Chapter 20
The marquis was not what Rhona expected. He was neither balding nor paunchy as MacGowan had implied, but stood straight and elegant, before bowing over her hand.
“Lady Rhona,” he said, and kissed her knuckles with fatherly gentleness. His hair was silver and when he smiled, fine lines radiated from the corners of his azure eyes. “How kind of you to come all this way on my account.”
“’Twas the least I could do for an old friend of my father’s,” she said.
“Not so very old, I hope,” he countered.
She scowled, remembered herself and endeavored to implement that wide-eyed gaze of adoration that other women seemed to accomplish so easily.
“Of course not, my lord,” she corrected quickly.
“I should have said my father’s esteemed friend.
When I heard of your wife’s passing I only wished to help your daughters through this difficult time, and relieve your pain some whit. ”
His eyes saddened. She pulled her hand carefully from his grasp.
“Aye, ’twas a terrible loss,” he said. “She was with child, you know.”
“Nay, my lord, I did not.”
“Aye, she carried my son.”
“You know the babe’s sex?”
He smiled wanly and seated himself at the head of the table.
“She already bore me two lovely daughters. Simple logic would suggest—ahh, but there are my princesses now,” he said, and sure enough, they came, shepherded along by a darkly garbed Lady Norval toward the table.
“Edwina,” he said, his voice coddling as he addressed the younger of the two. “Come hither.”
Rhona noticed now that the child’s fingers were tangled in her sister’s starched sleeve.
“Come,” he said again, and without glancing down, the taller of the two tugged Edwina’s fingers from her sleeve and urged her forward.
The tiny girl stumbled forth on wooden legs. Lord Robert lifted her onto his lap, where she sat stiff as a spear and stared up at him with eyes as round as guinea eggs.
He smiled down at her, then lifted his gaze as his sister urged Catherine toward a high stool.
The girl’s pink mouth was pursed, but she did as told. Climbing reluctantly onto her perch, she pushed her hands rapidly beneath the table, then turned to glare at Rhona.
“I trust you have become acquainted with my dear sister,” said the marquis.
Rhona pulled her attention from the girl. “Yes, my lord,” she said, and turned her gaze toward the elder woman.
The other lowered her eyes demurely and lovingly stroked Catherine’s hair. Fine and long, it gleamed red in the candlelight, but the girl’s mouth remained pursed, and her eyes smoldered.
“Lady Irvette is baroness of Hanstone,” said the marquis and set Edwina on her feet.
The girl scurried like a field mouse over to her high chair, then scrambled onto the seat and rolled her eyes from one adult to the other while Colette hurried forward to fit a wooden tray into its place in front of her.
“Learn what you can from her,” Robert suggested to Rhona, “for I fear she will soon be leaving us.”
“You needn’t worry immediately,” murmured Irvette, glancing with concern at Colette’s progress with the tray. “I am planning to stay a bit longer.”
Edwina’s round eyes got rounder, but Catherine’s expression remained unchanged.
“Indeed?” said Lord Robert. “And to what do we owe this privilege, sister?”
“To Catherine,” Irvette said, and smiled reassuringly at the girl. “It seems she is not yet prepared for me to leave.”
“Ahh,” said the marquis, and motioned to Reeves for the first course.
And so the meal began, but Catherine refused to eat, Lady Irvette barely spoke, and the marquis rambled on about wines and spices and the time he had spent at court.
The dining hall was large and well furnished.
A host of ancient weapons adorned one wall.
Rhona did her best not to admire them, but it would seem so much better to hold one in her hand and challenge all comers than to sit here in silence and try to untangle the nuances that flowed around her like spoiled wine.
Was there a reason for her presence there, or was this naught but a waste of time?
After supper, the baroness insisted on taking the girls to bed herself, thus Rhona was left alone with the nobleman.
He was richly dressed in a scarlet doublet with slashed sleeves.
His tunic was the color of the evening sky.
It too bore the stylish slashes, and about his neck he wore a heavy pendant of gold. He smiled over his goblet at her.
“How refreshing it is to have a maid like yourself at my table,” he said.
Rhona lowered her gaze to the pewter plate she’d just used. Claronfell, it seemed, spared no expenses on its guests. “You are too kind, my lord.”
He relinquished his wine and leaned closer as if to share a secret none other was privy to. “My sister is a boon with the children, but what with the sadness of the past several months . . .” He sighed. “She does not lighten the gloom as you do.”
“She seems a godly person.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” he agreed and, smiling, reached for her hand. “Perhaps you would like a tour of the gardens.”
“’Tis kind of you to offer,” she said and, tugging her fingers carefully from his, rose to her feet. “But it has been a long day, my lord. Perhaps I should bid your daughters good night and find my own bed.”
He chuckled as he stood up.
Irritation rippled up her neck, but she had carefully replaced her dirk in its place in her girdle. It was allowed, after all, since even Claronfell did not supply its diners with knives. “Why do you laugh, my lord?”
“Simple pleasure, I suppose,” he said, and raised his hand palm up to indicate that she should proceed him from the room. “I hope you do not resent me for enjoying your presence.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
“After all, you are quite a surprise.”
She passed him, finding there was little room between him and the table, so that her skirt brushed his legs. “A surprise? How so?”
“Well, unless I forgot, your father is not a handsome man.”
She scowled and he laughed again.
“No need to look so uncertain, my dear. I am but saying that you are quite striking. Not beautiful exactly, but . . .” He paused. “Handsome. Like the warrior queens of yore.”
She stared and he chuckled again.
“You needn’t look so worried. I am not about to devour you, child.”
“Nay. Of course not,” she said.
He sighed. “Mayhap you have heard rumors of my . . . reputation.”
She said nothing.
“I do not deny that I was not always . . .” He paused again, searching for words. “I was not the perfect husband,” he said. “But I cherished my wife, and she me, I think.”
“I am certain she did, my lord.”
He smiled warmly, as if lulled by her assurances.
“You will find Edwina in the nursery,” he said, and stopped as he swung open a heavy timbered door.
Inside, the room was as black as pitch, but for the light the marquis lifted high.
The tiny girl snatched her finger from her mouth and lay huddled alone in bed.
She looked no larger than a hare with her eyes gleaming in the candlelight and her knuckles white as she clutched her blanket to her chin.
She said nothing. Indeed, if she could speak atall, Rhona had no proof of it.
Then again, mayhap she was too young to have learned the Gaelic.
The enormity of Rhona’s ignorance suddenly came crashing in on her, but Lord Turpin was staring, so she crossed the room and awkwardly patted the girl’s shiny head.
“Good night, Edwina.”
There was no response, but Lord Robert seemed unperturbed. His candlelight flickered on a pair of crossed broadswords that adorned the wall above her bed. It might be that the marquis favored weapons even more than she did.
“And what of Catherine?” asked Rhona. “Does she not share the nursery with her sister?”
The marquis lifted the candle as if to search the shadows, but Lady Irvette spoke up from the hallway.
“Catherine sleeps in the chamber down the hall.”
“Oh?” said Rhona. It seemed strange, for the room was large enough for several children. “May I bid her good night?”
“I fear she is already asleep,” said Lady Irvette and smiled wanly.
“I would not awaken her.”
There was a moment’s delay. Was there tension in the air? “Then of course,” said the baroness, and led the way down the hall. She said not a word as she raised the bar that held the door shut.
“It is locked from this side?” asked Rhona.
Lady Irvette glanced worriedly toward her brother. He shrugged, pleasantly. “Sometimes she wanders unknowing from her room at night.”
“She walks whilst she sleeps?” Rhona asked.
“If it is sleep it is an unnatural one,” murmured Lady Irvette, and made a furtive sign of the cross against her chest.
“Unnatural?” Rhona asked. “How so?”
“I . . .” She paused and lowered her eyes. “I cannot say exactly,” she said, and without another word pushed the door open. Her candle flickered in the draft.
Inside, the chamber was dark, pierced only by the wavering shaft of light, but in that slim illumination, Rhona could make out Catherine’s face.
She lay on her side with one hand cradling her cheek. Her rose-tinted lips were slightly parted, and she looked, Rhona thought, like a small sleeping angel. Whatever troubles caused her to wander the halls at night were not bothering her now.
They stood in silence for a moment, but finally Lady Irvette spoke. “I’d have a word with you, if you’ve a moment, brother dearest,” she said.
“Certainly, sister,” he said and, bowing masterfully, left the room. In a moment the doorway was empty.
“So you are another of my father’s whores.”
Rhona speared her gaze to Catherine. The girl lay as she was, but her eyes were open now and her small mouth was sneering.
“Why do you feign sleep?”
“You’ll not last the week,” said the girl.
“Why?” Rhona asked, but a shadow crossed the threshold and Catherine’s eyes fell immediately closed.
“Come along, my lady,” said the marquis.