Chapter 5
Duncan poured himself a glass of his best French wine as he waited for Eliza and sipped it, lost in deep thought.
It had been a terrifying day, and the shock was only now beginning to sink in, but as always, he was determined not to cope with it by drinking himself senseless.
He had seen too many other men going down that route and ruining their lives in the process.
As well as that, he had a feeling that the woman he had chosen to play the role of his betrothed was going to be more than a little troublesome—but then, what else had he expected?
Would it be better if he had sought someone who was as meek as a lamb to play the role?
He thought not, but then he had never expected to be in this situation, and he had to admit that he was more than a little lost.
He could imagine the little tigress, as he now thought of her, antagonising every Scot that she met just by opening her mouth and letting her smooth English vowels reach their ears.
However, she had an air of determination and confidence that he would have to somehow tame or make her lose altogether because that would ruffle the feathers of all the elders of the clan.
To be defiantly addressed by a woman was bad enough—but a Sassenach! The effect would be beyond horrific.
He laughed at the thought of his curmudgeon of a housekeeper, Jessie, who kept all the servants and even some guards under her iron fist, taking orders from Eliza. But had she not proved, with a mixture of humour and sheer stubbornness, that she was a force to be reckoned with?
My tigress, he thought, still laughing. His English mother, who had died when he was only ten years old, had been a gentle soul, but gentle was the last word he would use to describe Eliza. The appropriate word was wild.
At that moment, the door opened and the object of his thoughts walked in. Duncan’s mouth fell open as he set eyes on Eliza.
“My god,” he said, standing up reflexively, as he always did when a lady entered the room. “What the hell?”
Eliza gave him a sweet smile and a deep curtsey. She waited for him to pull a chair out for her then sat down and took a sip of the deep, fragrant red wine in front of her, giving a long murmur of appreciation.
Duncan stared at Eliza in disbelief. She was a study in chaos, her dark hair thick with clouds of tangles, knots and stray hairpins clinging to the mass of her thick brown locks.
He was reminded of the mythological story of the gorgon Medusa, whose hair was made of writhing snakes and turned anyone who looked at her to stone.
Of course, Eliza was extremely beautiful, and the comparison was completely inaccurate, but it flitted through his mind and made him laugh out loud.
Eliza was not a gorgon; she was the complete opposite of such a horrific creature, but she had the same effect on him in some ways in that she could shock him almost senseless.
Duncan fixed his gaze on her, then his first look of horror turned into a smile of wry amusement. “I like the new hairstyle,” he drawled. “Perhaps you should wear it to our next ceilidh. You may start a new fashion.”
If he had thought he could outsmart her, Duncan was sadly mistaken. “I will consider your suggestion, my Laird,” she said thoughtfully. “Mind you, I imagine that many Scottish ladies might be too scared to try this style. They are not as brave as we English are.”
Duncan grimaced. “I would recommend that you do not let a Scottish person hear you say that,” he advised grimly. “You might not get out of this place alive.”
Eliza studied Duncan for a moment, trying to figure out whether he was serious or not. Seeing her slightly confused expression, he smiled wickedly.
“Don’t worry, I will keep you safe,” he told her. “But don’t underestimate us, Eliza. We can be quite fearsome when we want to be, and you—” He pointed to her hair—“have a way of getting under a man’s skin just by the way you look sometimes.”
“Forgive me,” she said, smiling. “I thought if I was quiet and obedient, you would like me better. You bought me, after all, but sadly, I am not one of those people who can keep quiet.” Then she studied him for a moment.
“Are you sure it’s not because of the way I talk?
” she asked, then she gave him a mischievous smile.
“Should I learn to speak with a Scottish accent?”
Duncan threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Now that would be hilarious!” He took another sip of his wine. “Say ‘Lochwinnoch,’” he ordered.
Eliza frowned, then said, “Lockwinnock.”
This time, Duncan dissolved into such a fit of mirth that tears were running down his face.
“Maybe not,” he said at last, wiping his cheeks. “I would hate to hear you butcher any more Scottish words.”
Eliza had to admit that she was enjoying their banter, even though much of it was at her expense. Then her mood abruptly changed as she suddenly remembered the moment when she had seen her father receiving a jingling pouch of coins from Duncan, and her face darkened with rage.
“Well, you own me now,” she reminded him. “You can forbid me from doing whatever you like.”
Duncan studied Eliza for a moment, as he realised how angry she was. In her place he might have felt the same, he reasoned, but there were two sides to every story, and he realised that he could not achieve a good relationship with her if he did not make one thing clear.
“You seem to forget that there were two sides to this exchange,” he pointed out. “A seller and a buyer. I am just as bad as your father, aye, but I will never own you inside, Eliza, and I will never treat you like a possession. I think you should reserve your anger for your father.”
“Oh, I will,” Eliza said bitterly. “He is the most worthless, evil person I know, and I look forward to telling him so one day. If I were a man, I would have done it with my fists!”
Duncan looked at Eliza’s face, now twisted with an expression of pain and rage, and felt infinitely sorry for her.
She had suddenly been catapulted into a world she knew nothing about, living in a foreign country with people who disliked her immensely, and it was all because of him. Yet, he still needed her help.
“Can you tell me a bit about why I am here?” Eliza asked. “I am in the middle of this matter, yet I know nothing about it.”
Duncan was confounded suddenly. He knew that Eliza was right, and she did deserve to know the facts, but he trusted no one—especially not a woman he had only just met.
To buy some time, he poured himself another glass of wine very slowly and took a sip, all the while deliberately keeping his eyes averted from her.
Eliza frowned, not quite understanding what was going on. “Why do you think there is a traitor here? Do you suspect anyone? If I am going to help you I need to know a lot more than I do now.”
Duncan sighed. “Eliza, I…” He trailed off, obviously unwilling to tell her anything at all.
Eliza was annoyed and disgusted that he would not trust her, especially after what they had gone through that afternoon.
She had nearly died, for heaven’s sake! She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind when he raised his eyes to hers and once more Eliza found herself gazing into their fascinating amber depths.
She and Duncan were no more than a few feet away from each other across the table, and it would have taken very little effort for Eliza to lean across and kiss him.
In fact, she had to restrain herself from doing so.
Even though—or perhaps because—she was so angry with him, the sensations he aroused in her were hungry and passionate.
If she had but known it, Duncan was feeling exactly the same way, and now he found himself in an impossible situation.
It would be so easy to succumb to Eliza’s charms, but if he did, he would lose all hope of fulfilling his mission.
She was far too distracting, and he would be constantly putting her first and forgetting why she was there.
She was not really his; their betrothal was a sham, and he had to constantly remind himself of that.
Just then, two servants came in bearing steaming dishes of food, which they placed on the sideboard behind them. The aroma of meat, vegetables, fruit, and spices made Eliza’s mouth water and reminded her that she had eaten nothing since her small meal on the road earlier that afternoon.
The food and the slight tensing of her shoulders at the sight of the foreign dishes gave Duncan an idea.
“I have a suggestion,” he told her. “If you eat two items of food from the selection here, I will answer one of your questions. You will not have tasted any of them before because all of these are Scottish recipes.”
Eliza thought for a moment, and Duncan saw a spark lighting up her eyes. She knew what he was thinking, and she would never back down from a challenge. That, and her fiery spirit, were the reasons he had chosen her.
“Very well.”
She moved around the table and picked up a plate, then dished up something that resembled a huge grey sausage. It looked revolting, Eliza thought, but it smelled delicious.
After sniffing around some more of the selection, Eliza picked up a piece of fish; it was a strange pinkish colour, and it was that which intrigued her and made her carry it to the table.
She dived into the grey sausage first and was surprised to find, when she put it in her mouth, that it had a savoury, earthy yet meaty taste, and almost melted in her mouth.
“Mmm, this is wonderful,” she said appreciatively.
“I’m glad you like it.” Duncan smiled. “It’s called haggis.”
He decided to tell her what the ingredients were, hoping that her English sensibilities would be too tender to cope if he told her she was eating a sheep’s stomach.
“It is our national dish, made from oats, onions, and spices with sheeps’ offal enclosed in a sheep’s stomach.”
To Duncan’s disappointment, Eliza said appreciatively, “Mmm, I would never have guessed that ingredients like those could taste so good.”
Next, Eliza tried the fish. The pink colour was caused by smoking, which added an exotic, salty and aromatic taste to the tender, flaky flesh.
“Ohhh…” she breathed. “This is—I have no words to describe it. It is heavenly!”
“It’s salmon,” he told her. “Smoked over a wood fire.”
She dived into the food again and finished every morsel, sighing appreciatively with every mouthful. Meanwhile, Duncan had dished up some of the assortment for himself, and poured another glass of wine for both of them.
Eliza held her glass up in a toast. “To questions answered,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Did you think I had forgotten, my Laird? The food is excellent, but not so good as to make me lose my memory.”
Duncan sighed, smiled and took a sip of his wine. “Ask away, please,” he invited.
Eliza paused for a moment, drawing out the suspense and milking the moment for all it was worth. Eventually, she asked, “Why did you choose me?”
Duncan’s eyes widened with shock; it was the last thing he had expected to be asked.
He stood up after a moment, then began to circle the table in slow laps before he stopped behind Eliza.
She did not move, even though he stood behind her for a full three minutes.
Duncan laughed inwardly. This was exactly what he had expected. He bent down to whisper in her ear.
Eliza had been aware of Duncan’s presence behind her because of the heat of his body and its masculine scent, which was making her tingle with need.
Now she could feel his hot breath on her cheek and her ear as he said, “Because I like watching you obey, and I love making you beg.” His voice was soft, vibrant, and so, so deep, and Eliza heard a smile in it as he spoke.
He walked around to his seat and sat down, and after giving Eliza one more sly glance, he began to tuck into his food again, leaving her speechless.
Speechlessness was something that rarely happened to Eliza, and it was a measure of her shock. She was beginning to see a side to Duncan Sinclair she had not expected.
The rest of the meal was spent in stilted, awkward conversation punctuated by long silences, and Eliza was infinitely glad when she finished the last sip of wine and announced that she was ready to retire for the night.