that’s it!” Marianne cried. “Scrub all the floors for a week.”
Polly’s eyes grew round as wheels. “You never had to wash floors!”
“I did,” Marianne confirmed. “So what is a little wine on my sewing? It isn’t very good anyway.” She studied the stain that was about the size of a coin. “That might even make it look better.”
Polly smiled tremulously. “I think you sew very well, my lady. And the colors are very pretty, the red especially. It’s as bright as holly berries.”
Marianne knew flattery when she heard it.
She didn’t sew well because she hated it. She’d only started this because she wanted some excuse to talk to Polly, for a servant knew many things about the running of the household, such as who would be where, when. Polly was also familiar with the countryside and the people who lived outside the castle, as well as the roads leading away from Beauxville.
As Marianne went back to working on her ugly embroidery that looked like miscellaneous blobs of color linked by green strings instead of intertwined roses and vines, two male servants came into the hall and set new torches in the sconces in the wall. A middle-aged serving woman swept out the hearth, leaving some coals at one side to kindle the fire anew in the evening.
Out of the corner of her eye, Marianne caught a movement to her right. Another servant laying rushes.
Whatever for? They’d just been changed yesterday.
There was something odd about that man….
Marianne stiffened and her hand went instinctively to her lips as the memory of the Scot’s kiss returned full force.
What in the name of the saints was he doing here? And he had to be up to no good—again—to come in disguise. She should call out the guards or summon Herman.
Yet if she did and the Scot was imprisoned, who knew what he might say to Nicholas? He might reveal that she’d been alone with him. Then Nicholas would surely lock her in her chamber until the wedding, with Herman to guard the door. She’d have absolutely no chance of escape.
She had to get that Scot away from here before anybody realized who he was.
She hastily slipped her needle through her linen and addressed Polly, doing her best to sound as if everything were perfectly normal and there was no need for alarm. “I think I’ve had enough sewing for today. Please go to the laundry and see if my shifts are dry.”
Polly rose, reaching for the tray bearing the wine. “Yes, my lady.” She sighed. “I wish you weren’t leaving here so soon. Only two more days, and you’ll be off to Menteith.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Polly,” Marianne truthfully replied. “Now hurry along. I really ought to begin packing. Oh, and see if there’s some extra linen to line the chest, please.”
“Yes, my lady,” Polly replied before scurrying away.
When she was out of sight, Marianne got to her feet. “You there, with the rushes,” she called out. “Come here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
AT MARIANNE’S SUMMONS, the Scot slowly straightened. “Yes, my lady,” he said humbly, and in a broad Yorkshire accent.
As he walked toward her, she couldn’t understand how he’d tricked the guards at the gate. It should have been obvious this man was no peasant, and not only because of his powerful build. He had the same warrior’s walk as her brother, a rolling gait of unexpected and lithe grace.
When the Scot came to a halt in front of her, she gestured at her embroidery frame.
“Pick that up and come with me,” she commanded, lifting her wooden sewing box. She started toward the curved staircase that led to the bedchambers, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the Scot followed her.
Herman pushed himself off the wall, lumbering after them like a bear just waking from the winter. As always, though, the German halted at the foot of the stairs. Her brother’s bedchamber was between hers and the hall, so Herman went no further during the day or the night. The only other entrance to the apartments was at the opposite end of the upper corridor and led to the courtyard. It was always guarded by two men, and had been since her arrival there, lest somebody slip in from the yard and gain entry to the hall, or assassinate her brother in his bed.
“So, he’s set his hound to watch you,” the Scot said softly in French as he followed her up the stairs. “Does he know about the other—?”
“No. You have nothing to fear about that.”
“The only thing I feared is that he’d discovered our meeting and taken his anger out on you. I’ve come back to make sure you’re not suffering for that. Or anything else.”
“I’m quite well.”
“That’s not what I meant. Is he trying to force you to marry against your will? Is that why you were running away when I met you in the courtyard?”
Her heart did an odd little twist. He sounded so sincerely worried. Yet it was impossible that this man, this foreigner, this barbarian who barely knew her, could be concerned about her fate. It was much more likely he’d come back to the castle for other, more devious reasons. “Nicholas isn’t the fiend you seem to think he is.”
“So you’re marrying that old blackguard because you want to? I thought you were trying to run away because you didn’t. I’m disappointed to learn otherwise.”
She didn’t answer as she entered her chamber and put her sewing box on the bed. The Scot put the frame in the nearest corner and threw back his hood, revealing a mottled bruise on his cheek.
Subduing any curiosity about his bruise, she stepped toward the window, yet not so close that she could be seen from the courtyard. Clasping her hands together so that they were covered by the long cuffs of her gown, she mustered her dignity, and her skepticism. “I think you’ve come back to see the plans and you think they might be in my brother’s solar. In that case, you’d best leave, because he keeps that room locked.”
“If you had the plans handy, I wouldn’t mind a look, but I’ve told you why I’ve come—and I still think I’m right to believe your brother’s forcing you to marry Hamish Mac Glogan. That’s why you’ve got that delicate new lady’s maid waiting below, the one who looks like he can crush a man’s skull with his bare hands.”
“Herman’s supposed to protect me.”
The Scot’s eyes narrowed. “From what?”
“Scots, I suppose.”
He crossed his arms. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. Even if your brother doesn’t know you’ve tried to run away once or that we met, he suspects you’re going to try to flee, doesn’t he?”
“I told you, he thinks I need protection. And clearly, given your boldness in coming into his hall, he’s right to be cautious.”
“Especially when the prize is a lovely and spirited and very clever woman he can use to further his own ambitions.”
Marianne
