Chapter 10
Duncan had gone out hunting the next morning, both because the castle kitchens needed fresh meat, and because he needed a little time away from Eliza to sort out the confusion in his mind that had been caused by the kiss.
Why had he done it?
Because you wanted to, Duncan, you fool. And so did Eliza.
He remembered her last words before she turned and left him. She did not regret anything, and if he was honest with himself, neither did he. Eliza had awakened in him something that he had forgotten existed—a fierce protectiveness that he had not felt since his mother died.
She had died in the same scarlet fever epidemic that had taken Maisie’s family, and despite all her knowledge of medicines and herbs, she had been unable to save herself.
When she passed away, Duncan had wanted to die himself.
In fact, he would have traded his life for hers without a second thought.
He had been furiously angry that the only person in his life that he really loved had been taken away from him, since his father was only a distant second in his affections.
Ever since the day Lady Margaret Sinclair died, there had been a hole in his life, and yet lately, he had felt much less empty.
Now he felt the same way he had when he sat beside his mother’s bedside, but why? Eliza was only a means to an end, was she not? And yet, that kiss…
Damn it! She inspired feelings in him that had lain dormant for years, and had come back with such force that they were overwhelming him.
She affected his body in a way that no woman had done for a long time, in a way that was hard for him to analyse. He wanted her body desperately, but there was something else. Could it be…
Love?
The notion stunned him so much that he became confused and unfocused, and he almost collided with a tree, then cursed roundly as he straightened his horse up again.
However, at that moment an old stag leaped into the path of his horse and he had to pivot his attention back to the matter at hand; he would worry about Eliza later.
Eliza had letters to write to her sisters, but for a long time, all she could think about was the kiss she had shared with Duncan.
She had been kissed before by a handsome groom she had thought herself in love with, and the son of her father’s best friend, who had had a crush on her, but they had both been fumbling and clumsy.
She had been thrilled by both, since at that time she knew no better.
However, kissing Duncan had been nothing like that; it had been the single sweetest and yet most thrilling experience of her life, and even the thought of it made her lips tingle.
Eliza wanted to taste him again, but she wanted to go further and explore the mystery of what lay beyond kissing because it had never been explained to her before.
She had heard that it was painful and that only men enjoyed it, but that was not how she had felt. No, whatever lay beyond kisses was not going to be unpleasant. She could feel it in every particle of her being.
Yet who could she ask about this? Definitely not her father, and her sisters were as ignorant of the facts of life as she was. Eliza sighed and walked over to the writing desk by the window. Sitting and thinking about the vexing subject would get her nowhere.
She took out her writing materials and looked with bitterness at the expensive, fine-grained paper with the Earl of Harwick’s crest at the top of the page.
This was why she had been sold; so that her father could continue to pretend that he was wealthy and cultured, when in fact he was neither. He was poor, uncouth, and a bully.
Abruptly, Eliza shook all thought of him out of her mind to concentrate on the letter she was writing.
Dear Juliet and Margot,
I hope you are both well. I am happy to report that I am, and that Laird Sinclair seems to be a decent man who treats me well.
Scotland is not as savage as we were led to believe, although there is a sense of danger here sometimes, and my Englishness is a bit of a handicap, but I feel I am slowly overcoming it.
I asked Laird Sinclair to train me in combat. As you know, it is something I have always been interested in, and he has agreed. I will let you both know how I am progressing in my next letter—assuming that I manage not to kill myself!
I miss you both very much, and I hope to see you soon.
All my love, dearest sisters.
From your own,
Lizzie.
Eliza sealed the letter, then gave it to one of the manservants with instructions on where it should be sent. After a few moments, Maisie came in with a tea tray and poured a cup for Eliza, who smiled at her.
“Can you fetch me a needle and thread please, Maisie?” she asked. “I want to do some mending.”
Maisie looked astonished, but went to do her mistress’s bidding, and while she was out of the room, Eliza sipped her tea, found that it tasted quite normal, and relaxed.
Maisie handed a needle and a spool of brown thread to Eliza, then frowned as she watched Eliza thread the needle.
“Dae ye sew, Milady?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” Eliza replied. “It’s my favourite pastime, and it can be very useful. I enjoy keeping my hands busy, and I love making and mending things. Now sit down and let me show you something.”
The young woman did as she was told, but her expression became deeply puzzled when Eliza picked up a section of Maisie’s skirt, and matched the colour with the thread. It was nowhere near similar, but it was all she had, so it would have to do.
“Watch what I do, Maisie.”
She found a tear in Maisie’s dress, then began to stitch the ragged edges together.
“But Milady, this is no’ what a lady should be doin’. This is maid’s work!” Her voice sounded shocked.
“A lady does what she pleases,” Eliza answered. “And I am a lady who cares for the good of others. Now watch, Maisie.”
Carefully and slowly, Eliza mended the hole in Maisie’s skirt with tiny, meticulous stitches. When she had finished, the repair was almost invisible, and Maisie looked at it with amazement.
“I cannae see it,” she said in disbelief.
Eliza found another hole, and handed Maisie the needle. “Now it’s your turn,” she told her.
She took Maisie’s hands and helped her form the tiny stitches, and when they had finished the work was almost as neat as the first piece of mending.
Maisie looked at the seam, astonished, unable to speak for a moment. Then she looked up at Eliza with a beaming smile.
“Thank ye, Milady,” she breathed.
“You did it by yourself,” Eliza replied, smiling. “And the more you practise, the better you will become. I have lost my sewing supplies, but when I get new ones I will give you some needles and thread, and we can sit and sew together. After a while, you can progress to embroidery.”
Maisie’s face was suddenly wreathed in a beaming smile that warmed Eliza’s heart. “Embroidery? Me?” she asked in disbelief. “Milady, I would never be able tae dae that!”
“Never say never, Maisie.” Eliza looked to see if she could find something else to repair. Sadly, there was no shortage of holes to mend. “Now, here is another one—” she began.
Suddenly, she heard someone clearing their throat, and she looked up to see two of the elders standing at the door, disapproval etched all over their grim faces.
Eliza was fizzing with fury at their disrespect, since they had not even bothered to knock on the door, but she remembered Duncan’s words about how to keep the elders on her side, and smiled at them.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she asked politely.
One of the men grimaced. “A lady sewing with a maid?” he said, his voice filled with disgust.
Eliza forced down her rage. “A lady is responsible for her people, is she not? If I show this girl how to sew I will not have to employ a seamstress to do the mending, which will save us money, will it not? I am sure you approve of that. The mistress of the castle must also see to the finances of the household, after all.”
The men exchanged glances, then nodded grudgingly, although the expressions of condescension did not leave their faces. At that moment, Eliza had a fleeting fantasy of the dirk and the damage it could do to both of them.
“An essential guest is about to arrive,” the taller of the two men said. “The Laird is out hunting, so it is only proper for his betrothed to greet her. Her name is Lady Iona Drummond, and she and her family must always be treated with the greatest of respect.”
His tone suggested that Eliza was a simpleton who was too stupid to understand the concept of respect, but although she was furious, she forced herself to look calm and agreeable, at least outwardly. Eliza reflected that she was becoming an expert at hiding her feelings!
“Of course,” she agreed, standing up. “Lead the way, gentlemen.”
Her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen as she followed them downstairs and out into the courtyard. Even though her father was a nobleman, she had never had to greet anyone of consequence before, since the Earl had always considered it his prerogative.
Now she stood watching as an elegant carriage with a gilded crest on the doors came towards her, pulled by four identical grey horses, their hooves clattering loudly on the cobbled courtyard.
If there was one subject that her father excelled at, it was judging horseflesh, and these specimens were the best of the best, even to Eliza’s less than expert eye.
They must have cost a fortune, Eliza thought, as she noticed their glossy coats and expensive livery.
She looked down and smoothed her hands over her plain dress to smooth any wrinkles, thanking the stars that her own clothes had finally arrived.
Her pale grey day dress was plain, but it was of very good quality, something for which she was very grateful, since she had a suspicion that she was about to be judged, and judged harshly.
One of the elders, who had followed her outside, stepped forward to help the passenger out of the coach, and for a moment Eliza could do nothing but stare.
The woman was tall, with dark blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and fine sculpted features.
She was wearing a travelling costume that consisted of a fine dark blue woollen dress and a cloak in the same colour, and Eliza thought that a queen could not have dressed any better.
“Lady Iona Drummond,” the elder said with an insincere smile.
Eliza pasted on a smile of her own and moved forward to greet the visitor with a polite curtsy. The woman returned the gesture with an answering smile and held out her gloved hand. Eliza shook it with a firm grip, and Lady Drummond looked surprised.
“I am Lady Eliza Tewsbury,” Eliza said. “I am pleased to meet you, My Lady.”
“And I you,” Lady Drummond’s tone was sweet and polite, but the way her sharp blue eyes raked Eliza from head to foot with a blatant assessing gaze was not. “I have heard a lot about you.”
“All good, I hope?” Eliza asked, laughing a little as she tried to inject some levity into the conversation.
Lady Drummond nodded. “Of course,” she replied.
She smiled again, but it did not reach her eyes, and the expression made Eliza shiver inside. This woman was her enemy, and she had said so without uttering a single word.