Chapter Twelve #3
Robert paused. He did not smile and Lucy felt a ripple of disquiet, sensing something amiss but not quite sure what it might be. She knew so little about him. She wore his ring and she was going to wed him, but of the man himself she knew almost nothing. He gave so little away.
“My grandfather was fierce and proud and steeped in the old ways,” Robert said, after a moment.
He took the ladle from her, helping himself to the stew.
His expression was clear. If it had not been for that momentary hesitation, she would have thought there was nothing amiss.
“He remembered the rebellion of forty-five,” he said.
“He hated the English and their kings and could not understand how the world had changed.”
“Did you like him?” Lucy asked.
Again she felt that flicker of hesitation in him before he answered, “No, I did not like him. There were many matters on which we disagreed. He neglected his estates shamefully in his later years, which allowed your cousin Cardross to stake a claim here. Since I returned I’ve worked damned hard to put matters right.
” He tilted his wineglass to his lips, took a deep swallow.
“I am sure he is spinning in his grave to see my methods. He disapproved of me badly and did not wish me to succeed him, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.”
“And your grandmother?” Lucy asked. “She is fierce too.”
This time Robert did smile. “Oh, Grandmama has a soft heart for all her sharpness.” His voice had changed, softened.
“She was the only one—” He stopped. Lucy waited.
When he resumed, his voice was smooth again and had no expression.
“Methven was never meant to be mine,” he said.
“I had an elder brother. Gregor. He was to be the next laird.”
Lucy laid down her fork. “He died,” she said, remembering, feeling quick sympathy. “I am sorry.” She, with her painful memories of losing Alice, was immediately alive to wondering how he had felt to lose his brother, the heir. It could not have been anything other than terrible.
“Thank you.” She could see that her words had not reached him. He did not meet her eyes. “It was a long time ago.”
“You quarreled with your family and went abroad after your brother’s death, didn’t you?
” It was all coming back to Lucy now. In those dark days after Alice had died, she had been scarcely aware of anything else happening at all, but she could remember her father mentioning that there had been a terrible tragedy and that Robert Methven had left the country and gone to Canada.
“Why did you go?” she asked.
Robert looked at her. His blue eyes were blank. “My grandfather considered me unworthy to succeed him.” His voice was cool. Only the white of his knuckles on the fork betrayed him. “We quarreled badly over his plans for me. I decided to try and prove myself elsewhere.”
“But to go so far from home?” Lucy stared. “After your brother died you were heir to the Methven estates! Surely—”
“I was young and foolish,” Robert said, interrupting her, cutting her off. He picked up the wine bottle. “Would you care for more?”
It was so clear a warning to drop the subject that Lucy almost flinched. He was not prepared to give her an insight into his emotions. She felt chilled by the rebuff.
She ran her fingers over the engraved initials of the signet ring on her hand. It felt warm and heavy, but the comfort of it was illusory. It did not bind them closer because it seemed Robert did not want that intimacy.
“Thank you,” she said, as coolly as he, and filled the silence between them by drinking half of it even though she was not sure she should take any more.
“I have sent a letter to your sister Mairi to tell her that you are safe,” Robert said, after a long pause. “Also your father. I have asked for your hand in marriage.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Actually I have told him we are to wed tomorrow.”
Lucy jumped, spilling some drops of her wine on the shiny wooden surface of the table.
“Tomorrow!” she said.
“Aye.” His blue gaze challenged her. He nodded toward her hand. “You wear my ring. I was under the impression that you had accepted my proposal.”
Lucy touched the golden band lightly. “You offered it to me to protect my reputation here in public.”
“I offered it to you because I want to marry you,” Robert said.
His gaze was dark now, opaque. She could not tell what he was thinking.
“You have seen for yourself now how Wilfred Cardross works,” he said harshly, lifting his gaze to hers.
“Would you be prepared to let this land fall into his hands?”
“That’s not fair,” Lucy said. She pushed her plate away, appetite gone.
Even so, she was thinking of Isobel and Bessie and the horror and fear in their eyes.
She thought of the bare plot of land at the croft where she had stopped to ask for directions.
She thought of Wilfred’s guile and cruelty, of men’s livelihoods stolen and their homes gone, their families dispersed.
She raised a hand to touch her cheek and felt the throb of the bruise.
“He cannot be allowed to win,” Robert said.
“No,” Lucy whispered.
“Those who are strong have a responsibility to protect others.” He covered her hand with his. “You are strong, Lucy.”
“You believe that?” Lucy’s fingers trembled on the stem of the wineglass. She had never thought herself strong. She had despised herself for her weakness in failing Alice and Alice’s child.
“You can help my people.” Robert’s tone was steady and the look in his eyes deep and intent.
“Yes,” Lucy whispered. She had known there was no going back.
Robert would agree to nothing less than marriage now, and even if he let her go, there was no possible way to save her reputation.
She could never step back into her old life as though nothing had happened. Already it felt distant, lost to her.
“You need a wife to fulfill the terms of the treaty,” she said, moistening her lips. Her throat felt sore and rough. She took another mouthful of wine and could not taste it.
“No,” Robert said. His fingers tightened over hers. “I need you.”