Chapter 22
Though the night was long and fitful, morning dawned as usual.
With help from one of the maids, Rhona dressed in an ivory gown she had taken from Nettlepath’s coffers.
Perhaps it was well out of vogue, but Rhona was unconcerned, for the bodice was cut square and low and would surely catch the marquis’ eye.
Dressed in a yellow and black doublet with puffed and slashed sleeves, Lord Robert was already seated on his ornate chair.
His sister was some distance away, looking small and demure.
A few inches from her, Edwina sat in her elevated chair, her eyes unnaturally bright.
As for Catherine, she was there also, but her face was closed, her emotions unguessed.
“Ahh,” said the marquis and rose to execute a graceful bow. His hose were a vivid green. “There is our bonny maid now. I trust you slept well, my lady.”
“Aye, my lord,” Rhona said. Keeping her gaze off the children, she lowered her lids and willed a blush. She was certain it didn’t appear, but when she glanced up, he was smiling at her, so perhaps she didn’t appear too ferocious. “I slept well indeed.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said, and motioned for Colette to fill her goblet.
Lady Norval remained silent as she tasted her watered ale.
Edwina received the same, but Catherine’s cup remained empty, as did her plate.
Rhona glanced at it, then at Colette. “You’ve forgotten the girl,” she said.
The maid lowered her eyes. “Young Catherine asked to be allowed to fast this day.”
Rhona’s heart clenched. “Fast?” she said.
“Aye,” Lady Norval said, and shifted her gaze quickly to her brother and back. “In atonement for her sins. ’Tis naught to concern yourself with. Do you fast, Lady Rhona?”
Rhona ignored the question and managed a smile. “What sins has she committed?” she asked.
The baroness glanced at the serving maid. “I am told she rent her gown during the night just past.”
Anger and guilt burned in equal amounts in Rhona’s gut.
“Have you any idea how that might have happened, Lady Rhona?” Lady Norval inquired, her voice barely a whisper.
Colette dimpled as she offered the baron a platter of cold venison.
“Me?” Rhona asked, and lowered her gaze from the servant. She lifted her knife. It felt lovely in her hand, but she forced her grip to remain light. “Nay,” she said, and hated herself with a burning scorn. “I know naught of any mishap.”
“You are certain, Lady Rhona?” Colette asked, her bonny brow furrowed with concern. “I thought I heard a noise in the hall.”
“I am certain!” Rhona snapped then lowered her eyes and softened her voice. “I fear I sleep far too soundly to be roaming about at night.”
“The sleep of the innocent,” said the marquis, and patted her hand.
Rhona managed a smile.
“Indeed,” murmured the baroness. “Blessed are the innocent.”
Lord Robert smiled at his sister. “We were all innocent once,” he mused, then seemed to pull himself from his reverie. “But what of you, Lady Rhona? I will be hawking this day. Would you care to accompany me?”
“I am honored, my lord,” she said, “but surely I should see to the children.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “My sister thrives on the opportunity to see to my progeny. Hence we might as well take advantage of her presence here while it lasts.”
Guilt pressed upon Rhona like a heavy weight. She could feel Catherine’s accusatory glare on her face, but she did not glance toward the child, for duty was also a millstone against her back, and she dare not toss it aside. Instead, she flitted her eyes up to meet the marquis’s.
“Certainly,” she said. “If your lady sister will be here to see to the lasses.”
“Of course,” said Lady Norval. “I will enjoy their company, as always.”
A myriad of worries nagged at Rhona. What was she to do about Catherine?
Aye, it had seemed simple enough a few hours ago; she would demand the truth and right the wrongs, but after a sleepless night, she knew she could not risk such foolishness.
Nay, she had come to garner information, and she could not risk being sent away.
Thus, she must be cautious with her questions to the marquis, must learn if he knew the truth—or indeed, if he cared enough to be rid of his lover if it were she who caused the abuse.
But he was easily distracted, and her questions regarding Colette went virtually unanswered.
Still, perhaps her plan would work, for his gaze oft followed her, and he was wont to touch her whenever the opportunity presented himself.
Maybe if she aired an ultimatum he would be rid of the girl.
Finally the day was past, and they returned to Claronfell. Behind them, the falconers brought the birds and the prey that had been killed.
Evening was beginning to fall around them when they halted their mounts near the house. Sidesaddle was a foolish and dangerous way to ride, but her borrowed palfrey was a sleepy beast, and not one to challenge her ability.
Lachlan exited the stable and strode up to hold her horse’s head. Beneath the foolish droop of his tam, his expression was inscrutable. She avoided his eyes completely as the marquis strode forward to help her dismount.
“Here you are, my dear,” Lord Robert said and, setting his hands to her waist, lifted her carefully down.
“Well . . .” She cleared her throat and glanced to the side, but she was trapped between her mount’s barrel and the marquis. “It has been a lovely day.” Behind her, the palfrey cocked a hip and sighed sleepily.
“It has indeed,” agreed Lord Robert. His hands remained on her waist. From the corner of her eye she could see Lachlan’s face darken.
“There is no need for it to end so soon,” said the marquis and, relinquishing his hold on her waist, gently grasped her fingers. “I have not yet shown you my gardens.”
There was slight movement behind Lord Robert’s back. Startled, the horse grunted and sidestepped away.
Turpin scowled, and Lachlan smiled.
“Daft beastie,” Lachlan said. “’E was crowding the lass.”
The marquis turned back to Rhona, who smiled demurely as she tugged her hand from his grip and escaped into the open space.
“You have indeed been generous with me, my lord,” she said, “but I have left the children all day and—”
“And a few minutes more will not harm them.”
If only she were certain of that.
“Come with me,” he said and, lifting her hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles. “Humor an old man just this—”
“I ’ates to be worryin’ ye, lassie,” Lachlan interrupted. “But I fear one of yer steeds is not feeling ’is best.”
“Truly?” She raised her gaze to his, but if there was concern in his face, she could not tell, for since their arrival at Claronfell, his expression looked as vacuous as the air.
“Aye,” he said. “’E keeps cockin’ ’is tail, but ’tain’t naught ta show fer it if ye tek me meanin’. Perhaps ye’d best see to ’im.”
“What’s this?” asked the marquis, and laughed. “If the steed is ill, my horse master will care for it. Go to the stable and tell Peter he is to give the lady’s steeds the utmost attention.”
MacGowan stood unmoving for a moment. He was still slumped in the manner he had adopted for Claronfell, but there was something in his eyes that boded ill. Rhona held her breath.
The marquis was not so astute. “Go,” he commanded, and with a brief bow, Lachlan turned away, taking her mount down the hill toward the stable with him.
“Meanwhile,” said the marquis, and reached for her hand again, “I will be giving you my utmost attention.”
“You are too kind,” she said.
He laughed as he tucked her hand beneath his arm. “The face of a queen and the voice of a dove. ’Tis easy to be kind to one so bonny.”
“Surely you flatter me, my lord.”
He stared down at her as they walked along. “If I didn’t know better, lass, I would almost think you believe your own words.”
Her heart fluttered. “What?”
He laughed, apparently at her abrupt tone. “It almost seems that you do not realize how striking you are. Tell me, sweet Rhona, how have you escaped the marriage block so long? Indeed, I would think you would wish for children of your own by now.”
“Surely there is time yet for that,” she said.
“But when I heard about your girls, left motherless at such a tender age . . .” She forced a shudder.
It felt like the shiver of an aging cow to her, but perhaps he did not think it seemed odd, for he wrapped his arm about her back and pulled her closer.
“You’re not to worry yourself about them, my dear. They have been well attended since their mother’s passing.”
This was her opportunity then. A gift sent from heaven. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about just that,” she said.
His hand slid down her arm. “Have you now?”
She stopped and turned toward him, hoping the movement would cause him to release her arm, but she was disappointed. “Perhaps . . .” She smiled tremulously. “I do not mean to offend you, my lord.”
“Nay,” he said and, touching his fingers to her lips, traced the crease between them. “Lips so lovely could never offend me. What have you to say, my dear?”
“Perhaps things are not just as they seem.”
A light shone in his eyes and fear sparked in her heart. She hurried on, praying he did not suspect her of being aught but what she appeared—a mousy maid with naught to do but ply her pitiful hand at seducing a marquis.
“That is to say, Catherine’s welts—”
He shook his head, his brow creased. “It began the very day her mother died. She wanted a brother so badly.” He paused and closed his eyes for a moment.
“Indeed, I myself yearned for an heir. I do not deny it, and mayhap ’tis my fault.
Mayhap she knew of my yearnings, and wanted it all the more to make me happy.
I’m not sure. But this I know; she blames herself for her mother’s death. ”
“You truly believe she abuses herself?”