Chapter 4
Eliza tried to shake herself free of Duncan’s grip, but it was too strong, and eventually, she gave up.
“Can you please slow down?” she cried, as she stumbled along behind him. “I cannot keep up with you!”
Duncan looked around and did as he was asked, although he still looked furious, and Eliza allowed herself to be led along the passage at a pace she could manage.
They moved further and further down the corridor until they reached a stout wooden door, and Duncan pushed it open so hard that it banged against the wall and shuddered on its hinges.
He almost dragged Eliza inside, then let go of her hand and watched her rubbing her wrist, her face screwed up in pain.
Duncan had not meant to hurt her, but his anger had got the better of him.
He hated how it took control of him sometimes, and even now, it had not let go of him; he was still shaking with rage at Eliza for injuring him.
Eliza vaguely noticed that the room around her was lavishly decorated, but she was so furious with Duncan that everything around her was a blur. There were two women in the room, one with a brush, sweeping the floor, another with a duster, and both were staring at them, horror-stricken.
Duncan pointed to the door and growled, “Out, you two!”
The maids did not have to be told twice. They scurried from the room without looking back, and Duncan kicked the door shut behind them. Then he turned to Eliza and stared at her for a moment, taking deep breaths to calm himself down before he spoke.
His lip was still bleeding, and Eliza only just stopped herself from smiling with satisfaction because currently she hated him with every fibre of her being.
Duncan touched his lip and winced in pain as his fingers came in contact with the bloodied flesh. “You are very lucky we were not alone,” he growled. “Or I might have made you pay for that!”
“Oh yes?” Eliza laughed at him. “And what would you have done? Struck me? Well, we are alone now, so do your worst, big man!” She stood in front of him defiantly, chin up, hands on hips, dark eyes blazing with fury.
Duncan knew at that moment that he had painted himself into a corner.
He was a man of honour who would never hit a woman, and Eliza knew it because he had told her so himself.
Now she was taunting him, but he was determined not to take the bait.
He was seething with anger, but he turned away, running his hands over his fiery red hair in frustration as he tried to cool down.
“Why did you not tell me you were betrothed to someone else?” Eliza demanded. “You lied to me!”
“You seem to forget that our engagement is false,” Duncan told her as calmly as he could. “You are here to help me uncover a traitor—remember that? We will never be married, Eliza.”
“Good,” she snapped. “Because I cannot think of anything more loathsome than being tied to you for the rest of my life!”
They stood glaring at each other for a few moments, then Duncan sighed in exasperation. “If I had known you were going to be so troublesome—” He broke off, shaking his head as he began to pace the floor from the door to the windows and back again.
Eliza told herself she despised him. She hated his deep, resonant voice, his arrogance, his annoyingly handsome face with its striking amber eyes.
She stood where she was for a while, then sat down on the big, opulent bed with its carved headboard and silken drapes and watched him as he paced across the room.
He moved smoothly with long, confident steps, and every muscle in his body rippled with fluid strength.
He was the epitome of masculinity, and although she found him abhorrent in some ways, she was attracted to his aura of sheer manliness.
She reminded herself that he had saved her from being injured or even killed by using his own body as a shield to protect her.
And being near him, inhaling the musk of his body, feeling his arms around her waist and his breath on her face as she rode in front of him had the most unnerving but delightful effect on her.
She could not understand why she was so attracted to him because she had never felt this way with any other man.
At length, he turned back to her, looking into her dark eyes that were so unlike the light blue and green ones of the Scots. Eliza Tewsbury was indeed a lovely woman, but he had an uneasy feeling that she spelled trouble!
“We have to eat dinner soon,” Duncan said. “I will send some maids up to help you to get ready.”
“What am I going to wear?” Eliza asked. “My dress is dirty from the journey, and the rest of my clothes are in my trunks in the carriage.”
Duncan almost screamed in frustration as he looked at the mischievous hint of a smile on Eliza’s face. It seemed as though she was taking great delight in frustrating all his plans.
“I will have the maids bring you a dress,” he told her, trying his utmost to stay calm. “And a bath. But be quick. I don’t have time to waste. Is there anything else you need?”
“Oh no,” Eliza replied, giving him an over-sweet smile and shaking her head. “I would rather not waste any more of your time.”
She could almost hear Duncan’s teeth grinding together as he tried to stop himself from swearing.
As soon as Duncan was gone, Eliza breathed a sigh of relief and lay back on the bed.
She was desperately in need of some sleep, but now that she was alone, the shock of what could have happened to her earlier hit her.
The arrow had been so close, and she shuddered to think what could have happened had it hit her.
Eliza tried to push the thought out of her mind and replace it with one of her sisters, wondering how they were coping without her.
Were they worried? She knew that Juliet would be fretting as she always did when something unexpected happened, but Margot would be seething with rage, since anger was how she dealt with most things.
She had no time to think of them any longer, however, for at that moment there was a knock at the door, and when Eliza answered two maids came into the room.
One was tall, dark, and middle-aged, while the other was young, small, fair and unnaturally thin.
Eliza’s tender heart immediately went out to her.
Both of them came towards Eliza and curtsied, and the young woman gave her a faint, timid smile as she handed her a dress. “I hope it is tae your likin’, Milady,” she said, and there was a note of apprehension in her voice.
A surge of pity arose within Eliza as she looked at the girl. Her clothes were faded and patched, and she looked as though she had not eaten a good meal in ages.
Eliza looked down at the dress. It was made of dark blue linen that was perfectly acceptable as a day dress but a little plain for evening wear. However, she doubted that Duncan Sinclair would be worried too much about her attire, and she smiled at the young woman.
“This is fine, thank you,” she said appreciatively.
The maid gave her a tentative smile, and just then her bath was brought in by two manservants who emptied buckets of hot water into it. Eliza gave a deep sigh of relief.
“Thank god,” she breathed.
The thin young maid helped her undress and assisted her in stepping into the bath, where she lay back and let the hot water lap over her grateful body. It was scented with lavender, and Eliza breathed in the smell with deep gratitude.
This must be what heaven smells like, she thought.
She felt the young woman’s hands in her hair, massaging her head and sending waves of wonderful sensations through her body.
“That feels fabulous,” she said happily. “You have obviously done this before.”
“Aye, Milady,” the young woman replied flatly, but there was no other answer.
Somewhat taken aback, Eliza addressed the other woman. “Have you worked here for a long time?” she asked pleasantly.
“Aye, Milady,” the maid replied, scowling at her from dark grey eyes that held a depth of anger that Eliza could not understand.
There was no smile, no expression of civility—just a dark scowl. Yet, Eliza had done nothing to them at all; she had not been rude or unpleasant in any way.
Then she realised the reason for their hostility.
She was English, and she remembered Duncan saying that his mother was English and had been hated by the staff for that reason, even though she had treated them all with the greatest of respect.
Still, she reasoned, she would not be staying for long; as soon as she had played her part she would be gone—she hoped.
Eliza began to feel indignant, but decided not to let the women’s attitude get the better of her, so she persevered, trying to coax answers to her questions out of them, but all she received were monosyllabic replies.
The older woman was especially curt, the younger one slightly less so, but the effect was the same, and Eliza felt belittled and angry.
When she emerged from the bath she felt clean and refreshed, and donned the dark blue dress, which fitted her as well as if it had been made for her. She wanted to ask where it had come from, but she knew what kind of answer she would receive, so she stayed silent.
Eliza said nothing while the young maid brushed her hair, but watched her in the mirror.
The girl looked infinitely sad, and was submissive to the older woman who gave her curt orders which she hurried to obey.
Eliza hated the way the older woman bullied her, but did not wish to interfere in case it caused more trouble.
When she had brushed all the tangles out of Eliza’s hair, the young woman began to style it—not elaborately as if she were going to a ball, but in a neat, smart fashion that emphasised the perfect oval of her face.
When she had finished, Eliza smiled at her. “That looks lovely, thank you. What is your name, by the way?”
“I’m Maisie, Milady,” the young woman answered.
Eliza noticed that she never looked directly at her, but always kept her eyes averted. Was she humble or truly scared of her?
“That’s a lovely name,” Eliza answered. “Very Scottish, I believe. Now, I think it is time I joined the Laird for dinner. Can you show me where the dining room is?”
Maisie nodded, then guided Eliza out of the bedroom and down what seemed to be an endless maze of corridors before they reached a set of large double doors.
“Thank you, Maisie.” Eliza smiled at the young woman, and received a tentative smile in return, before Maisie turned and scurried away. Eliza watched her until she turned a corner and passed out of sight, since she did not wish Maisie to see all her good work being undone.
Eliza reached up into her neatly coiffed hair and pulled out a few of the pins that were holding it in place, then dug her fingers into it, pulling and ruffling it until it was a tangled mess.
She did not have a mirror, but she smiled with dark satisfaction, knowing that she probably looked like a scarecrow.
Now, how are you going to like this, Duncan Sinclair? she thought. Are you going to be as angry as I would like you to be? I cannot wait to find out!
She would not bend over to the whims of any man—especially a fake fiancé—and she was about to make it crystal clear to Duncan Sinclair. She lifted the skirt of her dress and crushed it in her hands to add a few wrinkles, then she giggled, pushed the door open and stepped into the dining room.