woman. She called up the memory of his kiss, the contrast between a hard man and his gentle touch. “As content as rum and religion, milord.”

He said nothing, and nothing, coming from Robert, spoke volumes. It was apparent that he was holding back, keeping her tense and apprehensive on purpose, while he remained calm and wary, waiting for her to do or say something foolish. Corrie, bless her, provided the diversion Meleri prayed for, when she leaped off the bed and sailed over Meleri’s head, graceful as you please. With a silent tread, she walked to Robert, stuck her nose in his hand, then slipped quietly from the room.

“How did she come to be in here?”

Meleri was not going to implicate Agnes, so she simply said, “I have no idea. One minute I was standing here alone. The next, a great gray beast came charging into my chamber.”

He glanced back toward the door. “Someone must have left the gate open. The dogs know they are not supposed to come up here. We don’t allow them above stairs.”

“Maybe no one told them that.” She saw his dark scowl and, with a more cheerful tone, added, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me about the dogs. It was ever so much nicer to meet them this way, although I haven’t met Dram yet.” She paused. “Where is he?”

“Hunting with Hugh and Iain,” he said.

Meleri was still lying on the floor, feeling her insides humming with delight from simply watching him, when she suddenly recalled she was not yet dressed. Horribly abashed at the thought of wearing her nightgown, she scrambled to her feet and looked quickly about, searching for something to put around her.

He must have thought she needed covering as well, for he gave a muffled curse and crossed the room in a few long strides. Without slowing down, he yanked the coverlet from the chair. “Here,” he said, almost throwing it at her. “Cover yourself.” She saw it coming but had no time to react. The next thing she knew, it landed on top of her head and fell over her, tent fashion, covering her face.

She attempted to fight her way out, but the coverlet was heavy and progress slow. Getting it off her head at last, she tried to work it around her, but it was difficult to do. She did manage to get it over one shoulder, but it promptly slid off the other. Unfortunately, when it fell, it took the shoulder of her gown with it, exposing her breast. Stunned horror sent a hot wave of red color splashing across her face. She drew in a gasp of air and yanked the gown back in place.

“For the love of God!” Robert said, and jerked the coverlet from her. “Are you completely helpless?”

She stared up into his face, unable to move, as he wrapped it around her. “Only around you,” she said, never taking her eyes off his face.

“English witch!” He let the coverlet fall to the floor and pulled her against him. Her hands were trapped between them in such a way that she could not move. The sudden staccato of her heart sent a wave of warm languor washing over her, while the hand that caressed her neck was as sobering as a pan of cold water. “You will ruin…”

The rest of her words froze, for his lips moved like softly whispered words over her cheek, her ear and lower to her neck and shoulder. She gasped at the intense knotting of her stomach and exhaled the words trapped there and finished her sentence… “your shirt.”

He released her quickly. Her mind was numb, her thoughts jumbled.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said. “One of us should have their head examined.”

“I don’t feel like I have much left to examine, at the moment.”

“That is because you are a woman.”

Yes, she thought, but you do not seem to realize it yet. She closed her eyes and clenched her mouth against the words she wanted to hurl at him. Think, Meleri. Think before you speak. She had seen him at his best. She understood what gentleness he was capable of. She did not understand why he was not being kind or gentle now.

The only reason she could find for his continued coolness toward her was the suspicion that he had changed his mind—perhaps even as far back as the day they stood before the smithy’s anvil in Gretna. Since that time, he appeared to have a great deal of difficulty deciding if he wanted her or not. She might not have a place to go, but she did have feelings and pride. She was above groveling. She was also tired of trying to please someone who was beyond pleasing.

“Apparently you think this was a mistake,” she said. “I am sorry I was so oak-witted that I did not realize that fact until now. No more cold looks or harsh words are necessary. I will find Agnes and we will be on our way.” She smiled, feeling it was either that or cry. “I do not hold it against you. One cannot change the way they feel. You either want someone, or you do not. It is not the sort of thing that can be forced.”

“You have precious few options. Leaving is not among them.”

She was ready to throw up her hands and go down to defeat. “I don’t know what it is that you want. I only know I am not the one to give it to you.” She crossed her arms in front of her and looked off. “Oh, I don’t know why I bother! Talking to you is like talking to the wind. Everything I say blows back into my face. You ask me to marry you, and then you do not go through with it. You bring me to your home, and then go out of your way to show you want nothing to do with me. I offer to leave, you tell me I cannot go. And you think I am difficult? Well, milord, I may be difficult, but you are impossible! You cannot have it both ways. I can go. I can stay. I cannot do both. I can be your wife, or I cannot. What is impossible is trying to be something in between.”

“I have asked you to do nothing.”

“No, you haven’t. In fact, you have not said much of anything. About all I get from you are cold words, cold stares or a cold shoulder. Pray tell, why are you being so cold and indifferent?”

“I am a cold and indifferent man.”

“Bah! You are about as cold as the tropics. I seem to be the agitator here—the thing that chills your words and freezes your response.”

“I agree with your conclusion, but not your reason. That is the difference between men and women.”

“Then you tell me, milord. You offer me a bouquet, but it is filled with strange flowers of reason that I cannot comprehend.”

“There are times when we must be ruled by design and not our passions.”

“I have no way of knowing the sentiment of your heart, the motives behind your behavior, or the dictates of your mind. I only know that when you are cold, associations are unfruitful. What do you want, milord?”

“I wanted a wife.”

“And now you don’t?”

He did not answer. Once again, he let his silence speak for him. Meleri stood quietly, feeling the despair of disappointment. She was back where she started, with no place to go and fearful that wherever she went, Waverly would find her. She had known from the first that Robert was a stubborn, obdurate man, full of hatred for her country and bitterness for what hardship fate had tossed his way. He was like a windstorm, threatening, fierce and convincing, ready to come against her with a driving force, to toss her about like last year’s leaf and send her on her way.

There was nothing else to be done about it. She had tried to set things to right, and he came along and knocked them flat again. If he wanted to spend his life in brooding loneliness, she was powerless. If he was determined to wallow in the pain life had tossed him, so be it. If he wanted to dwell in the hatred of the past, she would not stand in his way. She wanted more from life than that. She deserved more. “Very well, don’t answer. Your silence speaks plainly enough.”

His silence persisted, and she was aware only of his continued scrutiny and thoughtful observation. She laughed dryly. “Well, I seem to be doing all the talking, and now I have run out of words.” She blinked back tears and called upon an iron will to hold them at bay. She looked down at her hands and started across the room.

“You are leaving?”

“I must find Agnes.”

“Why?”

“I believe you know why.”

“You are angry?”

“No, I simply know my limits, and I have reached them. Now I will find Agnes and tell her not to unpack the rest of her trunk, that we are leaving.”

“What about yourself?”

She paused. “I am fortunate in that regard. No trunk, and no belongings. What comes easily goes easily.”

“Bitterness does not become you.”

“Nor you, milord.”

“You judge what you do not know.”

“Just like you.”

“You talk too much.”

“And you don’t talk enough.”

“You are a woman who does not know her place.”

“I am a woman without a place to know.”

Silent and watchful again, she thought.

She stared at the hard mouth and would have given anything to know what he was thinking, not that it mattered. He was probably thinking she was like a leech, a woman who found a man to attach herself to—a woman who would drain the life from him. She almost laughed. How wrong he was, how very far from the truth.

He knew nothing about her, nothing about the way she yearned to belong to a man, to love him and only him, to bear his children and stand by his side. He had no inkling of her loyalty, her pain, her passion, her loneliness, her fear that she would not measure up to the women he had known before her.

He would never know the desire she felt for him; the way his nearness warmed her; how the sound of his voice made her mouth go dry; the way the most indifferent look could set her heart to fluttering wildly; the way she would lie in bed at night, trying to imagine what it would be like if he loved her. Poor, foolish man. He had no idea what he was throwing away. He was sending her back, like a coat one decides is the wrong color, or a gold bauble that does not shine. He had considered her and found her lacking. Now even his gaze made her uncomfortable. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“I am curious to know what you were thinking.”

“Would you prefer something clever, or the truth?”

“The truth, if you or any other Englishman know how to tell it.”

“You cannot forget that, can you? No matter what I do, or say, or where I go, I am, first and foremost, English. You cannot forget that one fact any more than you can forgive or overlook it. It is a weed growing out of control in your mind. It supersedes everything and clouds your judgment. Unfortunately, it is the one thing I cannot change. I am what I am.”

Once again, he remained silent.

“I must be after Agnes. She has probably unpacked and will be sorely vexed to hear she must put everything back.” She turned away, wishing with all her soul that he would ask her to stay, knowing at the same time how impossible that was, how foolish it was of her to even consider it.

“I wouldn’t go out that door, if I were you.”

Her heart stilled. She held her breath, afraid to breathe, afraid to say anything for fear it would be the wrong thing to say. At last, when she could stand it no longer, she turned and asked, “Am I to go, or to stay? If I remain here, am I to be your wife, or your hated English prisoner?”

“You are to remain here…whether as my prisoner or my wife—that is up to you.”

“But, you said…”

“I know what I said, and I know what you assumed.”

She was confused. She had never known anyone to talk around things as he did. Why wouldn’t he simply come out and say he wanted her to stay? Confounded, complex, stubborn man! Why could he not say he wanted her? She brought her hand to her head and rubbed the tightness there. She was uncertain as to what she should do. “You will have to do better than that, I’m afraid, Robbie Douglas. I am through guessing and trying to read your mind. If you want me to stay, you are going to have to say so.”

“I said you were to remain here.”

“That isn’t good enough.”

“All right, damn you! I want you to stay!”

“Why?” When he did not answer, she felt suddenly tired. She rested her head in her hand, her fingers covering her eyes. She needed to think, and she could not do it with him in her line of vision. Would she ever be able to make him love her? She began to fear she could not. There was too much bitterness, too much history that lay between them. “It is almost laughable…two strangers who couldn’t agree on the color of the sky, who think they can marry and live out the rest of their lives in harmony. You could never come to care for me…not if I learned to spin gold from straw. It isn’t who I am, it’s what I am. I’m sorry—for both of us—but I cannot settle for that any more than you can forgive my being born in England.”

“Damn your English eyes!” Suddenly, he took her in his arms. She could feel his body trembling against her. His mouth closed over hers, and her arms went around him as his lips moved over hers slowly; then with brutal tenderness, his arms tightened around her and he kissed her deeply, soundly. He was seducing her, drawing her into him with his wildness, his brooding remoteness, as surely as water would rise to cover her when she stepped into a warm bath.

His fingers began a slow, rhythmic search in a lock of raspberry-hued hair that curled like a question mark about the smooth skin of her throat. His hand moved lower, slipping from the softly rounded shoulders, down the slender length of arm until his fingers brushed against her breast and she gasped.

“I want you, you little witch,” he whispered.

Suddenly, the door opened and a woman entered the room. Blindfolded, Meleri would have discerned Lady Douglas, Robert’s grandmother.

Dark gray silk, fashioned in a style from another era, dared not rustle as she entered the room, as silent and alert as a cat. She was small, but the power her presence commanded made her tower above even her grandson. Lady Douglas was a woman who eclipsed everything, including him—as the moon passes in silvered silence over the fiery violence of the sun.

So, Meleri thought, this is what a grandmother is: hair the color of gunpowder pulled back in a neat coil, eyes that missed nothing, capable of complete devotion, formidable as any bird of prey.

When Lady Douglas stepped into the room, Meleri knew she was anxious to have a look at the woman Robert had brought with him from England. It had to be quite a jolt to her tired, old heart to hear the news of the sudden appearance of a soon-to-be-bride, especially an English one, even if the king did order it.

The moment she thought about the king, Meleri wondered how much Lady Douglas knew. For some reason, she seemed quite perplexed and filled with curiosity—something she might not be if she knew about the king’s decree. Moreover, if that were true, and she did not know of it, then she must be wondering what happened to spur Robert’s sudden quest for a wife. Meleri knew the heart and mind of women. If Lady Douglas was not informed, she would be trying to find a way to arrive at the answers, without showing her astonishment. It was Meleri’s guess that she had been the matriarch of this family long enough to know the best way to win information was to appear as if you already had it.

Meleri did not miss the way Robert’s face seemed to light up the moment he saw her. “Gram,” he whispered, and kissed her cheek.

“Back almost a full day, and I have yet to see you, you scoundrel.”

“You know you are always foremost in my mind. I dropped by last evening, but you had retired already. I did not want to disturb you.”

“So many answers, and I believe them all.” She tapped his arm with her cane. “You could talk the leathern boot off a Tartar horseman, if you set your mind to it,” she said. “Your trip was obviously a success, and expeditious, for you were hardly gone before you were back.”

Without any change in expression or tone, Meleri knew the moment her sharp gaze focused upon her. “And this, I assume, is your English lass, soon to be your wife?”

“Aye,” he said, hesitating a bit too long before he looked briefly at Meleri. “This is Lady Meleri Weatherby.” He turned to Meleri. “This is my grandmother, Lady Douglas.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Douglas.”

Lady Douglas nodded. “Lady Weatherby.”

Robert gave his attention back to his grandmother. “What brings you sallying forth from your quarters at this early hour?”

“I came to see if you had murdered her. Never have I heard such commotion.” She looked about, taking in the condition of the room. “This place is a holy fright. What happened?”

“Corrie came above stairs, leaped in the bed and scattered the breakfast tray.”

She pointed to Meleri with her cane. “She is a frightful-looking thing. It is obvious you did not choose her for her looks. I’ve never seen such carroty hair, nor did I know you had such a fondness for it.”

“I don’t know that I do have a fondness for it…or that I dislike it, either. I never took the time to give it much consideration.”

“Well, you have time now…you will spend the rest of your life considering it. Does she have the temper to go with it?”

Lady Douglas did not miss the exchange of uncomfortable glances between Robert and Meleri as Robert said, “You might say she has shown a tendency for it on occasion.”

Apparently satisfied, Lady Douglas turned her attention back to Meleri. “I recall hearing your father was a man of noble birth, but the formal title escapes me at the moment.”

“He is a baron, milady.”

“Yes, I recall now, a nobleman of the lowest designation.”

Meleri wondered what bit of information the woman would try to ferret out next. Meleri assumed it would be obvious to her that she did not have the polish or the ease of execution one her age would have, if she had lived in or spent a great deal of time in London, or if she had gone through a Season or two. She knew there was an element of the country in her, but nothing to identify what part of the English countryside that would be.

“I am certain you must find comfort in knowing you are still in the Border country,” Gram said.

Meleri smiled inwardly and played into Lady Douglas’s hands. “Yes, I find little similarity between Northumberland and the Lowlands, milady.”

Lady Douglas looked positively fortified. She must love a good quest, Meleri thought.

“Specifically, how are they dissimilar?” Lady Douglas asked.

“Scotland is…more bleak.”

“Bleak, is it? Well, I daresay you will come to have a new understanding of the word, ere long.”

In spite of knowing what Lady Douglas was about, Meleri was relieved when she directed her next question to Robert. “Did you also bring us a fat side of venison to gnaw on?”

“Not this trip. We saw nary a deer the entire time.”

“’Tis a pity the red deer are mostly gone from the Lowlands. In my young days,” she said, dropping back to the old way of talking, “a man wad hae been ashamed to come back frae the hill without a buck hanging on each side o’ his horse, like a cadger carrying calves.”

As Meleri listened, she realized she was truly overwhelmed by the commanding presence of Lady Douglas. She was also fascinated by the reciprocal warm feelings so obvious between her and her grandson. Never had Meleri heard so much adoration, gratitude, love and admiration packed into one word as she heard when he said “Gram.”

Meleri was not a person to envy anything, but oh, she did covet the look that accompanied it. Would that she could hang a lifetime of hope upon one wish—that there would come a time when he conveyed, with look or words, such passion for her.

She saw the way Robert held his grandmother at arm’s length, to better look her over. Transfixed, Meleri had watched him conduct a thorough investigation—from pearl combs holding pewter hair, to ancient sterling buckles upon out-of-fashion shoes—his proud eyes searching with all the scrutiny of an inspector hunting for clues. Aside from the way his eyes sparkled as he looked upon Lady Douglas with fondness and respect, Meleri had the distinct feeling that he owed this woman a great deal, that she occupied a very special place in his heart.

The quiet atmosphere of enlightenment disappeared quickly, and holding up as best she could, Meleri stood quietly, wondering what Lady Douglas thought of her, yet terrified to find out. She knew how important it was to her future that this stately old matriarch accept her. At the same time, she knew deep down that no one’s grandmother would be overly impressed by someone with wild, uncombed, carroty hair, wearing a nightgown decorated with eggs and jam.

Struck with mute silence, she watched as the curtains at the window billowed, although no one else seemed to notice. She did not sense any sort of presence in the room, but she was certain she heard a voice close by. The words were softly spoken, the lilting brogue thick and not the sort spoken by the Scots today.

“Come lass, forget and forgie. Dinna be vexed, for it serves naething to strive wi’ the old—they are aye cankered. Her bark is waur than her bite. Ye will gain a muckle more if ye mind yer tongue till the blast blaw by. ’Twas no ill luck that hae brought ye sae far frae hame. When the hirdie girdie comes, ye maun trow yer braw lad. Binna afraid, bide yer time, and gowd will come to ye. Believe, an ye can, dinna kilt awa’afoor ye ken the troth.”

The room grew still. The curtains dropped back into place.

Neither Robert nor his grandmother appeared to have heard or seen anything, and Meleri was determined she was going to do the same. Besides, it was probably her imagination, her mind’s way of finding a diversion from an otherwise unpleasant situation.

She did not believe in ghosts, anyway.

“Come, Lady Weatherby,” said Lady Douglas. “Let me have a closer look at you.”

“I am not yet dressed to receive guests, as you can see.”

“Well, I have seen the state of your affairs already, so your point is a moot one.”

“All the same, I prefer to stay here.”

“Rebellious and outspoken. Dear me, I fear you have picked quite a stubborn one, Robbie. Willful, too, would be my guess.”

Lady Douglas rapped her cane on the wooden floor with a loud bang. Meleri flinched at the sound. “Show your respect for your elders. Come stand over here, so I can see what mischief is at work in those eyes.”

Meleri was in no mood to be cleverly dissected by this woman, grandmother or not. She eyed the distance to the door, ready to dash for her life.

“Close the door, Robbie. Your bride-to-be looks ready to bolt.”

At the sound of his amused chuckle, Meleri branded Robert a traitor of the vilest sort. When she heard the door click shut, she swore to get even with him for his betrayal. With her prospects for escaping this horrid ritual nonexistent, she took a fortifying gulp of air and went to stand before Lady Douglas, where she endured a scrutinizing going-over that no horse being sold at a country fair would be put through. If she asks to see my teeth, I am leaving here, if I have to climb out the window.

“She is not nearly as bad as I first thought, although she does smell frightfully like a poached egg.”

“There is a good reason for that, thanks to Corrie,” Robert said.

“She doesn’t look as fierce as I first thought, either, but then, the English are more known for bluster than steadfastness.”

Meleri was beginning to feel about as low as she could feel, for she was certain now that she had ruined whatever chances she might have had to favorably impress Lady Douglas. She meant to be kind and polite. Truly, she did, but that was more difficult to achieve than it was to plan. What amazed her was that Robert could not see what a rude, impolite and mean-spirited woman his grandmother was.

It was obvious to Meleri that Lady Douglas was a descendant of a Border family who acquired its lands by robbery and violence. When she had first walked into the room, Meleri was reminded of a Scottish deerhound, very distinguished and regal. She was wrong. Now she saw this descendant of horse thieves differently. Beneath the wizened features, something else had emerged, something Scottish, something prickly and unbending.

“I grow weary,” said Lady Douglas. “It is past time for my morning tea. Bring your lass to see me when she is cleaned up. I will have a closer look at her then.”

Stately as a Scotch pine, she left the room. As she went, the last thing Meleri thought was that Lady Douglas might be an inheritor of blood feud and cattle raid, but she both admired and envied the way she walked with a proud and noble stride.

“You didn’t care for my grandmother, did you?” Robert asked her after she’d left.

Meleri was too cross and tired to pick and choose her words. “It’s not so much that I did not care for her, but more that she did not fit the description I have long held. I thought grandmothers were nice old ladies, who made aprons and knitted shawls. I thought they read you stories and gave you pieces of old jewelry and taught you things about life.”

“That is what they do,” he said.

“Then what happened to yours?”

Robert never got the chance to answer that, for Agnes came into the room with a length of yellow fabric looped over her arm. “This will make a lovely dress for you, I think, milady. Oh, my I did not realize…”

“It is all right,” Robert said, “I was just leaving.”