Chapter 11
As they walked into the castle together, Eliza felt deeply uncomfortable as the tall woman beside her made her feel small, both physically and inside her mind.
The two men who had introduced them walked behind them, and Eliza wanted to turn and shoo them away, but she knew it was impossible, so she carried on walking beside Lady Drummond, all the time making pointless small talk.
How was the journey? Are you well? Would you like to freshen up? We are having venison for dinner. Would you like some tea?
Each question was answered politely but in a tone of deep disinterest, yet Eliza valiantly kept up the conversation, even though a mixture of nervousness and anger was making her tremble inside.
She desperately wished that Duncan was with them to deflect some of this odious woman’s attention, but failing that, she wanted her to climb back into her carriage and return to where she came from.
One of the elders asked Lady Iona a question, but in contrast to her responses to Eliza, her answer was warm and humorous, and Eliza felt a surge of hatred erupt inside her. She looked up and found the tall woman’s eyes fixed on her as though her glare would bore a hole in her.
“Can I help you with anything?” Eliza asked with forced politeness and a smile that was so false that she felt her face might crack.
Lady Iona shook her head. “Nothing, thank you,” she replied.
They turned a corner into a broad corridor lined with pictures, and the tall woman’s eyes lit up as she brushed her fingers along the wall.
“Oh, I remember this place,” she said, smiling as she stopped at one of the paintings, a tranquil landscape of green hills and grazing sheep.
Eliza let out an audible gasp of surprise. “You’ve been here before?” she asked.
“Many times,” Iona answered, still gazing at the painting.
“My family and the Sinclairs have been allies for generations.” She turned to give Eliza a self-satisfied smile.
“My grandfather painted this and gave it as a gift to Duncan’s father.
They were great friends. This corridor used to be a gallery where Duncan’s mother had all the family portraits hung. ”
“Where are they now?” Eliza asked curiously. “I cannot imagine that Duncan would hide them away. He loves art.”
“He is going to hang them in the Great Hall,” Iona replied. “He told me he was having them all cleaned and reframed. He wants the portrait of his mother to have pride of place. He loved her very much and it’s his favourite picture.”
“You spoke to him recently, then?” Eliza asked, feeling even smaller and more inadequate.
It seemed that she knew very little about Duncan, whereas Iona knew just about everything. Eliza wondered what kind of relationship they had had before she came on the scene.
“Yes, I spoke to him a few weeks ago,” Iona replied, and Eliza detected a trace of smugness in her tone. “We go riding together sometimes.”
They moved along the corridor a little further and Iona suddenly stopped at a door on her left-hand side. “The music room,” she breathed, clapping her hands.“I wonder if the piano is still there?” she asked, pushing the door open.
Her face was a picture of glee as she saw the instrument in the middle of the room. She looked back at Eliza.
“Do you play?” she asked, moving over to the piano and caressing the polished wooden lid with tender fingers.
Eliza shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she replied. “To be honest, I am not very musical.”
In truth, her father had never allowed Eliza or her sisters to learn because he refused to spend good money on a tutor.
“Oh? What do you do to pass the time?” Iona asked.
It was the first time she had made an inquiry about Eliza, since she had only talked about herself and her own affairs up until that moment.
“I sew,” Eliza replied.
“Sew?” Iona frowned. “You make clothes and suchlike?” She failed to hide an expression of faint disgust.
“Yes, and I do needlepoint and embroidery,” Eliza replied. “They are both forms of artwork, and I find that making and designing my own clothes is a useful accomplishment. I am my own modiste.”
This had obviously not occurred to Iona, but it obviously did not impress her. “I prefer music, so I will perform for you later,” she announced. “I love the piano.”
“Would you like tea, ladies?” the taller of the elders asked.
“I would love some!” Iona gushed. “I am absolutely parched.”
“You should have said so,” Eliza said dryly. She had become tired of Iona’s condescending attitude and was finding it hard to hide her annoyance under a mask of civility. “Come to the parlour.”
They walked on a little further, but Eliza left the conversation to Iona and the men so that she had an excuse to be silent.
She had only met Iona Drummond a few minutes before and she was already weary of her company.
Eliza wondered how long she would be staying, since even five minutes would be too long for her liking.
The four of them sat down in the parlour, and a few moments later tea and scones, smothered with jam and cream arrived.
Eliza poured for everyone, ignoring Iona’s expression of disgust because she thought a maid should be performing this menial task, even though she was laughing inwardly.
She was briefly tempted to spill hot tea on Iona as she had done with Duncan, but she restrained herself, although she let out a mischievous giggle which earned her a frowning reprimand from the others.
“Is something funny?” Iona asked.
“I was thinking about the first time I met Duncan,” Eliza replied honestly. “I accidentally spilled tea on him.”
To Eliza’s satisfaction, Iona gave a little gasp and drew herself back in her chair.
“Don’t worry,” Eliza assured her. “You are quite safe. I promise.” She could not help a soft little giggle, however.
The two elders glared at her, and Eliza wondered if any of the three of them possessed a sense of humour at all.
“What is it like to live in England?” Iona asked suddenly.
Eliza smiled. “The climate is a little warmer, but otherwise it is not so different from here.”
“And the people?” Iona went on, sipping her tea.
Eliza sighed. “Scots are a little less friendly,” she replied, “but I think it’s a question of getting to know you better.”
“Well, that might be because you tried to invade us so many times.” Iona’s voice sounded bitter and angry, and her eyes darkened as she looked at Eliza.
“And we are slow to forgive those who do us wrong,” the smaller of the two men said. “And we prefer to deal with intelligent folks, and that rules out Sassenachs.”
They all laughed, and Eliza joined in, pretending to regard the statement as a joke, even though she was seething with rage inside.
“The land where I live is much flatter,” she went on. “The farmers grow vegetables, and there are very few sheep. You must have a thriving wool industry here.”
“We do,” Iona said, nodding.
“Well, you told us it is very cold up here,” the taller of the elders said, laughing.
“But then, we are hardy people. A lot of wool is traded with places like France. We had an alliance with them a few hundred years ago. We joined forces to fight the English.” The three Scots smiled at each other triumphantly.
Eliza was beginning to feel afraid, since the hostility in the air was palpable, and she was completely outnumbered.
However, she was saved by the arrival of Duncan, who strode into the room smelling of fresh air, his hair tousled by the wind, looking, to Eliza’s eyes, absolutely delectable. She felt a rush of relief, but it did not last long.
As soon as she saw him, Iona stood up, and her beautiful face broke into a wide smile. “Duncan!” she cried. “It’s so good to see you!”
Duncan’s eyes widened in surprise, then he gave her a slightly confused smile. “Iona, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked.
“I wanted to surprise you,” she replied. “Is it a bad time for you?”
She cast a look at Eliza, who, at that moment, was wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her. Iona looked like a queen greeting her king, and it was quite obvious that the two of them were old friends—perhaps even intimate ones.
“No, of course not,” he assured her. He looked down at his clothes, which were absolutely filthy. “But if I had known you were coming, I would have stayed at home and looked a bit cleaner!”
“Pfft!” Iona flapped a hand at him and laughed. “As if that matters! Did you catch anything?”
“An old stag,” Duncan replied. “Too old for breeding, so he was no loss to the herd.”
He sat down on the couch beside Eliza, who poured him tea and sat back without speaking, intending to be quiet and take no further part in the conversation.
“You have met Eliza, I see?” Duncan turned to smile at her, and the look in his amber eyes comforted Eliza far more than any words could have done.
“Yes,” Iona replied, but the glance she sent Eliza was as cold as Duncan’s had been warm. “We have been talking about our respective countries.”
Duncan frowned and seemed lost for words for a few moments, then he changed the subject, and asked, “How is your family, Iona?”
Iona recognised this for the diversion it so clearly was. “They are well, Duncan,” she answered. “But I see things have changed around the castle since the last time I was here. Would you like to show me around? Do you still have my favourite mare in the stable?”
“Indeed I do,” Duncan replied.
They sat and made conversation for a short time like the old friends they supposedly were until Duncan finished his tea, while Eliza listened politely and said nothing.
Eventually, Duncan stood up and took Eliza’s arm so that she was obliged to join him, but her heart was thumping as they made their way to the stables. She hoped that Duncan would allow her to ride with him, since she was still not confident enough to do so on her own.
However, it was not to be. When they arrived, five horses had been saddled; one for each of the elders, Iona, Duncan and Eliza, and it was clear that she was expected to ride by herself.
She had practised a few times, granted, but she was too afraid to try again, especially with Iona by her side.
No doubt she would enjoy herself greatly at Eliza’s expense if she fell.
Duncan looked at her as she hesitated by the entrance. It was clear to Eliza that he understood exactly what she was going through, but could think of no way to help her. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
Do you want me to call this off? he asked.
Eliza gave an infinitesimal shake of her head, then took a deep breath and rubbed her hand across her forehead, closing her eyes and screwing her face up as if she were in pain.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I have a headache; I will not be able to ride, so will you please go without me? I can join you all later.”
“Of course.” It was Iona who spoke, pretending to adopt an expression of concern. “I hope you feel better soon.”
The two elders expressed similar sentiments, neither of them looking particularly sincere, but Duncan came up to her and took her hands in his, then raised them to his lips.
“Go and rest,” he said softly. “I’ll talk to you later, Eliza.” He smiled at her, then squeezed her hands and turned away.
Iona mounted her mare and somehow managed to steer it sideways so that her knee was brushing against Duncan’s. She waved at Eliza as they rode away, and gave her a smug smile.
Eliza watched as Duncan’s broad shoulders and back faded into the distance, and when they passed out of sight over the bridge, she let out a long sigh.
Her heart was hurting so much that the pain was almost physical.
Iona Drummond wanted him, and she had everything that Eliza did not.
She was wealthy, well-connected and best of all, she was Scottish, and there was nothing Eliza could do to change that.
Not to mention that he had not literally bought her off from an uncaring father.