Chapter 8

Mairi stared at the mess of cold, fatty mutton slices, bread, and raspberries on the floor, wondering what demon had possessed her to heave the trencher at him.

From the moment the devilish man had brought her into his tower, she had behaved in a manner most unlike her usual self.

She was not, by nature, an impulsive woman.

Staring at the mess, she sighed, wishing she were one who could just leave it all where it was. But she was not.

It had been such a futile act, too.

"I'd have done better to have flung it in his face," she muttered, then smiled at the thought. To her astonishment, she found herself wondering what he would have done if she had flung it when the temptation had first struck her.

Dangerous musing, she decided. To taunt or challenge a man so much larger and stronger than she was would clearly indicate that she had lost her senses. In some ways she thought she had. What else could explain this recurring desire of hers to throw things at someone most people would believe she ought to fear?

The plain fact was that although Robert Maxwell did not terrify her, he could easily enrage her. Rage certainly explained throwing the stool. His outrageous hope that she might find her prison "comfortable" had deserved such a response.

However, heaving the trencher at him had been no more than a simple, perhaps even childish, impulse born of frustration and unexpected opportunity.

He had been leaving the room. She could not.

Thanks to his so-provocative declaration of disbelief in the fact that she had never thrown anything before, her hand was still touching the trencher when he suddenly bent over as he passed through the doorway. Such a tempting presentation of his backside just then had made throwing the trencher at it simply irresistible.

Only by the worst luck had he pulled the door shut just when he had. She wondered as she took the towel from the washstand just why he had bent over.

There being no way to ask him before morning, she set about clearing up the mess she had made. The food on the floor was only part of the problem, since he had gone away without taking the other things he had brought on the tray. They were still on the table, including the pitcher and the goblets of barley water.

Deciding to leave them on the table since she had no idea what else to do with them short of hurling them into the sea from her window, she went to close the still open shutter in case it rained during the night.

At the window, however, she saw that she need not worry about rain. The wind had dropped, and the sky was a blanket of stars. The window was wide enough for her to put her head and shoulders out, so she did. If she had to remain a prisoner, at least parts of her could pretend for a time that she was free.

Smiling again at the odd routes her thoughts had been taking, she breathed deeply of the cold night air, savored the starlight for a while, then straightened and went to prepare for bed. Although she missed having a maidservant to aid her, she enjoyed being able to think in silence as she took off the tunic and underskirt.

A candlestand stood near the head of the curtained bed. So, after blowing out two of the candles he had lit, she placed the third carefully on the stand and opened the bed curtain. Soft warmth engulfed her.

The bed was larger than what she was accustomed to, and much more luxurious. Pressing down on it, she realized that it boasted more than one featherbed and a thick quilt. One quilt was all she ever used as a cover at home except in deepest winter when a second, wool coverlet customarily came into use.

The pillows were many and plump, and she soon found explanation of the warmth, in the stone wall at the back of the bed. Clearly, the wall was the same as the fireplace walls in the hall and kitchen, and their warmth spread upward.

She was glad she did not have to close the curtain to keep warm. She was prisoner enough without shutting herself in. The shutter stayed open, too. The only visitor that might enter would be a moth or an eagle. Neither would worry her.

Stretching out atop plush softness and against down-soft pillows, with linen sheet and quilt drawn to her chin, she suddenly felt emotionally drained. Taking herself firmly in hand, she decided that she had to consider carefully all that she had learned about her captor and try to think of how she could protect herself.

The next thing she knew, sounds at her door heralded a visitor.

Startled awake, eyes open wide, she saw morning sunlight spilling through the unshuttered window in a golden path across the floor. It revealed a few shiny spots from mutton fat that she had missed in cleaning up the night before.

The door opened, and a flash of orange and white briefly diverted her attention before she saw that her nemesis had returned.

Rob paused in the doorway when he saw that the table still contained the remnants of their supper. He had forgotten all about them and had simply ordered another tray of food to take up to her ladyship after he had broken his fast.

As he had clearly startled her, he apologized, adding, "I thought you would be up long since, lass. Also, I fear I never spared our leavings a thought last night. Too accustomed to having others clean up after me, I expect. But I ought to have sent someone up or taken away the remains myself."

She was looking beyond him.

He frowned, thinking she meant to offer him only silence again.

Then she looked at him, and her eyes twinkled. She showed not the least embarrassment to be still abed or for him to see her there.

"Apparently, you did bring a helper along to clear the mess away," she said. "But I fear it may make itself sick if it eats too much."

Glancing over his shoulder to see the kitten on the table, he muttered an oath and hurried over, setting the tray on the settle as he had before.

The kitten, wolfing food as fast as it could, shot him a quick upward look without moving its head and then ignored him to concentrate on its breakfast.

When he grabbed it, it hissed at him and tried to wriggle back to the food.

Carrying the squirming, angry little creature to the bed, he handed it to her, saying, "Here, hold on to him until I can get those things cleared away. Then the two of us will leave you to dress and break your fast."

She took the kitten without a blink.

As Rob turned away, he said, "Take care, the wee devil bites."

"Nay, then, you malign him," she said in a cooing voice, clearly for the cat's benefit. "You're a princely fellow, aren't you," she went on. "And so soft. I don't believe you've ever bitten anyone who did not deserve it. What's his name?"

"I call him ‘cat.' Gibby calls him ‘the wee terror.' And he does bite, so do not trust that innocent look."

A rhythmic rumbling sound reached his ears just then and he turned toward the bed to see that she had leaned back against the pillows with the little cat snuggled on her chest. It had its paws tucked under its chin and was gazing at her adoringly, purring loudly as she gently stroked its head with two slim fingers.

She smiled at Rob then so warmly that he felt something inside him melt.

Quietly, she said, "May he stay with me?"

"If he will, aye," Rob said, turning back to his task with a sudden wish that they had met under other circumstances and that she was not Dunwythie's daughter.

Calling himself a fool again, he swept the things from the night before onto the first tray and carried it to the landing. Then, wiping off the table as well as he could with a towel she had clearly used to clean up the food she had thrown at him, he carried the towel to the landing and dropped it atop the things on the tray.

Returning, he set the new tray of food on the table. "I brought bread and ale, barley porridge, some milk, and two apples," he said. "I don't know what you usually eat for breakfast, but if you will tell me, I'll see to providing it for you."

"You are too kind, sir," she said.

He gave her a look. "Just be glad you cleaned up what you threw at me last night, or you would learn that I am not kind at all. Not that you did much better with your cleaning than I did with that table," he added. "I nearly slipped on a greasy spot when I came in."

"It would have served you right if you had," she cooed. "A good thump on the head might knock some sense into you."

She did not look at him as she spoke, and he grinned at the picture she made, murmuring impertinent things to him in the soft, gentle tone she used with the little cat, which was still purring contentedly. As well it might, tucked snugly between those tantalizing breasts as it was.

She was still looking at the kitten, still stroking it, and still ignoring Rob.

"Lass."

She looked up, eyebrows raised.

"It is not wise when you are in someone else's power to provoke him."

"Is it not?" She frowned. "I think it is more unwise to treat me as you have, Robert Maxwell. Just what do you mean to do with me? Am I simply to remain in this chamber until you have got whatever you expect to get by keeping me? How long do you expect that to take?"

"That must depend on your father," he said.

"Then it will be forever," she retorted. The kitten stirred, and she softened her tone to add, "Believe me, sir, my father is not a man who submits to threats. He is a peaceable man and a good one, but he can be as stubborn as anyone I know. A threat will just anger him and make him go contrary to whatever you demand."

"That must be a load of blethers," Rob said. "No man would risk injury to his firstborn child, certainly not to such a daughter as you are to him. You underrate yourself a-purpose, I think, to dissuade me."

"I would dissuade you if I could," she admitted. "Faith, but I'd strike you down flat if I could, for you have made me angrier in one day than anyone else has ever made me. I had thought myself unable to achieve such behavior as you have stirred me to, and with so little effort! Moreover, you ruined the first true freedom I've had since my family returned to Annan House from Dunwythie Mains."

"Are you not free to do as you please at Annan House?"

"Not since you Maxwells threatened to take our land. My stepmother worries that at any moment an army will engulf us. Naught will persuade her that we would get due warning first. Your having so easily snatched me away will only increase her concerns," she added bitterly.

"'Tis always painful to learn that those in authority over us are right in what they say, is it not?" he said with a reminiscent smile.

Instead of the quick retort he expected, she looked at him for a long moment. Then she said, "So, you have had similar experience, have you?"

"Aye, too much of it," he said. "To hear my brother—"

"Who is that lady, and why are ye in her chamber whilst she's still abed? I'm thinking Herself would no approve o' that."

Whirling on Gibby, who stood in the doorway, eyeing him with strong disapproval, Rob snapped, "Who the devil said you could come up here?"

"Nae one did," the boy retorted, still eyeing him askance. "I were a-looking for ye, and when ye were no in your chamber, I came out again and heard ye talking. So I came a-looking up here. Shall I take this tray below for ye?"

"Aye, do that," Rob said. "Then wait for me downstairs."

"But who is that lady?" Gib asked, swinging an arm around to point at her. "And—Coo, would ye look at that now? That wee terror's no a-biting her!"

In fact, the kitten, still purring, had stretched out with its head still resting between her breasts. It rolled onto its back then, fore and aft legs extending in a long stretch, and she stroked its furry white stomach. The damned cat seemed almost to be taunting Rob, saying, "Just look at me now, will you, chappie?"

"You must be Gibby," the lass said to the boy with a smile.

"Aye, and ye must be a witch," Gib said, clearly awestruck. "Ye ken me name wi' nae one telling ye, and ye've cast a spell on that wee terror."

"I am not a witch," she said. "I know your name because the laird told me you call the kitten a wee terror. Sithee, he is no such thing if you treat him kindly."

"I dinna treat him at all," Gib said firmly. "I dinna hold wi' cats, 'specially cats which would rather than nowt eat me, like that one. Ye take care, me lady."

"And you take yourself off now with that tray, Gib," Rob told him.

"Ye didna tell me her name. I should ken how to call her, should I no?"

The lady Mairi looked at Rob, challenging him to lie.

"You need know only to address her as ‘my lady,'" Rob told him sternly. "Also, you are not to talk about her to anyone else unless you want to explain your loose tongue to me when I learn that you've been gabbling, as I will."

Meeting that look, Gibby hesitated. Then he said, "What if Herself should ask when she comes? I dinna lie to Herself, and nor should ye lie to her neither."

"I don't," Rob said curtly. "Now, be off with you."

The boy offered no further argument but picked up the tray and clattered off down the stairway with it.

Rob stared at the empty doorway, lost in thought of what consequences might result now from the lad's having seen his prisoner.

"Who is Herself?"

"My grandmother," he said, turning slowly toward her.

"The one whose property this tower was?"

"Since you would have it so, aye, that one. She is properly Arabella Carlyle, Lady Kelso. My Maxwell grandmother died before I was born."

"Is she coming here?"

"I expect you mean the one who still lives," he said.

"Aye," she said, but she smiled, saying it. "Now we are even where proper grammar is concerned, sir. The lad did suggest she would be coming."

And would likely snatch him baldheaded, Rob mused, the minute she learned he was holding a noblewoman captive at Trailinghail.

Suppressing that thought, he said, "She did suggest that she might visit. That was when she gave me the kitten to look after, and the laddie. She often says she will come, but she has not seen Trailinghail since I inherited the place. I warrant she fears I will have changed it too much for her to enjoy it."

"Have you?"

"Nay, I have tried to do what I think she will like," he said. "I had happy visits here as a boy. It provided a welcome escape for me now and now."

"Did you need an escape?"

He shrugged. "I expect most lads do from time to time."

"I would have liked a place to escape to," she said with a sigh.

To which, without thinking, he said, "Aye, well, now you have one."

Mairi stared at him, finding it hard to believe he would think his abducting her to Trailinghail, as he called the place, could be anything like his having visited his grandparents there as a boy.

Meeting her gaze, he looked rueful again. "I ken fine that it is not the same thing, lass, and I did mean what I said last night about making you comfortable here. I see, too, that I cannot keep you locked up until your father acts. But the last thing I want is for a great scandal to spread through the dales. I thought bringing you here would prevent that, as isolated as the place is. My people are discreet enough, but the more who know about you, the greater the risk grows. I hope your father submits quickly when he learns that he must."

"He will not act soon," she said. "He has gone to the north end of the dale and did not expect to be back at Annan House for at least a sennight."

"When did he leave?"

"A few days ago."

"How many days, lass? Do not pretend you cannot count them."

"Three, then, as of yesterday, so four now. But he is often away longer than he expects to be on such journeys."

"I'll wait," he said. "The risk of spreading gossip from here remains small, I think. In any event, I am in no great hurry."

"Faith, I thought 'twas a matter of life and death," she said.

"It will be, aye," he said. "But I'm thinking Alex will do nowt till after Easter. He won't want to offend religious folks by starting a war during Lent."

"But I must be home before Easter!" she exclaimed. "We are to visit my cousin Jenny and Sir Hugh Douglas at Thornhill for the holy day and go to kirk with them on Easter Sunday."

"Then we must see that this is all over by then," he said.

"But are you sure your brother will wait? Is he so religious?"

He shrugged. "No more than most Borderers, I expect, but Alex does care about what others think. And, to many people, Lent is most holy—no time for violence. Sakes, we are all religious when it is expedient or when we fear we are about to die," he added. "Nearly all Borderers go to kirk to celebrate Christ's birth and rising. All say the grace before meat. Some even have their own chaplains."

Mairi's father had a chaplain who said the grace. And Annan town had a kirk where her family went most Sundays. But like the Borderers he described, Lord Dunwythie paid heed to little beyond his own domain. The Pope in Rome and his grace the King in Stirling were not close enough at hand to trouble him.

Remembering the kirk spire she had seen from the boat some distance along the cliffs north of the tower, and closer to the town of Kirkcudbright, Mairi wondered if he would take her there if she pretended to be pious. But the more she talked with him, the clearer it became that he believed he was doing what he must. If so, he would be most unlikely to let her sway him from his course.

"Do you truly care about my comfort?" she asked him, still stroking the kitten's soft, furry belly and enjoying its loud purr. Its eyes were slitted, its breathing slow and even, its trust in her clear.

"I have said that I care," he said. "I expect, however, that you just hope to persuade me to let you do something I won't want you to do."

"I cannot stay in this chamber without going mad, sir. Prithee, believe that. I think that my behavior last night was no more than a reaction to losing what little freedom I had. You professed to disbelieve me, but I swear to you, I had never flung anything at anyone, not even a pillow, before I hurled that stool at you."

His eyes gleamed—with humor, she hoped, although she could not be sure.

As the thought formed, she felt vulnerable and much too exposed to him. Until that moment, she had felt nothing but flashes of anger. He might have been her brother, had she had one, for all the discomfiture she had felt in his presence.

The gleam in his eye vanished as swiftly as it had come, and he said matter-of-factly, "What is it, lass? What would you have me do for you?"

Still strongly aware that she wore only her borrowed shift and that the quilt had slipped to reveal the upper halves of her breasts—but aware, too, that her sudden tension had affected the kitten—she drew a breath and tried to relax again.

He took a step toward her, increasing the sensation tenfold.

Whatever words she had meant to say stuck to her tongue. Her body tingled its awareness of him.

"Go away," she said. "I want to dress and break my fast."

"But I want to know—"

"Go!"

Stopping still, he cocked his head, studying her.

The little cat leaped to its feet on her chest. When he took another step toward her, its eyes slitted again and its back went up. But it did not hiss or spit.

"You may leave my protector," she said, her amusement easing her tension.

"I will, aye," he said, and left without another word.

She heard the solid metal clinks that announced the locking of her door, and grimaced at the sound. Although she felt relief at his departure, she looked forward to his return—after she had dressed.

Rob was not sure what had just happened. He frequently experienced odd feelings when he was with Mairi, similar to what he sometimes felt on the water with lightning in the air. These sensations, now that he gave them thought, had other traits in common with elemental wonders.

When he was with her they ebbed and flowed like the tides. They would strike when he least expected them. And when one was upon him, the slightest change in her expression could warm him or send warning tension through him.

He had noticed the phenomenon first at Dunwythie Mains in the way she had filled his senses to the exclusion of nearly everything else around them at the time. So strongly had her very presence struck him that he had known in an instant what an astonishing effect she must have on other men.

He still had no doubt that Dunwythie would react as he'd predicted as soon as his lordship learned of her disappearance.

Watching her stroke the kitten, bewitching the wee devil, he had felt bewitched himself. He could scarcely take his eyes from her slender, stroking fingers. He could feel her touch, and at one point, he had experienced a distinct twinge of jealousy toward the damned cat.

Her smile had the power to bewitch, too. Sakes, between watching her with the cat and listening to her cooing voice, he had nearly forgotten she was his captive. Then, when she had so wistfully said she would have liked to escape to some refuge as he had escaped to Trailinghail, he had replied like a right dafty.

Then she declared again that although she had hurled a stool at him the previous night, she had never done such a thing before. As he realized that he believed her, the strange connection had strengthened so much that he could not look away from her. It felt as if some magical power had possessed them both.

The kitten had diverted him by putting a forepaw on the billowing softness of one bare breast that peeked above the quilt. When she had snapped at Rob to go and the kitten had leaped up, ready to defend her, he had not known what to say.

He was glad now to leave the little brute with her. Only the clanking of the iron hooks as he pulled the door shut reminded him to lock it.

Not that he could keep her locked up indefinitely. To have imagined doing so while he'd formed his plans was one thing, reality quite another.

He had known that much when she had asked the evening before how he expected her to occupy her time.

His imagination presented him with an image of himself in her place. What the devil would he do to keep from going mad? At least she could hem the skirt that had tripped her, and other clothes in the kists. But what then?

Recalling the fright her fall had given him, he told himself she was lucky he had not picked her up and shaken her. Attending to the shutter had kept him from losing his temper, but he hoped she would attend quickly to shortening those skirts. He had known his grandmother was taller. He had not realized by how much.

Still, he could not imagine himself sewing, let alone doing so for hours on end. Even for a woman, it must be a most tedious occupation.

He decided he would give her time to dress and break her fast. Then he would return and discuss the problem with her. She was astonishingly easy to talk to, and clearly found it easy enough to talk to him—even to throw things at him.

Whatever the cause of the latter tendency, though, she would have to give it up before it became a habit. No man would find such behavior amusing for long.

He entered the great hall just as Gibby threw a stick across the chamber for one of the dogs to fetch. As the retriever dashed after it, skidding on thresh near the fireplace and nearly sending a pile of it into the flames, Rob said, "Gib, come here."

Gibby approached, eyeing him warily. "D'ye want I should do summat for ye, laird?" he asked.

"I do," Rob said. "I want you to take that beast outside if you are going to throw sticks for it. And if you see Fin Walters, you may tell him I want to see him when he has a few moments to talk. I'm going to the stable."

"Aye, sure, I'll find him." Grinning and shouting for the dog to bring the stick, he dashed with it to the stairway and down.

Rob followed at his normal pace, letting his thoughts drift as they would until he decided what he would do.

His steward found him in the stable, discussing a suggestion from the tacksman that they order new harness straps from the currier in Kirkcudbright.

"'Tis a good notion," Rob said, nodding. "Talk it over with Walters, and unless he objects… Ah, here you are now, Fin. The lad here says we need some new tack, so decide how much and order it. But I want a word with you first."

Walters nodded at the beaming tacksman as Rob added, "We'll go outside." When they were beyond earshot of anyone else, he said, "Sakes, don't look as if I'm going to bite you. I ken fine that you knew about the tack. However, I do have a problem, and I think you're the man to aid me. First, how is our Gibby getting on?"

"He's a good lad, laird. Me Dora fair dotes on him, so I have to take a stern tone now and now, with one or the other. But he suits us well, that lad does."

"Good. I'd hate to be asking you for aught else if you were cursing me for handing that fountain of impudence to you."

"Sakes, sir, if he's been impudent—"

"Nay, just honest and saying what he thinks, so do nowt to change it. I can manage the lad with nobbut a look or a word."

"I'll warrant ye can, laird," the steward said with a twinkle.

"Now, who is being impudent?" Rob demanded. But when Walters just smiled, he said bluntly, "The problem is, I need a woman, Fin."

Eyebrows arcing upward, the steward said, "Sure, and ye dinna need help from me to find ye a willing one, laird."

"Not for me, for the lass I brought here yestereve."

Walters nodded. "I willna say I were no curious about that, sir, for I were. And I still am, come to that. What sort o' woman had ye in mind?"

"A good, well-mannered lass, someone like your wife's sister, Annie."

"Ye'd want Annie to be staying here? Nights, too?"

"Aye, but only whilst the lass stays with us," Rob said, choosing his words.

"I'll tell ye plain then, sir, that I dinna like the sound o' that. Nor will Dory. Annie's a good, obedient lass, but she's nobbut fifteen. I'd no want her serving a—"

"Nay, nay," Rob interjected hastily, realizing that his own choice of words had stirred Walters to think as he did. "Her ladyship is no bed wench of mine."

"Her ladyship! Beggin' your pardon, laird, but what ha' ye been up to?"

"Only what was necessary, and by my troth, I have not used her as you must think. But she has requested a maidservant to see to her needs. Would Annie agree to that? Being your kinswoman would protect her whilst she's here, I should think."

"Aye, sure, and she'd do it, too, for she's been a-hoping ye'd wed soon and need a few maidser—But I be talking above me place, laird. Ye havena said ye'll be staying on here at Trailinghail. And if the lady will be here only a short time…"

"Only as long as necessary," Rob said. "But as I cannot say how long that is, I'd prefer that her presence not become a matter of local gossip."

"Our people ken fine to keep still tongues in their heads, and have done since the old laird and Herself was here, sir," Walters said. "Nowt has changed since, but we canna speak for villagers in Senwick and such places."

"I know," Rob said. "Also, the knacker Parland Dow will be along soon. He is a fine source of news from far and wide, but when he arrives, take good care that we do not hand him her ladyship's presence as fodder for his tittle-tattle."