Chapter 19 #2
“Nor shall ye,” he said, and winked. “For me veins also flow with the blood of the Scots and the Saxon and a wee dram of the red dragon’s blood.”
“Not to mention a bit of the blarney,” said the maid, and laughed.
Emotions churned in Rhona’s gut as she watched the two. The girl was as pretty as springtime, with dark wavy hair and a pert, turned-up nose. The pale color of her green gown showed her tidy figure to perfection.
“Not a bit of blarney is it, me leidy?” Lachlan asked as he turned toward Rhona.
“Oh!” The maid jumped, then bobbed a curtsy and fidgeted as though she would be struck dead on the spot. “Me apologies, me lady. I thought you had gone to see the wee ones. I didn’t see ye standing there.”
Rhona said nothing.
“Well . . .” The maid cleared her throat and backed toward the door. “I’ll be helping your Dafydd here with the rest of your luggage then if you’ve no need for me just yet.”
“I do,” countered Rhona.
The maid stopped as if she’d been stabbed.
Something akin to humor shone darkly in Lachlan’s eyes.
Rhona dropped her gaze and cursed the deep timbre of her well-trained voice.
“I do so hate to be a bother,” she said, and tried an ingratiating smile.
It may have resembled a snarl. “But as a matter of truth, I could use your assistance. And I’m certain Dafydd here can manage to fetch my trunks himself. ”
His attention didn’t shift from her face. Neither did the gleam disappear from his eyes.
“Oh, of course,” said the girl and bobbed again. “How can I assist you, me lady?”
She was so eager, so comely. It made Rhona’s fists ache. “Aren’t you the bonny one?” she said. “And what might your name be, lass?”
“I am called Colette.”
Even the name was delicate. Not like Rhona. And already she was flitting her wide-eyed gaze back to Lachlan, as if he were her savior, just arrived on his champing white steed.
“If it is not too much trouble, I would like to meet the children, Colette.”
“Oh. Certainly. The poor wee babes,” said the other, and turned with only one more glance at MacGowan. “If you’ll follow me, I shall show you the way.”
The halls were narrow and dimly lit, and it seemed a long distance from her chamber to the girls’, but finally they arrived.
The nursery was a large room, mostly empty but for a narrow bed, two trunks, and a few well-crafted stools.
A small girl sat upon one of them, her middle finger still wet from having just been jerked out of her mouth and half hidden in the folds of her white pristine gown.
The hem was embroidered in soft shades of pink and green that twisted like living vines about the gown’s outer edge.
The lace at her wrists was snowy, as was the upright collar that reached her chin.
She held a clay doll and in the corner not far away another lass sat cross-legged with her back toward them.
“Catherine!” scolded Colette and snapped her gaze to Rhona and back. “Get up off the floor, child, or there’ll be the devil to pay.”
The girl with the doll jumped to her feet, nearly falling over in her haste, then hurried over to stand nervously beside the other.
As for the elder of the two, she turned sullenly toward them, eyes narrowed. Her face was very pale but for a small blackish bruise on her temple. She was dressed identically to her sister.
“Come hither,” ordered Colette.
Neither child moved a muscle.
“Come along now,” said the maid, then started as another woman arrived. “Oh! Baroness!” she said and curtsied. “Lady Rhona has arrived.”
The newcomer turned to Rhona with a shy smile.
She was a small, pretty woman with large sad eyes and a slim body garbed in black.
Her hair was gray, pulled back from her face and mostly hidden beneath a dark French hood that hung down her narrow back.
In her hand she carried a string of wooden beads which she worried at with quick, delicate fingers.
“Lady Rhona,” she murmured, her voice dulcet.
“I thank the Lord you have arrived safely. And what of you, my dears,” she said, turning toward the children.
“I hope you have welcomed her in due Christian fashion.”
Rhona glanced back at the girls. Though they remained in the corner, the eldest had risen to her feet and turned now, her back to the wall. Defiance shone in every taut fiber.
“I am Lady Irvette Norval,” said the baroness, and smiled bravely at Rhona. “So you are come to care for my brother’s daughters.”
“Aye.”
“I pray it will work out for the best.”
There was something about her tone that aroused Rhona’s curiosity. “Has there been trouble, Lady Norval?”
“Trouble?” A mixture of sadness and worry lit across her aging features, but she smoothed her expression and smiled wanly. “Nay, no trouble. They are good children,” she said. Her voice was soft. “They but take too much guilt upon themselves.”
Rhona focused on the girls. They stood absolutely immobile, saying nothing, and she realized finally that the room had gone silent. “I beg your pardon?” she said, certain the baroness had spoken.
“I asked if you have cared for children before?”
“Not as much as I would have liked, your ladyship. But I did spend some time with my cousin’s children.”
“Your cousin?”
“Aye. I have been summering in Spain these past months with Lady Romona de Leon. Mayhap you know her.”
“I’ve not had time for the luxury of travel,” said Norval. “My brother’s wife has been ill for some time as you may know. ’Twas my Christian duty to come and see my nieces gently reared.”
“’Tis good of you to leave your own affairs to care for them.”
“We must do what we can. I’ve not been blessed with children of my own, but I cherish these two as if I had birthed them myself.”
“I am certain I will feel the same.”
The look of sadness creased the baroness’s brow for a moment. “I pray ’tis true,” she said softly. “Though Catherine . . .” She paused, then glanced at the girls and put on a brave smile. “Humility is a fine thing, surely, but . . . All will be well. I am sure of it.”
Dread marched ominously down Rhona’s back. “Is there something I should know, baroness?”
The older woman smiled wearily and shook her head.
“Nay. I am being foolish. ’Twas only that Lorna needed much attention before her death.
The children may have been neglected during that time, and I fear .
. .” She paused, looking as though her heart would break.
“I fear our young Catherine blames herself.”
“Why?”
The baroness shook her head. “There is no reason,” she said, staring directly at the elder girl as she did so, as though she could force her to believe the softly spoken words. “No reason atall. Not for the blame, and certainly not for the bruises.”
The bruises? Rhona skimmed her attention to the blackish mark on the girl’s brow. She abused herself?
“And . . . their father?” Rhona asked, her mind spinning.
“My brother is often busy with his affairs.”
Lachlan’s words swirled wildly with the information she herself had garnered about the marquis. “I am certain it has been difficult since their mother’s passing,” Rhona said. “But I will do my best to care for them.”
“I am certain you will,” said Lady Norval, “but you needn’t tax yourself immediately. You must take some time to settle in. I will see to the little girls until you’ve become accustomed to the ways of Claronfell.”
Rhona frowned. Time was fleeting, and if the marquis did indeed plan some evil, she didn’t have much time left to learn what it was. “I’ve little to do but care for the lassies, Lady—”
But the other interrupted with a lift of her frail hand.
“They are used to having me here,” she said.
“Indeed, we have become quite close and they do not need yet another blow so quickly upon the death of their mother.” She glanced at the girls.
They remained exactly as they were, not moving a hair, their expressions unreadable masks.
“Nay,” she said. “I will not be leaving just yet.”